Being back with Dad’s version of Mom made me realize how different she was around him. At first I mistook the difference as a kind of tightness, as though she was uncomfortable—but then I realized it was her posture. With Dad, she sat with both legs straight, her knees forward, reserved and less relaxed, but in Boulder, she’d crossed one leg over the other as she smoked, looking almost like she was posing for an old film poster. Dad’s limited version of Mom was odd, and I missed the Mom I knew—the one who’d gotten drunk in Rome and danced her way up the Spanish Steps. At night, when everyone was busy with their contacts, I’d go for walks along the frosted streets with my own version of Mom. We’d walk the subdivision as Mom smoked her evening cigarette, and I’d listen to more of her stories. Then I’d log her out before coming back inside to the other Mom who was sitting in the living room, watching TV, suggesting we make cookies.

We stayed on for New Year’s, cooked lobsters, and after dinner everyone hung out in the living room, entertained by their private holograms as we waited for the ball to drop. Theo played the Crossbows game with the kids; Nin was in her old bedroom, talking to her new boyfriend’s projection; and Dad sat next to Mom on the couch. They laughed and held hands in their limited way.

“I think I’ll go downstairs to look at Mom’s journals,” I told Theo.

“Sounds good,” he said, half-listening. He let an invisible cannonball fly and the kids cheered.

When I opened the trunk, Nin’s mess greeted me like a slap. Mom’s journals were scattered everywhere, clearly dumped in, the printed-out emails crumpled by their weight. I sighed. Nin and I might be growing closer, but she was still as immature as ever. I picked up a couple of the letters, flattened them with my hand, and stacked them by the side of the trunk. Then I picked up one of the journals and opened it.

Horrible mood. Kids plain awful. Nin threw a tantrum, wanted some cereal she’d seen on TV. Leah acting lofty and condescending at the supermarket. “No, put it back,” she said. As though she’s the mother. I ended up yelling at them.