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pillows. I throw myself onto it, and it does feel like a hotel bed. My mom explores, opening the doors to the armoire where a big television is stored.
    â€œAwesome!” I say.
    â€œTold you this would be fun.”
    â€œI guess,” I say. It’s still confusing, unreal, though I put my questions/complaints/reservations aside for now, remembering the bedroom I just came from. Green carpets, brown wood walls, low ceilings, heat.
    This looks like a room that belongs to me. This one offers me something. Like the living room, nothing matches, yet everything seems to be getting along. I walk up to the window and look at the main house.
    â€œWe should probably go over, let Melanie know we’re here,” my mom says.
    â€œYou can,” I say, not turning around. The house looks like a hotel.
    â€œIt would be nice if you came along. She hasn’t seen you since you were a little kid.”
    â€œIt would be nice,” I say and glance quickly at my mom to show her I’m not moving.
    I know that she wants me to do these things to learn mannersor something, but sometimes it feels like she just wants company, or that I’m a kind of shield for her. She doesn’t have a husband, so I’m the one she brings along, and I’m the excuse she has when she wants to leave.
    â€œLea, they’re doing a big thing here.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “And I didn’t ask them to.”
    â€œPlease have some gratitude,” she says.
    â€œI will when I see them.” I hate when she makes me feel this way. I’m shy and embarrassed, and so I show her anger instead. I start unpacking my suitcase for something to do.
    â€œJust come with me to say hello. I don’t even know if anyone’s here. You can meet Whitney.”
    I don’t answer. I refold my clothes like a maniac, as if this were the most important task in the world. I don’t want to be shoved to their front door like a shy child forced to say “trick or treat.”
    â€œNot now, okay?” I say. “We just got here.”
    â€œI hope you’re not going to have an attitude.”
    I throw the clothes down on the bed. “I don’t have an attitude! I’m just getting adjusted—trying to enjoy myself a little. Explore the surroundings, relax.”
    She shakes her head, disappointed, giving me that wounded look. “I just thought some basic, decent manners wouldn’t hurt.” She takes her exit. And scene.
    Decent manners wouldn’t hurt. But it does hurt. And it hurts me to think that she has to be nice, that they’re doing a “big thing here” and we have to pay them back. How? What will we owe them, exactly? Their part will always look bigger: free house, parking, grounds, water. Flowers in a vase, Flowers in abottle, apples, oranges, bananas, oh my! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
    I just want to stay put. For a second, I had a feeling of excitement to be home, but by going to say thank you, she’s reminded me that we’re just houseguests. None of this is ours.

5
    I OPEN BOXES IN MY NEW ROO M, LOOKING AT MY things as if they’re old friends. The built-in bookshelves are empty, and the first thing I do is arrange my books. I put the kid books I can’t bear to get rid of into the closet—Ping, Eloise, Ferdinand, Beatrix Potters, Roald Dahls—and arrange the others on the shelf—Dickens, Austen, my young adults I get from the library whose titles I can never remember.
T
he Wonderful Awful
.
No Time Like Forever
. I line them up neatly, starting anew.
    I like the comforter that’s on the bed already, so I keep mine in its bag and put it in the pile of things to take downstairs, which is becoming huge. I don’t need my old pillows, hangers, linens, towels. Everything here is better.
    â€œLea?” my mom calls from the living room. She’s playing music. After I discovered Sonos and the home-filling speaker system, we