And with that, she dashes off, leaving me reeling.

RYAN

“I’m so glad you made the time to come home, sweetie. It’s been wonderful having you here for so long.” Mom pours coffee out of the same machine she bought when I was in high school. Having an old-school engineer father means that every product in the house is meticulously maintained, fixed instead of thrown away, on strict maintenance schedules. I’m sure Mom cleaned the coffee machine with a vinegar cycle at some point this month.

And if she didn’t, Dad did.

The four-bedroom house where we grew up is outdated but clean, a well-oiled machine that’s a throwback to the 1970s, when Mom and Dad bought it. As the Bay Area gentrifies and billionaires consider our modest two-story a “teardown,” we call it home.

For now.

I’m in my pajamas, sucking down a second cup of coffee, about to go for a run. My oldest sister, Ellen, bursts through the front door, her arms filled with bags of yarn.

Taryn, her oldest daughter, tags along behind with a little yappie dog on a leash. The dog, Cupcake, is a new addition to Ellen’s growing menagerie of animals.

“Thanks for the help, Ry,” Ellen says dryly as I watch her stagger into the house and dump the yarn on the couch.

“It’s yarn. And I’m the annoying little brother, remember?”

Taryn smirks and gives me a thumbs-up.

“Peacock hair this time?” I ask her. She’s a high school sophomore and what we would have called Emo ten years ago.

A mouth full of metal greets me as she grins. “Close. I was aiming for puke green and got this instead.” Sections of shiny green and blue peek out from her auburn hair.

“Looks good.”

Taryn eyes my forearms. I still can’t get over seeing my sisters’ faces on their kids. It’s disorienting.

“I want a tat like yours.”

“Over my dead body,” Ellen calls out from the kitchen, where she’s chattering with Mom about knitting sweaters for dogs for some charity project.

“If I wait until you’re dead, Mom, tats won’t be cool. And I turn 18 in two and a half years! You can’t tell me no then!”

Taryn reaches for my right arm and follows the design with her fingertip. “Fractals, right?”

I give her an admiring look. “Yes. Most people don’t realize that.”

She shrugs. “You got me coding when I was in third grade. I’m, you know, pretty good at science and math.”

“Nice.”

“Those tats are dank,” she says.

“‘Dank’ is good?”

Taryn gives me an eye roll. “Sometimes you’re like Mom, and sometimes you’re like, you know, cool. Could you pick one, Uncle Ryan? I’d like to know who I’m talking to.”

Cupcake jumps in my lap and starts licking my arm.

“I’ll do better next time,” I say. Then I extend one arm and pretend to touch my nose to my other arm’s inner elbow, a gesture I’ve been told is called “dabbing.”

A long, aggrieved sigh is my answer.

I guess I’m not cool anymore.

“How’s Dad today?” Ellen asks, eyebrows together, as Taryn raids the fridge. When she makes that expression, she looks ten years older. More like Mom.

“The doctors say he’s on the upswing. The stroke took so much out of him, but his memory is really improving,” I tell Ellen.

She and Mom just look at me. Uncomfortable silence fills the air, interrupted by Taryn pouring herself a Coke.

“What?” I finally ask, scowling as I stand and make another cup of coffee.

“I’m just not used to you being here. Being part of Dad’s issues.” Ellen touches my shoulder. “Sorry. It’s nice. It’s… different, but good.”

“I love it,” Mom declares unequivocally. “And if you move back home, you can have your old room.”

Taryn shoots me a sympathetic look. Hey, I’ll take it.

“If I move back, Mom, I’ll have my own place.”

“No one can afford apartments around here, Ryan!” Mom scoffs.

“I have some money. I’ve been saving. And if I get the grant-funded position at Stanford in the electrical engineering lab — ”

Mom’s eyes light up. “When will you know?”

“Any day now.”

“And you’ll start in January? That’s just two months away,” Mom says, excited.

Ellen’s eyes narrow. She looks like Mom, but with brown hair, although a few strands of grey are peeking through, just over her ears. Worry lines cross the corners of her mouth, etched there. That’s new since I last visited.

We’re getting older.

“Dad’s birthday is in January. It would be so nice if you could be here,” Mom adds.

“It would,” Ellen concurs. “So you’re serious? You plan to move back here if you get the grad school spot?”

Taryn snorts. “No pressure, Uncle Ry. You know.”

“Tessa will miss you, of course.” Mom’s words make me frown. “She and Carlos love having you nearby in Boston. Did you know that nice friend of yours helped her yesterday?” Mom’s eyes sparkle. It’s a relief to see her cheer up a bit. But what’s she talking about?

“What friend?”

“Carrie.”

I sit up straight, like someone ran a finger down my spine. “Carrie?” My damn voice cracks in the middle of her name. “Why would she help Tessa?”

“Oh! I didn’t tell you. You were out and then I was at the hospital and when I came home, you were asleep. Carlos got hurt at work. Tessa needed you to babysit, but you’re here. So she called Carrie.” Mom watches me carefully, evaluating my reaction.

Which is considerable beneath my skin. Inside my chest, there’s a big bass drum banging away. Might as well fire off a few cannons and a fireworks display, too. Carrie. I haven’t heard her name in over a week.

That’s not technically true, if you include my own inner voice, which says her name a thousand times an hour. Let’s not count that.

“Is Carlos okay?”

“He will be. Tessa said he fell at work and broke a wrist. Who knew accounting could be so hazardous?” Mom’s eyebrows go up. “Tessa said Carrie was a lifesaver. She really likes her.” Propping her elbow on the kitchen counter, Mom scrutinizes me further. “So?”