“Yes. I knew.” Miriam never lies, as far as I can tell. Even that first day, she didn’t lie about her dead dog.

“So?” she said. “What do you think?”

I told her I thought it was great, which was the truth. Everything about Dad marrying Jesse felt great. Except for one thing.

“I wonder how my mom feels,” I said.

Miriam leaned forward.

“Probably bad,” I said. “She probably feels bad.”

“Why?”

“Because my mom and dad still love each other.” I had already told her how I knew that, from Things That Will Not Change. She’d seen the list.

Mom and Dad love each other, but in a different way.

“You may be right,” Miriam said. “She might feel a little sad. But do you think your mom wants your dad to be happy, Bea? She cares about him a lot.”

“Yes, I just told you, she loves him. They love each other.” And right then I felt so sad, saying that. Really sad. I had never cried in Miriam’s office, though. I did a lot of talking in there, but my crying switch was off.

“But not in the same way they did when they were married to each other, Bea. They love each other differently now, right? Like how friends love each other. Or maybe a brother and a sister.”

I gave Miriam a look. She knew I had always wanted a sister more than anything, so I didn’t know why she would even bring that up.

“Bea?” Her face was a big question mark.

“I don’t want to talk about Mom anymore.”

“Okay.”

We sat there.

“We could talk about what happened to your foot,” she said.

So I told Miriam about fifth-grade colonial history, how there was a yearlong project with research papers and an authentic colonial-breakfast party next April. I told her about practice butter and heavy cream, and kicking the glass from happiness. When I got to that part, she opened the gummy-bear jar and reminded me about thinking two steps ahead.

“Poor foot,” she said.

—

Miriam had taught me about thinking two steps ahead way back when I was eight, right after I told her about the worst terrible third-grade party, which was Carrie Greenhouse’s Halloween party.

We played musical chairs at the party. I didn’t care about the prize, which was some stickers, but I also didn’t want to lose, because I hated the moment when the music stopped and everyone looked at the person who didn’t have a chair. I didn’t think I could live through that moment of everyone looking at me and waiting for me to go away. I knew I would get a red face.