Manfred parked in front of the venue, a place called the Zipper Lounge. I stayed behind with E as the band and Dougie trudged off, carrying their instruments. The plan was to unpack at the motel once they were done with sound check and then have dinner. Junkyard Palace went on at eight. They were opening for a band called Milk, whose songs I happened to love. I looked down through the window as the famous members of Milk emerged from an enormous bus. A girl with lank brown hair got out, followed by three tattooed women and a man with an Afro. None of them carried anything. A handful of roadies in black T-shirts with MILK printed on the back lugged instruments out from the bowels of the bus and, antlike, entered the venue in a line. I followed the lead singer with my eyes. She and the man with the Afro were in the news frequently. They were unrepentant junkies, even claiming that heroin, when managed properly and combined with a raw diet and exercise, actually slowed down the aging process. It was true they both looked amazing.

Over the past few days, having E out in public had become normal, and I wasn’t so careful anymore. That evening, E and I ate at a diner with the band. Manfred had taken Holly to a vegetarian restaurant. I found this funny, as Holly ate nothing but meat. E had her mush. The band ate burgers. I had tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Harvest was sitting opposite me. “You coming to the show?” he asked.

“I guess not,” I said, spooning a teaspoon of green mush into E’s mouth.

“Can’t we put her to bed backstage?” asked Joy, surprising me with the word “we.” “It’s not fair you never get to do anything.”

“There’s a greenroom,” said Harvest. “It has a couch.”

“You can watch from backstage,” said Joy. She looked at me with affection. I felt a sudden sense of belonging with these people. I wished we could stay together forever, as a family.

After we got back to the motel from the diner, I dressed E in her pajamas and went to the bathroom to put on makeup. I put on glittery eye shadow, blush, and gold lip gloss. I brushed my long hair until it gleamed like burnished wood. I washed my underarms, put on deodorant, then changed into a black jumpsuit. My old leather jacket, which my mother had bought me at a flea market in Paris when she was on a business trip, shone in the white light of the bathroom. I looked at my face in the mirror for a long while. My big mouth gleamed, and my dark eyes, caked in makeup, looked like holes in my face. I felt a power rise up in me.