of scalp shining up through her center part. Jemima was such a big personality that sometimes Kate forgot how small she was. Kate squatted down to be on her level.
“Hey, Jemima. Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.” Jemima wasn’t listening. She had picked out a copy of The Giver and was busy riffling through the book’s pages in a pantomime of a librarian looking for the borrowing card.
“Does it bother you,” Kate asked, “that I come over here so often? Besides work. Like when I come over for dinner, or to hang out with your dad.” Even though she and Theo were still keeping their distance around the children, Jemima was smart; she would know something had changed, even if she didn’t understand what.
“No,” Jemima said, wiggling away to pick up her notepad. “You’re my friend. I have lots of friends. For sample, Devon. Isabella. Cohen. Madeline. Other Madeline. Leaper.”
“Leaper?”
“He likes robots,” Jemima said, as if that explained his name.
“Well, I’m happy to be your friend, too,” Kate said. The squatting was making her thighs burn. Life with the kids had made her aware of vertical space in a whole new way: she was always sitting or kneeling or lying down, letting them crawl all over her.
Jemima wrote “THE GIVER” in large, awkward letters on her notepad, then scribbled on another piece of paper, put it inside the book, and handed the book to Kate. “Here. The man on the cover will make you look smart.”
There was a lot there to unpack. “Cool, thanks,” Kate said, taking it.
Jemima gave her a big smile. “Oscar stinks,” she said. “I can’t wait to have a sister.”
Kate coughed. “A—what?”
“When Daddy adopts you. We’ll be sisters.”
“Oh, Jemima…”
As Kate was trying to figure out what to say to this, Theo appeared in the doorway. His shirt was splattered with water, and he had the frazzled expression that came with wrangling a small unwilling being into a soapy tub.
“Bath time,” he said to Jemima.
“Librarians don’t need baths,” she repeated.
“Librarians who want to go out for ice cream do,” Theo said.
Jemima’s expression changed. “Really?”
“Really. But only if you finish your bath in time.”
Jemima hightailed it out of the kitchen.
“Sometimes I feel like being a parent is just running one elaborate con after another,” Theo said. “You got a library book, I guess?”
“I did. And she told me about her friends back at school. Is there really someone named Leaper?”
“Yeah. Like a reindeer.” But Theo looked at her curiously. “She said he was her friend?”
“Yeah. And Isabella and Cohen. What is it? You look worried.”
He reached up to scratch the back of his head. “I don’t know. Leaper and Isabella are the names of two kids who were bullying her last year. I had, like, four mediations with their parents. I don’t know why she’s saying they’re her friends.”
Kate was surprised. Not that Jemima had lied—Jemima liked to lie, although she usually confessed right after, all in a rush, like she had suddenly downed a vial of truth serum—but that there was this whole backstory she hadn’t known about. She and the Brands had become so entwined with each other the past few months that she sometimes forgot they had this entire life a couple hours south, full of PTA dramas and kids’ karate classes and long work hours for Theo and an entire house Kate had never even seen.
Looking at the mess of books on the table, Theo grinned. “Just like the dining room.”
“What—?”
But Theo was already out the door, heading back upstairs to help Jemima with the bath. When Kate looked at the table, she realized that Theo was right: Jemima hadn’t been copying any imaginary librarian. She had been imitating Kate going through the papers.
Kate opened the book and found the slip of paper Jemima had stuck in the middle. DUE AUGSUT 28. The date sent a jitter through her. August 28 was just over three weeks away. She didn’t know when the kids’ school started again, or when the Brands were planning to head back to Portola Valley.
When she had arrived in California, three months had seemed like such a long time. Now the summer was almost over, and she didn’t know what she was doing next. She hadn’t even started looking for jobs.
In the living room, the television flicked on, followed by the dulcet sounds of Oscar’s favorite cartoon theme song, a ditty that always made Kate feel like her brain was dripping into her spinal column. Kate put back the date slip, tucked