Daniel grabs my hand. “It was obvious in the first five seconds of meeting you two how different you are. Your mom, she’s like New Orleans at night—all dazzling bright lights and chaotic music on the surface, but a lot of shadows lingering in between, in the dark corners we don’t like to look at. And you, you’re the bedrock, the brick and mortar in broad daylight that actually holds the city together. You’re solid and honest and full of history.”

I’ve never thought of us that way. I always insisted I was different from her. I needed to be different. But I recognize now that it was because I was afraid that I wasn’t. Hearing someone else say it out loud puts the fear back in its box. Except Daniel doesn’t know about all the things I’ve witnessed since coming here. And I wonder if he’d say the same if he did.

“Besides, my family is far from perfect. One night with us and you’ll realize you aren’t the only one with skeletons in the closet.”

I can’t help laughing. “Thank you. Really.”

“In fact, in order to even the scales, I think you should come to dinner tonight. We’ll be home just in time. What do you say?”

Mary thinks I am working a long shift today. She won’t know the difference. And she had several phone clients scheduled to keep her busy. Focusing on someone else’s family issues sounds like just the antidote I need. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Oh, girl, you have no idea what you just agreed to.”

We pull up to a white, shotgun-style house on a colorful street that glows in the golden evening light. The front is characteristically narrow, with a single shuttered window and a royal blue front door, a small porch with a handful of steps. Two kids, a boy and a girl who can’t be older than ten, are circling in front, barefoot, on bicycles. Daniel parks at the very end of the driveway and gets out. I do the same.

“Marco, Danielle—what did Lena tell you about being out with no shoes on?”

The kids freeze, each putting one dirty foot on the pavement to still their bikes. The concrete has to be a hundred degrees, but they don’t seem to notice. I marvel at the resiliency of children. I remember a lavender bicycle with purple streamers that Moony bought me the Christmas after my mother left. I never learned how to ride it without the training wheels. She finally sold it in a church garage sale.

The boy drops his bike once he recognizes Daniel and runs up to him. “What are you doing in Bernard’s car?” he asks, ignoring Daniel’s question. He sees me a moment after tackling Daniel around the midsection and adds, “Who is she?”