If we hadn’t been in the same car when her mom called, I would have thought Olivia was just trying to get away from me. But even hearing half of the conversation, I can tell that she’s doing everything she can to avoid whatever it is her mother wants. Until finally, with a grunt, she tells her she’ll be home in ten minutes. And I shouldn’t feel as disappointed as I do—because I’ve already spent most of the day with her—but I can’t help but be disappointed that the day is ending sooner than planned.

Olivia sighs as she puts her phone back in the cup holder between us. “I have to go home, my mom is apparently losing her mind,” she says. “She took a bunch of stuff off of the walls but now there are holes everywhere.” She sighs. “How am I supposed to fix that?”

“Your mom is living with you? I thought you lived with your aunt.”

She tells me it’s just temporary, and from the annoyance in her voice, it doesn’t sound like it’s temporary enough.

“You want me to help? We can fix it in five minutes, I swear.”

“You don’t have to do that, Aiden.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

Olivia smiles. “Awesome, because home projects with my mom was not how I wanted to spend tonight.”

She smiles and so do I, and ten minutes later we’re pulling into the driveway of a blue house with light gray shutters and an overgrown yard. “They’re going to stick one of those shame signs in your yard, you know.”

Olivia looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “Shame signs?”

“The signs saying you have five days to cut your grass or the city will do it for you.”

“Good to know,” Olivia mutters. “I’m supposed to be mowing it, and Aunt Sarah would murder me if we had a shame sign in our yard.” She rolls her eyes and groans. “But one problem at a time.” She pushes her door open and looks back at me as she twists out. “Come meet my mom.”

Olivia’s mom is basically just an older-looking version of Olivia. Or she’s a younger version of her mom, I guess. It sort of makes me wonder about all of that nature versus nurture stuff we’ve talked about in psychology class, because even though Olivia makes it sound like she hasn’t seen much of her mom, they even walk the same. And they both tip their heads to the side and sigh when they get frustrated.

Now that we’ve made it past the awkward introductions (where Joanie assumed I was Zander and Olivia looked like she was going to throw herself out a window) we’re all standing around the kitchen island, squeezing toothpaste into little cups.

“You’re sure this is going to work?” Olivia asks.