Both Greta and Carys wanted animals that could wander in and out of the house and its grounds, and both agreed that their dream houses needed secret rooms hidden behind bookcases that would swing open silently, revealing nooks covered in pillows with miniature refrigerators for snacks. They would be big enough to read or nap in and would never be revealed to any but the most trusted guests.

They had just left the third antiques store and were about to stop for beignets when Carys froze, and Greta, who’d been walking just behind her, slammed into her back.

“What’s wrong?”

Carys began to turn around slowly.

“Carysanne,” called a loud voice.

Carys swore under her breath.

“That’s my mom.”

“What do you want me to do?” Greta asked.

But Carys didn’t have a chance to answer.

Carys’ mother was taller than she was, and her hair was blond with brown roots. Greta knew she was only forty or so, but she looked older.

“Hello, darlin’,” she trilled. She pulled Carys in by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. Carys stood frozen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s so good I ran into you, because I wanted to invite you to spend Christmas with your grandparents and me. And before you tell me about how busy you are, I won’t take no for an answer this year.”

She started talking fast, about plans and timing, but Carys cut her off.

“No thank you.”

Carys’ mom paused for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly and nostrils flaring.

She then pivoted to Greta, and her face changed completely. Eyes wide and twinkling, she grinned at Greta and held out her hand.

“Well, hello there, Carysanne’s friend who she was too rude to introduce. I’m Shelly.” Shelly gave Greta a scandalized smile that was clearly meant to be a shared meditation on Carys’ failings.

Greta didn’t know if she should shake Shelly’s hand and say hello or ignore her the way Carys was.

“Hi, I’m Greta,” she said. Shelly left her hand outstretched between them, and Greta squirmed at the awkwardness of not taking it. After a beat, she shook it quickly, then shoved her hands in her pockets, embarrassed that the tiniest bit of social pressure had gotten to her so quickly.

“Hello, Greta. Aren’t you pretty. Carrie always did like the tomboys. You know, when she was about ten, she came to me and she said, ‘Mama’—she used to call me Mama, not that she’d be caught dead in a ditch callin’ me that now—she said, ‘Mama, I—’”

“We’re going to need to get going, Mom,” Carys said. Then she took Greta’s arm and walked away, back ramrod straight, shoulders unmoving.

“You’re just going to walk away from me, Carysanne?” Shelly called.

“Just keep walking,” Carys said, her voice tight. “Please.”

“You think I’m gonna chase after you?”