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“Who’s Olive Garden Boy?” Mom asked.

“Her boyfriend.”

“Does he work at Olive Garden?” Mom asked.

I turned my phone. “That’s my mom.”

“Hi, Wren’s mom,” Asher said.

She set the basket of veggies on the counter and walked closer. “Well, aren’t you a cutie. You should’ve come to visit me.”

“There’s no room here for another person,” I said.

“I have friends,” Mom said. “We could’ve put him with the chicken guy.”

I turned the phone back to me. “You hear that? You could’ve stayed in a chicken coop.”

Asher shrugged. “I’d be fine sleeping in a chicken coop.”

My mom laughed. “Notwiththe chickens. With the guy who keeps the chickens.”

“Run,” I whispered to Asher. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He smiled. “Bye.”

We hung up and I went to the kitchen to help wash veggies.

“He seems nice,” Mom said. “But you’re too young to have a boyfriend. You have a life to live.”

I did not take parental advice from someone who hadn’t been my parent in a long time. “I’m living it,” I said.

“Mom,” Zoey said, probably worried that if we continued down this path, I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue, “are you going to come down for my graduation in May?”

“May? That’s ten months away.”

Zoey freed a knife from the block on the counter. “I know, I’m giving you plenty of notice. And do you remember Lisa? You used to work with her? She loves you. She’s offering an internship at the hospital over spring break. You think you could call her and put in a good word for me?”

Our mom’s face seemed to darken a shade as if the thought of actual responsibilities was too much for her to handle. My sister, cutting up a squash, was oblivious to the change in her demeanor. “You should comeherefor spring break. You have the rest of your life to work,” Mom said

“It should be fun, Mom,” Zoey said. “And it will be good for me to get to know some people there.”

“So fun,” our mom said with a loud laugh. What she didn’t say was that she’d call or come down for graduation. My sister justsmiled, not seeming to notice the omission as she added the squash to a frying pan.

Mom caught my eye and I raised my brows at her. She looked away and started telling a story about selling one of her rocks to Taylor Swift.

Rule:Always trust your first instincts.

I held up one hand against a light shining in my eyes. “What’s happening?” I whispered, groggy from sleep. I wasn’t sure what had woken me—a noise, the light, a sense of impending doom.

My sister was still asleep in the other bed, only feet from mine.

“Nothing, sweetie. Go back to sleep.” Mom collected something off the table behind me and then headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I left a note. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” My sleep-addled brain couldn’t process that for a moment and by the time I did she was already out the front door. I threw the blanket off my legs, jumped up, and chased after her. She was already at her car. Crickets chirped, and there was a buzzing from an electric wire overhead.