I think of the coffee this morning and all the coffee that has come before it. But I disagree on the “excessive” part. I’m not marking that one.

1. __ notice and bothered by noises other people do not seem bothered by: clocks, refrigerators, fans, people talking, outdoor construction, etc.
2. __ sensitive to loud sounds or commotion

I think of the blender, horns honking, the airplane engine, the cymbals in music class, the creaky swings.

1. __ cannot attend certain public events or places due to excessive noise
2. __ avoid crowds and plan errands at times when there will be fewer people
3. __ hide or disappear when guests come over

This is every single public performance. Every time I had to get up in front of people and sing. Every karaoke stage. Every farmer’s market. Every street corner. I drop the pencil and start to cry.

I want my mom.

I’m trying to find a tissue on Andrea’s desk so I can blow my nose. It’s an avalanche of papers and Post-its, and there’s even a half-knitted scarf. Then I spot them next to a framed picture of a dog in reindeer antlers. I bump into her keyboard when I reach for one. The computer springs to life with a burst of sunflower background. The screen is cluttered with icons. But it’s not asking for a password. I take a breath. And then another. Because I have an idea.

It takes one Google search to find Bagels and Joe in Tahoe City. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this the minute Ginger handed me the phone this morning. I dig it out of my pocket and dial with one hand while blowing my nose with the other.

It rings.

And rings.

I’m about to hang up when there’s a click and a man’s voice.

“Bagels and Joe. Joe here.”

I hear the clink of cups and hiss of the steamer from the espresso machine in the background. I close my eyes and see it. The warped wood floors and coffee beans shelved as neatly as library books.

“Hi, Joe,” I say after a minute.

He lets out a little whoosh of air. It’s a staticky wind down the line. “Lou. Oh man. You okay?”

The sound of him makes me happy and sad at the same time. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

“Where are you? The lady from the child services didn’t say.”

“Maria? She came by?”

“Yeah, and the police.”

I swallow hard.

“What’d they want?”

“They just wanted to know what I thought about your mom. Asked me if they thought she was looking out for you. Asked me how you seemed.”

“What’d you say?”

He pauses so long I check the phone to see if we’ve been disconnected.

“I said I thought she was probably doing the best she could. And that you seemed okay. Maybe a little lonely.”