Michel tells Dad he should go lie down for a bit, and Dad gives me another hug. “I can’t believe it’s over. I didn’t think…” He shakes his head and murmurs something about a miracle before he trudges off to his bedroom.

Michel’s going to pick up the takeout. He asks me to go with him, but I say I’d rather be alone for a few minutes.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” His brown eyes are full of warmth and understanding.

I nod. “Are you not…worried?”

“Worried about what?”

“I don’t know…That Mom and Dad might get back together?” I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m really not.

Michel smiles. “What are you trying to do? Make me paranoid? I’m not worried at all. Why? You think I should be?”

“I don’t know! Dad’s acting all weird.”

“Of course he’s acting weird! It’s been a pretty weird sort of day, don’t you think?”

“Did they tell her that they’re not together? Does she know about you?” I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask earlier.

Michel picks up his leather jacket—I think it must be older than I am. “She knows. Your mom wanted to wait for a few days before telling her, but John insisted.”

“And?”

“And…nothing! She was totally fine with it. So you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it!” He moves to ruffle my hair, which he only ever does to annoy me.

I try to put myself in her shoes. Coming back to your family after all that time. You’d want things to be the same as when you left, wouldn’t you? But a lot can change in thirteen years. Your mother can wither away to nothingness, and your dad can get together with a lovely Frenchman, and your little sister can stop building sand castles and start building a wall around herself instead.

—

I go to my room as soon as Michel leaves, closing the door so Dad can’t hear. I call Thomas first. He’s annoyed that I’ve hardly been in touch all day, so I tell him immediately.

“Are you serious? This is a joke, isn’t it?” He’s never really understood my sense of humor. The fact that he thinks there’s even the remotest possibility that I would joke about something like this is baffling to me.

I say nothing.

“Oh shit. You are serious. Oh my god. What happened? Where has she…? Is she…?”

I tell him everything I know, finding it vaguely reassuring that he asks a lot of the same questions as I did. It makes me feel like less of a freak. And when he asks how I’m feeling about it all, I feel a surge of love for him.

Now I know I did the right thing, having sex with him last night. Because I hadn’t been sure about it at all. I was scared. I’d never have admitted that to him or to Martha. Luckily, losing my virginity turned out to be very unscary. It was mostly sweet and awkward and a little bit hilarious (for me, anyway) when Thomas got a cramp in his leg. I don’t know why people make such a big deal about it.

Thomas is a good listener. He never interrupts and hardly ever disagrees. He is, to all intents and purposes, a good boyfriend. Even if I will never understand any of his poems. And he writes a lot of poems.

I tell Thomas that I might not be able to see him after school for the next few days. I have no idea how things are going to go with Laurel. Is she just going to come home and move into her room right away? Because she does have a room in our house—Mom insisted when we moved. At least she didn’t insist on decorating it like Laurel’s old room—all pink and sparkly. It just looks like a nice guest room, with a few of Laurel’s possessions dotted around. Mom felt so guilty about moving. She hated the idea that everything wouldn’t be exactly the same when Laurel came home. (It was always “when,” never “if.”) The only reason she eventually agreed to the move was to release more money for the fund to find Laurel.

Thomas tells me to take as much time as I need and says that I should call him any time I need to talk. He tells me he loves me, and I tell him I love him too, and I hang up, feeling sane for the first time in hours.

Martha says, “I can’t believe it.” Over and over again. I give her a quick rundown of everything I know, which isn’t all that much now that I think about it, and she says “I can’t believe it” a few more times. She asks when I’m going to meet Laurel, and it makes me realize that I won’t be meeting her, because you can only meet a total stranger, can’t you? But meeting feels like exactly the right word in this case.

I hang up after promising to call Martha tomorrow. She didn’t ask how I’m feeling. Why would she? Laurel’s abduction has dominated (and ruined) my whole life, and now she’s back. Problem solved.

—

We eat our takeout (sushi) and Dad doesn’t stop talking about Laurel. We have coffee and I eat six macarons and Dad doesn’t stop talking about Laurel. We try to watch a movie, but Dad keeps mentioning Laurel, so we give up after half an hour. He apologizes, but that doesn’t stop him from talking about Laurel. He spends the rest of the night phoning family and friends—presumably the ones Mom hasn’t already called—to tell them the good news, and to swear them to secrecy about it. Not one of them asks about me.

I say I’m going to get an early night, and Dad nods enthusiastically. “Good idea, love. Big day tomorrow.” He hugs me and says he can’t wait to see “my two girls together, side by side.” Michel hugs me and tells me he loves me. I wonder when he’ll get to meet Laurel—there’s been no mention of him coming with us tomorrow.

When I go to close the blinds in my bedroom I realize that I can see where she’s staying. The neon blue H of Hilton peeks out from behind a high-rise office building. Laurel is in there somewhere, with my mother. Our mother.