She turns off the burner and slouches onto the counter next to me in a gesture so casual that I’m reminded my mom is actually a human being and not just the lady who runs my life and takes care of me. When did my parents become people?

“Someday,” she sighs, “I’d love to tell you everything about our research. I know you never like coming to the hospital and that you don’t have a love for science like we do—”

“Despite your best efforts,” I mutter under my breath.

“But”—she ignores me and moves to take the kettle off the heat—“I think you’d find some of our research interesting. And some of it is important for you to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s things about the world that you don’t know,” she says.

I turn to look at her, to find a completely blank expression—her professional mask pulled down. God, I hate that face. I’m used to seeing it directed at patients at the hospital or other doctors, but never at me. Seeing it now makes me feel small.

“Then just tell me,” I plead, wanting her face to soften and for her to be my mom again. The professional mask hardens into a faraway look that makes her seem ten years older before she tilts her head to look at me. All the smoothness fades as her expression crinkles, eyes warming. There she is.

“Not yet. I’m going to protect you as long as I can.” She gives me a small, sad smile as she pushes a cup of tea into my hands.

“Mom, you’re kind of scaring me,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady. I take the scalding mug from her, hoping the warmth will make me feel less unsteady in this conversation.

“I’m sorry, love.” She brings her hand to my face, patting my cheek. “I didn’t mean to.” Her hand travels to my shoulder, which she squeezes, looking at me with the intensity of love that I’m pretty sure only parents possess.

“Today…” she begins, before taking a deep breath and starting again. “I’ve been helping out on something in an unofficial capacity. An—someone I know who’s worked on some of our projects has a patient who’s in a coma.”

“Haven’t you worked with lots of coma patients?”

“Yes,” she says, “but this is a little different. It’s a very unique case and I was consulting to try and find a way to wake this person up. I thought I’d cracked it but today—we tried something that I thought would work and it didn’t.”

“Oh,” I say like I understand. “That was the bad news?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ll just try something else, right?” I suggest hopefully, hating the defeated tone of my mom’s voice. “I mean, there’s gotta be something that’ll work.”