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8:12 p.m.

How long can hallucinations last?

Like, is it possible that I really did imagine Alano on the Hollywood Sign and that hallucination has now stretched out so

long that I’m seeing his parents inside my house? About to have dinner? I also used to think hallucinations only tricked your

eyes and ears, but when I was researching them as side effects of BPD, I discovered they can be tactile too.

How do I know if something is real if I can see it, hear it, feel it?

Is Alano’s mom real? Naya definitely has this elegant beauty that’s hard to believe in person, with her warm eyes, long lashes

like Alano’s, tanned skin, and a streak of silver in her wavy pitch-black hair. I can see her.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, .”

I can hear her. She clasps my hand between both of hers. I can feel her. None of this makes her real.

I watch as Naya embraces Mom like they go way back or something.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Ms. Medina,” she says.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, but I will kick you out if you don’t call me Gloria.”

Naya laughs. “Noted, Gloria. I hope our son hasn’t been any trouble.”

“He’s been an absolute doll. Very bright, very well-mannered. You raised him well.”

“As have you. Alano speaks so highly of .”

I can’t possibly be imagining all of this, can I? It’s gotta be real, but is Naya actually telling Mom that she raised me

right when I killed my dad and almost punched her son? That doesn’t make sense.

Then Alano’s familiar hand finds my shoulder, turning me toward him—and toward his dad. “, this is my father, Joaquin,”

he says as if the man who launched Death-Cast and ruined my life in a single day needs an introduction.

Joaquin Rosa looks like if fifty-year-old Alano time-traveled back from the future. Dark brown hair that’s peppered with grays,

thick brows and beard, bow-shaped lips, a few inches of height on me, and a strong build in his burgundy suit, but Joaquin

doesn’t have a full forest in his eyes like Alano, only the dark brown of trees. As he shakes my hand, I’m pretty damn certain

that Joaquin isn’t some time-traveling Alano because I hate his touch.

“Great to finally meet you, Mr. Dario,” Joaquin says.

“Just call me ,” I say, sharper than expected.

His smile is nothing like Alano’s. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. “I will do just that, ,” he says before pardoning himself.

“Are you okay?” Alano asks.

I don’t answer. I just follow the Death-Cast creator as he crosses my living room to the kitchen as if he might be a threat to my family.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Rolando says, extending his hand out to Joaquin. “I didn’t know Death-Cast was making house calls

now.”

Joaquin shakes his hand. “No, no, no. We all know it was hard enough for you to hang up as a herald, Rolando. A house call

would have only gotten you roped into dinner and a movie with your Decker.” There’s this tense silence before they both bust

out laughing, and I don’t know Joaquin like that, but that’s definitely Rolando’s fake laugh. “Thank you for hosting us. I

am looking forward to catching up now that fate has reunited us.” He turns to Mom. “And to finally meet you, Ms. Dario.”

“Medina,” Mom and I say together, but I come in hot again. She gestures for me to let her speak for herself; I just hate when

she gets tagged with Dad’s name. “I prefer Gloria than all these formalities anyhow.”

“My sincerest apologies, Gloria,” he says, and it legit sounds sincere.

Mom waves him off as she takes a pizza out of the freezer. “ My sincerest apologies for not having more food prepared or a bigger dining table. It’s usually just the three of us, but we’ll

get comfortable in the living room. Boys, go grab the chairs from outside.”

This is the first time I’ve seen Mom embarrassed about our living situation, and who wouldn’t be when you gotta put frozen pizzas in the oven for supermillionaire guests or bring in lawn chairs for more seating?

“Slow down,” Alano says outside, blocking me from bringing the chair in. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah—no. I’m just thrown off.”

“I am too. I can discreetly ask them to leave.”

“No, it’s fine.”

The truth is that if I’m ever gonna be Alano’s boyfriend, I gotta get used to his dad.

Alano and I return inside to find Naya apologizing for any stress she’s causing Mom, which Mom denies, of course, because

not only is she a people-pleaser, she’s a planner, and there’s no way in hell she planned a dinner for the whole Death-Cast

family.

“Do your guards need to inspect the house? Or the food?” Mom asks.

“If Agent Madden’s sweep is good enough for Alano, it’s good enough for us,” Naya says.

Rolando starts preparing the plates. “Alano also helped cook dinner, so blame him too if you get food poisoning, or lethal

poisoning.”

Mom pats his back. “Maybe we save the poison jokes until they know us better.”

Alano and I carry the dining table and chairs into the living room, inviting his parents to make themselves at home before bringing them our home-cooked dinner on mixed plates since we don’t have a matching dining set. This meal is really exciting for my family, but I bet Alano’s parents are dreaming about the five-course meal their chef must’ve been preparing back in their mansion. Mom and Rolando settle onto the couch as Alano and I sit on the lawn chairs with our food in our laps.

If Alano and I were boyfriends, this would be one hell of a triple date.

Maybe one day, if we survive this unexpected dinner.