“Fine,” he said. “They think I’m weird.”

“They do not. You’re not weird.” Winnie frowned at her son. She’d have to text Subomi’s mother and get to the bottom of this.

“You are weird,” Nigel said. Where had he come from? He was standing in the doorway, scratching the back of his head. Why was he saying this?

“I’d beat you up. Possibly shove your head in the urinal till—”

Samuel was cracking up, his face broken of its usually stony boredom, spread into a rare, crooked laughter. Winnie took a moment to appreciate it.

“Dude, weird is better than boring. Every time, man, every time.”

Samuel shrugged but Winnie could tell he was pleased.

“I guess so,” he said. “But I think they’re weird. Just to get that straight.”

“My man,” Nigel said, walking over to fist-bump their son. He strolled back out of the room and she blinked after him. The smell of his cologne on the air was overpowering; she cleared her throat once, twice.

“Did you need something, Mom?” Samuel was no longer smiling but staring at her like her presence was an intrusion.

Her mother’s heart wilted. “Nope. No—just checking on you…and I guess I wanted to talk to you about last night and Uncle Dakota…”

“Dad and I already had a talk. I get it.”

“Oh,” Winnie said. She bit back the rest of her questions, not wanting Samuel to know she was clueless. Thanks, Nigel.

“Well, if you need to talk about anything.”

“Thanks.”

She wanted to hug him—that’s what they always did after they resolved a conflict together—but as Winnie leaned toward her son, he’d already gone back to his book. And nothing had been resolved. Not that included her anyway. Winnie had never had fewer friends in her own home.

And then, as she left the room, a thought seized her so aggressively she took a little step back, away from them. What if Nigel told Samuel? What if he told him what I did? Winnie felt light-headed. There was nothing to steady herself on, so she just swayed on the spot, one hand reaching for a wall that wasn’t there. If Nigel had told Samuel, she’d lose her son forever.

Sometimes Winnie wondered if she’d taken the job at Illuminations Mental Health to prove something to Nigel. Once, when they were dating, he’d made a joke about her not being athletic; within a week she’d registered for indoor soccer and got a gym membership. It didn’t end there, no—Winnie actually became what she wanted. She began to like soccer, enjoy playing it. Can’t say I’m not athletic anymore, can you?