When I get home, the sun is barely starting to go down. My mom sets plates at the kitchen table.

“Hey baby,” she says, glancing up when she sees me. “I thought you were studying late today.”

I point at the stain that spread across my chest and set my backpack down. “Coffee mishap. Figured I ought to call it a day.”

“Well, did you finish your homework at least?”

“All done. Quiz next week in AP History, so I gotta prep for that the next few days.” The quiz was true but as far as studying I had already as good as aced it. History is my number one subject.

“No wonder you’ve been out so much this week! Just be as careful as you can, Ana. I put some more money in your account for an Uber when you need it. I don’t walk you walking home.” I nod but don’t respond, making a mental note to transfer the money later. My savings account had been booming since I started lying about taking Uber everywhere. I almost feel bad, but I could really use the college fund.

I think about going to my room and getting all started with a book, but decide against it. I go up to the sink and start drying the dishes that my mom has stacked in the dish rack.

"How's work?" I ask without looking up. She passes me a wet plate.

"Same old," she says. "I've been working on a bunch of data entry recently, just typing in number after number on a big, ol' excel spreadsheet. Paralegal life is as interesting as it is fun, I tell you." She chuckles, but I know she's pretty proud of herself. She's always loved being a paralegal, even though she's never really thought about becoming a lawyer at all. "How's school?"

"School's fine. Nothing new.. Just the history quiz, and I guess if I want to start prepping for AP exams or big tests or something. School's just school is all."

"And your coffee problem, it's just a regular coffee problem?"

I look down at my shirt, remembering, and bite my lip. I see her eyeing my tell and shrug. "Well mom, I've got something I need to tell you... I have a drinking problem. I just can't find my mouth is all. Just throw my drink right at my chest. More refreshing when it's iced though." My nonsense is rewarded with a hearty belly-laugh. I always loved that my mom didn't have one of those soft, prim laughs. She laughs suddenly and loudly, and if it’s really good she just doubles over. She puts her arm around me.

"I think I needed that, kid. Go throw your shirt in the wash--we're having dinner in half an hour."

I pick another shirt from my closet and quick change before grabbing the rest of my laundry. Normally, I just take all the laundry in the bathroom hamper, but this time I carefully pick out my own items and leave Kay's sitting in the bottom. Not my problem. She can do it herself later, especially if she’s going to sit at home all day.

With the shirt all set in the wash, I grab my backpack and head to my room again. Door shut, I open up my laptop and put on my headphones. No one is talking, but I've got a new message from Jonah. It reads: Coffee shower? You should have sent a picture.

Dinner is stuffy and awkward. My mom's pasta tastes as perfect as ever, but is tainted by the company of whoever-she-is that took my sister's place. We don't talk much with her in the room. Kay eats ravenously.

When we're just about finished, my mom clears her throat. I am displeased in advance with wherever this is going. "I want you to visit your father this weekend, Ana." I don't know how to respond at first. I feel clammy, like I've got a cold sweat going on. I hear my heartbeat in my ears. My body responds before I do, throwing the fork in my hands down on the table. Sauce splatters where it lands, like blood painting the walls of an apartment.

"The hell I am."

My mother places down her own fork and looks at me. "Language," she threatens. I don't back down, gesturing to Kay.

"Make her go instead! She hasn't seen him much longer than I have. Don't you think he's been worried? Don't you think he wants to see her?" For the record, I would never throw my real sister under the bus like this, but this rando? I mean, why not. She shrinks at my words, and looks nervously at my mom. Mom doesn't tear her eyes off me.

"He wants to see you, Ana. He's asking for you, and he is your father. Just do me a favor and visit him, will you? He's still your father."

I pick up my plate and fork and walk them to the sink, dropping them in.

"I didn't excuse you," my mom calls out behind me as I start to leave the kitchen. Just for good measure I poke my head back into the dining room.

"Those girls had fathers too, you know."