We park in the driveway of my parents' Newport Beach house. Miles grabs our suitcases from the trunk. I try to help but he pulls the suitcases out of reach. Okay. I guess my mom will appreciate him acting like a gentleman.

The oak door is locked. I knock instead of fishing for my keys. Mom will also appreciate the chance to make an entrance.

Nerves rise up in my stomach. The last time I was here, I felt like I was suffocating. Everything was off and wrong, and Rosie's absence was haunting me.

Miles sets the suitcases on the concrete.

Then his arm is around my waist and I'm sure it's going to be okay.

Mom answers the door. "Honey, I missed you." She takes a long look at Miles and nods a hello. "I'm Susan Smart."

"Miles Webb. Nice to finally meet you." He shakes her hand. "I can see where Meg gets her looks."

Mom blushes. "Thank you. Come in." She pushes the door open. "How was the drive?"

"Good. Not too much traffic." I step inside and scan the living room. It's as gorgeous and pristine as I remember. But something is missing. There used to be trophies on the mantle—Rosie's volleyball trophies. They're gone. One more piece of her is gone.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A snack, maybe?"

I bite my tongue. "How about we put away our bags first?"

She nods and leads us up the stairs. There used to be half a dozen framed pictures on this wall—family photos, the cheesy ones sent as Christmas cards—but they're all gone.

Mom smiles. "Did you kids want to stay in Meg's room or would you like to stay in the spare room, Miles?"

My jaw drops. We don't have a spare room. We have Rosie's room.

I know we have to move on eventually. I know people grieve in different ways. And maybe it hurts Mom too much to have Rosie's stuff here…

But how can she call that the spare room?

How can she take down all those pictures and hide all those trophies?

Miles steps in. It's like he can tell I'm about to snap.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Smart." Miles looks to me. "What do you think, honey? Want me to stay with you?"

I nod.

He turns to Mom. "You sure it's all right?"

She nods. "Yes, it's good for you, sleeping next to someone you love. The touch produces oxytocin. That's the love hormone. It's what makes you feel all warm and fuzzy." She offers a half-smile. "Dopamine too."

"I know dopamine. The pleasure hormone." Miles offers her a very full smile.

"Yes." Mom turns to me. "I'm glad you found someone smart."

"He did go to Stanford, the show-off." I try my best I'm having such effortless fun joking about my boyfriend smile. It's horrible.

He places our suitcases in my room then slides his arm around me. He leans in to whisper, "Should I tell her I have a motorcycle?"

I laugh. I'm tempted to tell her myself. I have no idea how Mom will act towards the bad-boy version of Miles. Ever since Rosie died, she's been unpredictable.

Mom leads us downstairs. "How did you two meet? Meg doesn't talk about guys very often."

"She's studious." Miles plays with my hair. "She's quite the nerd, really."

Mom smiles. "She went as Princess Leia for Halloween five years in a row."

"This year too," he says. "I'm a friend of Kara's. Well, a friend of a friend."

She nods. "What do you do, Miles? Meg didn't mention it."

"I work in the entertainment industry." He winks at me. "Not that interesting."

"Do you need any help with dinner?" I ask.

"No, it's all prepared except the turkey, and that's in the oven." She motions to the table, directing us to sit. "Coffee or tea, you two?"

"Green tea." Miles smiles. "If it's not too much trouble."

I'm not sure if he's teasing me or taking care of me. Both maybe. Whatever it is, I like it.

I lean in to whisper, "Thank you. This is already less awful."

"You want me to tell her about Sinful Serenade?"

"Up to you."

"Most parents don't react well to the knowledge their daughter is having a torrid love affair with a rock star."

"Because you've met so many girls' parents?"

"Seen it happen."

"To who?"

He shrugs.

Mom steps into the room. She sets out a teapot and three mugs. "I haven't used this thing in forever." She looks at Miles. "Meg is very busy. Can't get home much."

"I'm sure that's partly my fault." He smiles wide, charm turned to a thousand.

"You look familiar, Miles. Are you from around here?"

"I lived in Irvine for a while. But that's probably not it. I'm in this band. Sinful Serenade. We have this song that plays a hundred times a day on KROQ."

Mom smiles. "I haven't listened to KROQ since high school."

"It's about the same. Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Nirvana around the clock."

Mom blushes, totally charmed. "You're sweet, but those bands came long after I finished high school."

"I can't believe that."

She turns to us, friendly but maternal, too. "Do you do well?"

He nods. "Well enough." Under the table, he slides his hand over my thigh. "I write songs on the side. It's go big or go home, but I've had a few hits."

Mom's eyes light up. "Really?"

Miles names a few songs that put the popular in pop. Mom's demeanor changes. It's not that she's horribly superficial. Just, around here, money talks. It takes a lot to impress a family of doctors. Apparently, "millionaire songwriter with gorgeous blue eyes" is enough to do it.

I zone out as Mom grills Miles. He's perfect and charming—the picture of a sweet, supportive boyfriend. He leans his head against my shoulder and praises my wit, my beauty, my excellent work ethic. He speculates wildly about some future we'll never see—where he tours based on my school schedule and settles down in the city where I do my residency.

For a guy who doesn't do boyfriend, he sure is good at playing one.

* * *

We have a late dinner. The table in the dining room is covered with the good linens, the good china, the good silverware. It's the kind of meal royalty eats.

Dad sits next to Mom, scooping potatoes absentmindedly. He's not really all here, doesn't seem to have much to say. He hasn't had much to say since Rosie died, and he's on the same "let's just never discuss it again" wavelength as my mom.

He pays careful attention to Miles, but there's no sign that Dad objects to my so-called boyfriend. Dad isn't even bothered by the tattoos that peek out from Miles's t-shirt.

This is what I wanted, the attention on Miles instead of me. But it feels wrong for them to so easily accept him. Shouldn't they be prying about his intentions? Shouldn't they be worried about their little girl?

Miles is too charming, too good at convincing them he adores me.

Mom clears her throat. "You know, I'm so thankful to have my daughter and her friend here. And she's healthy, and she's going to medical school next year." She holds up her glass of wine like she's toasting me. "You're going to do great anywhere."

"Thank you." I hold my water to my chest, avoiding anything close to a toast. "It'll be nice to finally get out of southern California. Spread my wings and see the world." And get away from this house and the way it tears open a hole in my gut.

"If that's what you want." Mom sips her wine slowly. She sets the glass down, folds her hands, and looks directly at me. "Megara, honey, what are you thankful for?"

I bite my lip, fighting my temptation to call out the bullshit. This is supposed to be a nice family dinner. I'm not going to ruin it by pointing out how much we're pretending that Rosie isn't here.

"For honesty," I say.

Mom frowns, not sure what to make of that. "It is important." She pats Dad's hand. "Especially in a relationship."

The mood shifts and her desperate attempt to pretend like my sister never existed disappears. Her expression is misery. The memory must be hitting her like a ton of bricks.

I know that feeling. It's a horrible feeling. Half of me wants to rush to comfort her. But the other half can't forgive her for erasing Rosie from the house.

I know it isn't fair. She's coping the only way she knows how.

But it's still wrong that there's no sign Rosie ever existed.

Mom shakes her head and that hurt is gone. Back to an everything is okay smile. "I miss Rosie, too. I wish she was here. But she's not. She's gone, and keeping her stuff around isn't going to bring her back."

I offer my best smile. This conversation won't go anywhere unless we're honest, and I can tell she's not ready to admit how much it hurts. I'm not sure I'm ready either.

Miles cuts in. "I'm thankful for your hospitality." He smiles, all charm.

"My pleasure," Mom says. She turns to me. "You've really found a nice young man."

I make eye contact with Miles. "He's the perfect boyfriend."

He raises an eyebrow.

"He bought me an N64," I say. "You remember how Rosie and I used to play with ours? The one cousin Jimmy gave us. For a while, she loved racing games."

Mom frowns. "Yes, I remember. I remember a lot about your sister. More than I want to remember." A tear forms in her eye.

I pull together some kind of an apology, some way to connect over how much this hurts.

Nothing comes together. I have no idea what I should say here.

Mom pushes out from the table. "Excuse me, Megara, Miles. I'm developing a headache. I'm going to lie down."

Dad looks at her with concern. She waves like it's fine and makes her way up the stairs. Her steps are calm and even, but I'm pretty sure her hands are shaking.

* * *

Miles makes effortless conversation with my father, never missing a beat. It's sports, movies, requests for embarrassing stories about me. After dinner, they take to the TV. Dad flips around channels, eventually settling on a rerun of some kind.

I creep upstairs. If my mom really wants to talk about Rosie, I want to be there with her.

The door to her room is open a sliver. She's sitting on the bed, in the dark, her hands wrapped around a silver frame.

That frame used to be on the wall. One of the family pictures. An old one, when we were kids, before everything went wrong.

There are tears running down her cheeks. They're silent, like she doesn't want anyone to know it hurts.

I grab onto the doorknob, but I can't bring myself to push the door open.

What would I say?

I don't have the answers. I don't have a clue how to handle this.

My grip on the knob releases. Better to go to my room, alone. Better to cry, alone, where I won't hurt anyone else.

A few hours pass. I pull my comforter over my head and read one of my Star Wars books. The words don't make an impact. Everything about this house is suffocating.

My dad goes to sleep. The lights go out. Miles joins me on the bed and wraps his arms around me. He goes right for the gold. His hands slide under my cardigan, tracing the outline of my bra.

"We can get this off now," he says.

The heat rushing through my body is the first pleasant thing I've felt all day, but my parents are three doors down. "Not here."

His lips skim my neck. "You're right." He sinks his teeth into my skin. "No way you can stay quiet."

"I can. But you like it when I'm loud."

"Fuck yes." He runs his fingers over my inner thighs. "There's someplace I want to take you."

"Yeah?"

"You'll like it." He pulls me off the bed. "Of course, you'll be coming so hard you'll barely be aware of your surroundings."

I like it already.