Maren’s dad grabbed a slice of baguette, stuck it down the front of his shirt, and sauntered out of the kitchen, whistling. Her mom laughed so hard she had to set down her glass, and when he came back and mimed shoving more bread in his pockets, Maren couldn’t help but join in the laughter. It felt like they were a different family tonight, like they were figuring out a new way of being fun with only the three of them. If only Hallie were here to see it.

Maren’s laughter died in her throat, though the tears in her eyes stayed. She pulled a paper towel from the roll above the sink and dabbed at her face.

“How’s your head today?” said her mom.

“Better, I guess.”

Maren’s mother laid the inside of her wrist against her forehead. She complained about always having cold hands, but they felt wonderful on Maren’s head when she was sick. Maren wished the chill could seep through her skull and soothe the chaos in her brain. She knew she should tell her parents what was going on with Maybe Ms. Malo. Everything had gotten so snarled up, she had no idea how to untangle it.

“No fever,” said her mom. “But I think chicken soup is still in order.”

“You made that for me?” Maren was so used to everything revolving around Hallie that this one pot of soup felt extravagant.

“Well, it’s not all for you.” Maren’s dad handed her a bundle of spoons and napkins. She rolled her eyes and set the table. Then she sat with her parents and quietly ate her soup while they chatted.

“I had an idea for a new dream today,” said Maren’s mom.

Maren almost choked on a noodle. She couldn’t remember the last time her mom had talked about dreams. “What is it?”

“You know those dreams where people show up at school or work naked?” said Maren’s mom. Maren and her dad nodded. “I was thinking it’d be nice to make something that counteracts them. Instead of suffering from naked shame, you’d arrive in class or at your office wearing the most stylish, beautiful, comfortable outfit with lots of pockets, and everyone would compliment your impeccable taste and ask where you’d gotten it.”

“I love that,” said Maren, who had suffered from the dreaded naked school dream a lot recently.

“I’m thinking ink and cotton,” Maren’s mother closed her eyes. “Licorice root for confidence. And the corner of a fashion magazine cover. Not cotton, actually. Cashmere.”

As her mom listed ingredients and weighed the pros and cons of using natural versus synthetic fibers, Maren lined up the words in her head.

Remember that woman I thought was following me? Her name might be Ms. Malo, and she really is following me.

But then she’d have to speak the rest of the words.