I’ve always been an indecisive person. As a kid, I rarely wrote a letter to Santa that didn’t leave me in tears. I never knew what to ask for. What if I chose wrong and he punished me by bringing nothing?

My mom understood I couldn’t choose. At fourteen, when I wanted to paint my room and was stuck between colors—for six months—she stepped in and chose for me. At sixteen, when I wanted a new haircut, Mom took me to the salon and told the lady to give me a trim. She knew I’d regret whatever big change I made.

The only decisive move I’ve ever made was to travel to Tennessee to kill Howler. Now I’ve lost my gun and possibly my courage. I’m hungover and stuck in the hot attic of a loud house full of yelling people. My mind is no longer on revenge, instead focused on the too handsome Chipper taking me to meet my half brother tonight.

What can I wear? I look over the clothes I own and find nothing appropriate. Except what does one wear to a dinner with strangers? I only own T-shirts. Is that too casual? Most of my shirts have stains on them too. I worked in daycare since I was a teen, and little kids are messy. I’m messy too. That’s a lot of chaos to keep off my shirts.

Should I buy a new shirt for dinner? There’s a Walmart a few blocks away. I could easily drive over there, find a shirt, and eat a Subway sandwich for lunch. Yes, I’ll pretend I’m a casual person without a care in the world. I just need to look pretty for dinner with my long-lost—never before searched for—half brother and a man so captivating that I can’t stop wishing my breath weren’t awful, and I’d kissed him like crazy this morning.

Of course, I’ll choose to be that kind of girl. After all, I moved to Tennessee and found a room to rent. I’m impulsive and decisive now. It’s a choice I can make. No doubt about it.

Teeth and hair brushed, I add a layer of sunscreen foundation to my face. I don’t look great by any means, but I’m driving to Walmart, not a gala.

Walking downstairs, I pass the homeowner, Paige, and her eldest daughter, Jane, as they scream at each other about school and boys. I don’t understand the main gist of their argument, but I sense Jane is winning because she’s louder and Paige looks ready to give up.

Outside, the neighborhood is quiet with the kids at school and adults at work. I start my Mom’s minivan and set my phone’s map to Walmart.

This outing should be fun. Impulsive people do this kind of thing easily, and I’m impulsive now. I bought a gun, didn’t I? Well, now I’ll buy a shirt.

Except what shirt should I buy? Heck, now I’m not even sure that I should buy a shirt. Is wasting my limited resources on clothes the smartest move?

“Excuse me,” I ask a nearby customer. “Which shirt do you like best?”

The middle-aged woman gives me an odd frown before choosing the blue-and-white-striped shirt. I’m ready to buy that one except the woman’s outfit isn’t great. Now I’m not sure she has great taste.

For two hours, I walk around the store, pretending to shop, while occasionally asking people which shirt they prefer. Some pick the blue-and-white-striped shirt; others choose the black-and-white-striped shirt.

I could buy both shirts since they’re only ten dollars. I can afford twenty, can’t I? Or should I get neither?

I sit in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes, crying and looking at photos of my mom on my phone. If she were alive, I could ask her opinion. Left on my own in a world filled with possibilities, I can’t decide between two almost identical shirts. In the end, I choose to buy nothing.

Fortunately, I have an easier time picking a sandwich at Subway. I always get the same thing, so there’s no thinking involved in the ordering process.

Eating my veggie sandwich, I struggle with the overbearing weight of my loneliness. I can’t really blame anyone for my lack of friends and support system. I chose to be homeschooled because I didn’t fit in. I chose to spend my free time with my mom who was more fun than the girls my age. I chose to work at my mom’s daycare rather than find a job outside our home. I chose not to date because I wasn’t interested in any of the men interested in me.

I moved to Tennessee knowing my grandparents are dead, and no one here cares any more about me than they did in Florida. I’m alone because of my choices, so self-pity feels wrong, but I can’t shake my sorrow and loneliness.

Taking half my sandwich back to the house, I find Paige now arguing with her mother, Vickie, over who will clean up the overgrown rosebushes. They take no notice of me, and I walk quickly past without saying a word.

I’m invisible to the world.

Well, no, that’s not true. Gloriously handsome Chipper noticed me. He stopped me from killing Howler and going out in a blaze of glory no one would appreciate. Then he took me—a puking, crying stranger—to his fancy home where I’d be safe. Now he wants to introduce me to my half brother.

For whatever reason—assuming he’s only kidding about our future as married with children—Chipper cares if I live or die. His interest in my well-being is the only thing I can hold onto as despair tempts me throughout the afternoon.