“I’ll be less stressed when I know we can pay the bills,” I said. “Whoever said money doesn’t solve your problems was a liar.”

“This isn’t your problem to solve, you brilliant, beautiful child,” said Mo, her eyes misting over. Mom was the crier, not Mo. She was emotional in a different way. Seeing her on the verge of tears put a knot in my throat. “We’re going to have to make some sacrifices to keep things afloat after the summer. New rent goes into effect in the fall, so maybe we keep the shop and move to a smaller place.”

“We can get a one-bedroom,” said Mom, glancing at Mo. “Briseis can have the room, and we can get a foldout.”

Mo nodded. “We can give up the paid parking, too. Maybe give up the car altogether. We hardly use it anyway.”

“Um, sleeping on a foldout? Getting rid of the car? Are things that bad?” Those were big decisions. Maybe this wasn’t just a bump in the road. Mom and Mo looked at each other solemnly.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” said Mo.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” I sat down between them. “I know you’re doing it because you don’t want me to worry but it’s too late for that. So, let’s stop pretending everything is okay if it’s not. What do y’all tell me all the time? ‘It’s okay to not be okay.’ That’s us right now.”

Mom nodded and Mo beamed. We both had big brown eyes. People said we favored each other, and it was nice to have someone that kind of looked like me. Me and Mom didn’t have any similar features, but we had the same sense of humor and the same laugh.

“Let’s get bagels and open the shop,” Mo said, resting her hand on the side of my face. “This is heavy. We can figure it out later, but right now, I’m starving.”

Mom batted at her eyes and I squeezed her hand. I was thinking of telling them about what happened with the water hemlock and how I couldn’t piece together why I was still alive, but now was not the time.

We got dressed and walked to the bagel shop on Bergen Street. The morning air was warm and thick, and we held hands with me in the middle for the first block.

“I feel like I’m five years old,” I said.

Mom held my hand tighter. “You’ll always be my big-head baby.”