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out in a crowd at the mall instead of in a restaurant kitchen, but I’m not like them, and I can’t help it. Why does Mom expect me to be just like them and everyone else? Why isn’t it enough that I’m me?
    â€œIf you’d like, you can add crushed pecans to the mix, but be sure to find all the bits and pieces of shell. Make sure your oven is heated to three-fifty, and divide your batter into two greased loaf pans. Set your timer for an hour, slide your loaf pans into the oven, and—voilà—you’ve got time for a quick cup of tea.”
    I’m just picking up the last of the banana peels from the counter and waiting for my water to boil when someone rings the bell downstairs.
    Mom forgot her key. Sighing, I go to the security panel and press the button.
    â€œForget something?” I call into the intercom.
    â€œIt’s me,” says a familiar voice.
    My jaw drops. I stand and listen to the buzzing in my ears.
    â€œLaine?” His voice is tinny through the speaker.
    â€œUh, yeah, Sim.” I push the button to unlock the lobby door. “Come on up.”
    Sim knocks again when he gets to the top of the stairs, and I open the door. He’s standing there holding two cardboard cups from Soy to the World in a cardboard container. He holds one out to me.
    â€œChai?”
    â€œUm, thanks.” I wipe my hands on my jeans again and accept a cup awkwardly. Sim stands in the doorway waiting, his long black coat and boots spattered lightly with rain.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    Is this like vampires, when you have to invite them into the house?
    I swallow and move back. “Sure.”
    The kettle starts screaming, and I’m startled into the moment. I hurry into the kitchen and jerk it off the burner, nerves jangling. I fiddle with a sponge, turning it over in my hands, trying to get my brain organized, as he walks into my space and just waits.
    â€œSo, what—”
    â€œWhat are you making?” Sim’s sentence collides with mine, and I pause until he motions me to speak.
    â€œUm…tea. Well, I was. And banana bread.”
    Sim bends and peers into the oven, shrugs out of his coat, and drops into a chair at the table. “Smells good.”
    I cradle my chai. “Yeah. Thanks for this, by the way.”
    â€œI thought I should bring something if I was just barging in.”
    â€œYeah. Well, thanks.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, my stomach tight. The silence grows. In the past, I was comfortable with Sim in my house. Now it’s been so long since he’s been here that he seems awkward, misplaced, like something not meant for this room.
    Simeon sips his tea and looks around, while I sip too big a gulp and scald my tongue. Eyes watering, I put down my cup and peer into the oven, just to be doing something. The top of the bread is golden, and I open the oven slightly, frowning. That was fast. I shrug and pull the pan out all the way.
    â€œMan, that looks good.”
    I find a bamboo skewer and do the toothpick test. The bread seems pretty done, but…I gently press the top, then lean forward and inhale. It smells amazing.
    â€œIs it done?”
    â€œMmm…I guess.”
    Simeon comes around the table to the counter. “So, are you cutting it, or is this for something special?”
    â€œIt’s got to cool for twenty minutes.”
    â€œAnd then we’re cutting it?”
    I give Sim a look. “We?”
    â€œOh, c’mon.” He regards me over the top of his chai cup. “You know I’m your best taste tester.”
    â€œIs that why you’re here?”
    Sim sets down his cup and crosses his arms, leaning against the table. “You know it. And to see what’s up with you.”
    â€œWhat’s up with me?” My voice rises. “What do you mean,
me?
What’s up with
you?
”
    Sim’s eyebrows rise. “Whoa. I just meant, I wanted to see