I hold my breath as we walk in the front door, bracing myself for whatever’s waiting, but inside it’s quiet and there are no obvious signs of my dad’s pitiful existence.

We stand around awkwardly in the front hall for a second.

I figure I should speak. “Do you want a drink? Something to eat? Anything?”

May’s eyes have a glazed expression, and she responds with a weird, zombielike nod. I can’t blame her: running into my mom would be terrible. I know it took a lot for her to agree to come.

I drop my book bag on the floor by the front door and gesture for her to follow me. We enter the kitchen, which appears to be in decent order, for once. No dishes from breakfast sitting in the sink, and the counters sparkle. Normally, I’m the only one in the house who cleans, outside of the housekeeper my mom hired, who comes once a month to make sure the place doesn’t devolve into a total dump.

Gwen’s at the counter, perched on a stool. Her face is buried in her phone, per usual.

“There’s food in the fridge.” Gwen’s voice floats up from behind her phone.

“Wait, food? What do you mean?” I haven’t been to the supermarket all week. I know we need groceries, but I’ve been distracted by school and May and attempting to have a life, so I keep forgetting.

Gwen finally deigns to make eye contact. “Food. In the fridge.” She speaks slowly, like English is my second language.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, thanks. I got that part. I meant where did it come from?”

She gives me a withering look. “I don’t know, Zach. The supermarket?”

May snort-laughs and Gwen’s face flushes with pleasure. I jab May with my elbow, trying to get her to stop encouraging my little sister’s attitude problem, and she snickers again. I don’t even care that they’re ganging up on me—at least May has some life in her again, and Gwen looks happy for the first time all day.

I open the fridge, and by some miracle there is actual food in it. Like, not just the normal Styrofoam take-out containers full of rotting leftovers. Actual fresh fruit and vegetables.

I glance over my shoulder at Gwen. “Seriously, where did this come from?”

“I told you. I. Don’t. Know.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and then it’s back to her phone.

Fourteen-year-olds are so much fun.

I give the top of her head the finger and then turn to May. “Well, it appears we’re going to be able to eat something other than Easy Mac. Are you hungry?”

May shakes her head. “No. I’m good. Just some water or whatever.”