Josh was uncertain about the specifics of his imagined crush, and the lie faltered.

“Is he cute?” Diane did not blush about her boy getting old enough to date, although she would allow herself to blush later, when she was alone.

“Yeah,” Josh said, before his mind had caught up. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to ask to meet this nonexistent Ty or, worse, for her to ask DeVon about his cute cousin.

“When do I get to meet him?”

“Mom!”

“Sorry. Sorry.” And the conversation ended. They could both feel it, even though they continued to talk to each other. The connection, whatever had surfaced in the last few minutes, had sunk out of sight again.

“I’m not that interested anyway. DeVon’s a good friend. It’d be weird to go with his cousin.”

“Josh.” She did not cry, although she would allow herself to cry later. “I’m so proud to have such a smart, considerate boy.”

“Are you about to cry?”

“Nope.” Diane stood up and walked toward the kitchen. She was already back to thinking about Evan, and where she could possibly look next for information on him. She was tired and suppressing a nascent panic. She needed time alone, time to think.

“I need coffee, and you need to get to school” was how she explained that out loud.

Diane drank her coffee from a chipped Night Vale Community Radio mug she had gotten a couple of years back during a fund drive. She didn’t choose to donate to the station. But she had expressed her enjoyment of Cecil’s show to a friend of hers. Her comments were picked up by one of the thousands of listening devices the station had hidden around town. Using a complex algorithm that measures age, net worth, and perceived enthusiasm for the station’s programming, Station Management took a donation straight from Diane’s bank account without her having to write a check or send off an envelope or even know the money was gone. It was a convenient approach to fund-raising for everyone involved. One day she received the mug and a shirt that had that famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote on it (“One day we will destroy the moon with indifference!”), and that’s how she knew she was an NVCR supporter.

“Can I take the car today?” Josh asked, trying to cash in on the goodwill he’d built this morning.

“You cannot.”

“Mom.”

“I said no.”

“You just said I’m smart and considerate.”

“Right. I didn’t say you’re a good and responsible driver.”

“But you want me to get better, right?”

“Is that what you do, Josh? I try to have conversations with you. I try to talk to you, and we have a morning of real progress. A real breakthrough where you’re kind and articulate and charming, and what’s the endgame? Just to borrow my car?”