Nora and Finn attended the Hog-Wild Chili Fest every year without fail. Despite its name, it was so much more than just chili. There were bands, barbecue, carnival games, and contests that involved men putting hot peppers on their tongues and trying not to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. It was an activity that Zadie—averse to both crowds and spicy food—had no desire to participate in, so it had become Nora and Finn’s own little mother-daughter tradition.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come this year?” Nora asked Zadie, who was watching TV upside down, her legs slung over the back of the couch.

“Nope.”

“Zadie hates fun,” Finn said.

“No, I just hate chili.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Nora continued, guiding her younger child toward the front door, “we’ll be in the chili tent, eating our body weight in beans.”

“Gross.”

“Love you.” Nora took a moment to blow her daughter a kiss before leaving the house.

Ever since their trip to the beach, Zadie and Nora had been in a good place. It helped that Nora had been acting more like her old self. Her eyes were clear and they made Zadie feel seen. It felt like they’d turned a corner: that maybe whatever it was that had made her mom act so strange was finally over.

That is, until two hours later when she got a call from her sister. “I need you to come pick me up.” Finn sounded annoyed.

“Why? Where’s Mom?”

“I don’t know. She’s not answering her phone.”

Zadie kept her voice even. “Where are you now?”

“I’m at the security tent. They tried paging her, but she probably didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud.”

“Okay. Stay there. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Through the bustling crowd, Zadie spotted her sister sitting on a bench outside the security tent, absentmindedly swinging a bag of kettle corn between her legs. “Finn!” Finn looked up as she approached. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Still no sign of Mom?”

“No. She’s probably looking for me, too.” There was an anxiousness in Finn’s voice that broke Zadie’s heart. How could Mom do this? Forgetting to give your teenager a ride home was one thing; leaving your twelve-year-old alone at a busy festival was another.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she answered, trying her best to disguise her anger. “Come on. I’ll walk you home. Then I’ll come back and see if I can find her.”

“Why don’t we just look for her now?”

“Because…” I don’t want you to see Mom that way. “I think I left the door unlocked. I want to lock it before Mom gets home.”