21

I hesitate, worrying that Tommy will bother the hell out of everyone else if I don’t show up.

But he didn’t make plans with me. I’ve told him a hundred times that I prefer a head’s up when he’s coming over, because I get so little sleep as it is, it’s nice to know beforehand.

Maybe if I’m not there, he’ll take the hint and start calling.

I need to accept Mrs. Dali’s invitation—to be kind to myself.

“Yes, thanks,” I say, taking the remaining steps between us and going into her apartment.

I’ve rarely taken the time to look around her place, because usually I’m doing something fast, like dropping off her groceries or changing a lightbulb, or other things the landlord should be doing but never helps with.

It’s cheerful in here, with bright rugs and throw pillows, and loads of photographs hanging on the walls. Many of the photos are black and white, but a few are in color.

“My family and friends,” Mrs. Dali says fondly, when she sees me inspecting them.

“You must have had a big family,” I