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Hudson: I appreciate the algebra help. My brain cells haven’t had to look at a matrix since high school.

Sloane: Same. It’s a miracle those neural pathways didn’t completely wither away over the last decade.

Hudson: Right? There should be a law that once you hit twenty-eight, high school math is legally scrubbed from your record.

Sloane: Twenty-eight? Please, I’m twenty-six and I’ve already filed a motion to have it expelled.

Sloane: My parents believed forgetting academic material was a moral failure.

Hudson: That sounds relaxing.

Sloane: Extremely. Childhood was one long spa treatment.

Hudson: Did the spa include timed tests?

Sloane: And emotional withholding.

The message looked too honest once it had been sent. I immediately regretted it.

Hudson took nearly a minute to respond.

Hudson: I’m sorry.

There was no joke attached. No attempt to explain my own family to me or make the moment more comfortable.

My stomach twisted.

Sloane: They weren’t terrible. Just very achievement-oriented.

Hudson: Those things can both be true.

My parents weren’t cruel. I had said that to myself for years, usually after describing something that made other people’s expressions change in a way that made me realize my experiences growing up may not have been the standard. There had always been an invisible requirement attached: if they weren’t terrible, then I had no right to be hurt.

Sloane: You’re good at helping with homework.

Hudson: That was a graceful subject change.

Sloane: Thank you. I’ve had much practice.

Hudson: I help my brothers when I can.

Sloane: How many do you have?

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Wouldn’t Loany know all the family members? If Hudson remembered the real Loany, and they’d had any type of interaction over the years, surely she’d know how many brothers Hudson had.

I closed my eyes and prayed to the gods that Loany was truly as distant as everyone had described.

Hudson: Three. Byron, Jason, and Caldwell. Officially Stathem-Blackwells since Julie’s their mom.

I let out a long sigh. Praise be.

Sloane: I’ve identified Byron. He’s the one who treats every conversation as a formal peer review, right?

Hudson: Correct. He’s sixteen and smart as a whip. Some kids call him a nerd, but he cuts to the heart with his dry wit.

I giggled. I could appreciate dry wit at such a young age. In my opinion, being quick-witted was always a sign of higher intelligence.

Sloane: And Caldwell draws?