“—that reminds me of when Mr. Lannis had to wear a neck brace because he got a compressed nerve from karaoke. Hey, Mom?”

When Jess refocused, she realized Juno had already closed her book. “What, baby?”

“Why are you making that face?” she asked.

“What face?”

Juno ran a finger across her forehead. “The one Auntie Fizzy can’t make anymore because of the Botox.”

“I’m not frowning,” Jess said. “I’m just thinking. Someone asked me to do something and I’m not sure whether I should.”

Now Juno frowned. “Is it bad?”

“No. Not bad.”

Purring, the cat climbed up onto Juno’s chest. “Is someone going to get hurt?”

“I hope not,” Jess said. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you feel unsafe?”

Jess bit her lips, trying to hold in a charmed laugh. This kid was repeating exactly what she would say if their positions were reversed. “No.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to her head. “I don’t feel unsafe.”

Once she sat up again, her daughter pinned her with a stern look. “Will you be lying?”

You’re an important part of our research study, one-half of a score we need to validate—or invalidate—our binning paradigm prior to launch.

She shook her head. “I won’t be lying.”

Juno set her book on the nightstand and scooped up Pigeon before snuggling them both down into her comforter. “Would you learn something?”

Jess felt an intense pulse of pride in her kid, and the knee-jerk negative answer evaporated in her mouth.

Because… maybe she would.

SHE CAUGHT A glimpse of herself in the mirror at the end of the hall and wondered how the chaos inside her wasn’t more visible. If her outside matched her inside, she would look like a Picasso sculpture: head sideways, nose where her eyes should be, eyes on her chin. Instead she was still just Jess: brown hair, tired blue eyes, and what looked like the beginnings of a stress pimple on her forehead. Awesome.

Nana and Pops were playing cribbage in the courtyard; Jess grabbed a beer from the fridge and a sweater from the back of the couch and stepped outside to join them.

Mr. Brooks opened his window when he saw her, his white T-shirt striped by a pair of gray suspenders. “Jessica,” he said, leaning outside. “I need to talk to you.”

Jess shared a look with Nana, and walked back toward the building again, looking up to the second floor. “Yes, Mr. Brooks?”

“I’m posting two photographs to the Nextdoor app. There are some kids who keep riding their scooters up and down the sidewalks, and I don’t like the look of them. There’s an entire sidewalk, but they insist on riding right next to my stoop.” He made a fist and flattened it against the window frame. “I don’t want them knocking over my broom.”

“I’ll watch for them. I know you use that broom every day.”

“Thank you, Jessica. We can’t have kids running up and down the street here. Too many cars, too many people. And they don’t make that broom anymore. I’ve already fixed it once.”