The morning of my twenty-first birthday found me sprawled on the kitchen table, drooling on top of my much-abused notebooks. I had pulled the curtains closed the night before, fully aware that I was not going to make it to bed that night, but the sun still peaked through a gap in the beige polyester and had made its way directly into my eyes. Knowing my neck was going to be stiff, I avoided sitting up for as long as I could, but stirred when I heard Susie coming down the hall.

"Morning," I said, stretching over my chair back, my hand on my sore neck.

"Morning, Turbo Nerd," she said grumpily, kicking the fridge door closed and slumping down in a chair across from me, drinking orange juice straight from the bottle. Her freckled nose wrinkled as she looked over my homework. "How much fun did you have last night?"

"All of it. All of the fun," I reached out for the orange juice and she let me take it. She was taller than I had been at twelve, and thin as a rail; when she sat on a kitchen chair she tended to fold herself up in it like a blonde, sardonic spider.

"It's cool if I do that, you know," she said, pointing to the bottle of orange juice in my hand, "but aren't you supposed to be, like, an adult now?"

I raised my eyebrows at her, rolling my head from side to side to stretch out my neck. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, nominally."

"Nominally?"

"Like, by definition. By definition I'm an adult, but that might be the only reason you'd call me an adult."

"You're weird."

"Why?"

"No one says stuff like that."

"Like 'nominally?'"

"Yeah."

"Well, I mean, clearly they do."

"No, they don't. You're just a Turbo Nerd," I raised my hands in a gesture of You Got Me. "Liam says you're compensating."

My neck cracked and I breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm what now?"

"Compensating. You know, like, making up for not going to school by using all these bigs words now. That's what he says you do, sometimes."

I nodded, looking down at my still-damp notebook. Liam and I had agreed not to talk about Mansfield anymore, since it made him angry and me defensive. Clearly, though, he had not felt the need to restrain himself around other people.

"And what do you think?" I asked Susie, watching as she dragged her long hair into a side braid.

"I think I want to take Latin."

That was so unexpected that I laughed. "Latin? Do they teach it at the middle school?"

"Nope. But I want to learn it anyway. And they teach it in high school, so if I started now I could, like, skip a couple levels."

"And why do you want to learn Latin?"

"So I could know what things mean on my own, without you needing to barf up the dictionary at me every time you talk."

I nodded. "Sorry."

"Meh."

"Are you going to eat breakfast?"

"I dunno, maybe some cereal or something."

"Let me make you some eggs." I got up, stretching out my back as I did so. I caught a whiff of my own musk, and decided to take a shower the second Susie left for school.

"You're like, obsessed with eggs, dude. What do you have against General Mills?"

"The General's a nice guy, I'm sure, but I like the idea of a little bit of protein in the morning." I grabbed a frying pan from the nail on the wall and set it to heat as I got bread, butter, and eggs from the fridge and set about the comforting task of making a good breakfast for my baby sister.

I had had to learn how to cook after I came back to Boston. Liam worked nights sometimes, and he wanted to make sure I could at least make pasta for Susie. Back then, she had been a caustic nine-year-old, deeply suspicious of strangers and even less inclined to trust a sister she had never met, especially one who could barely speak to her. I had learned to make eggs, and I had found a therapist through my uncle's health insurance, and when I continued to not abandon her, Susie started to open up. That was the first six months.

Since I had arrived, though, I refused to let Susie eat cereal for breakfast. One morning she had called me a weirdo for preferring she eat leftover pizza to Cheerios, but she had been perfectly happy to comply. I had never told her why, even though she asked. Kids always want to know why—it's only as adults that we lose the compulsion to ask.

I didn't speak much after my arrival, but I had devoted myself to Susie in a way that confused her, accustomed as she had become to independence. Paying attention to her helped keep me from thinking about Mansfield, kept me from watching the phone quite so much, waiting from a call from Ned I knew was never going to come. But where I had not wanted attention, Susie had never needed it. She wasn't angry like Billy or broken like me. Susie was just Susie, and I wanted to soak up that normalcy, bask in it. She didn't know what to make of me, nor what to do with how much I loved her.

So I settled for helping her with her homework. I say "helping," but really I would just sit down next to her as she explained what to do on each math problem, and showed me her work so that I could see how she'd done it. She explained why she answered every question the way she had in Social Studies, and read all of her English papers out loud so we could hear any errors. She showed me all of her science experiments. I would ask her if she was sure her answers were good, or right, or clear, and she would check them herself. I learned more from listening to her than I ever had with Nola.

Soon, though, it was clear that it wasn't enough to sit and listen to Susie and devote myself to helping around the house. Dr Bertram had been right—I needed money to live on, and more than that, I needed to be something better than a kept poor relation. I needed money, and I needed an education.

The next door neighbor, who had been babysitting Susie since she had been brought to Uncle Liam from the hospital, was a high school Humanities teacher, and she'd listened very respectfully while I stuttered out what I wanted.

"Well, Flannery, honey, I think it's a great idea, but you're going to have to work really hard to get your GED in a year. You sure about the time frame? Because we can be flexible about that."

"N-no. I w-want to get it over with." I was getting better at speaking to other people, and I was starting to be comfortable contradicting people.

"Alright, honey pie. Let me pick up a couple of test prep books from the guidance office at my school. Why don't you take a couple of book lists from me, too, and start thinking about what you want to read first?"

It was slow going, and it was painstaking. I listened to white noise while I read to keep my brain from going off on daydreaming tangents that always ended the same way, with me in a taxi, watching Ned walk away. White noise helped. Having a project helped.

And I got better. I got better at reading, and at understanding what it was that I'd read. I got better at paying attention and listening, and I got better at not thinking about the past.

Never having read many books on my own, I had never imagined all the kinds of things people wrote about. I read books about kids who had been abused or thrown into orphanages, and my own problems didn't seem so bad. I read books about wars, and people sitting around in parlors talking shit about each other, and I read books about witches and wizards at war and I learned I wasn't such a freak. And I read books about things that had happened, cars people had built, real crimes people had investigated, and real Presidents, and I didn't feel so stupid anymore. I still wanted to get my GED, but the things I studied became less focused on that goal, and more general. I wanted to read a book, so I did. I wanted to watch the news, so I did. I wanted to sketch building after building, so I did. I did what I wanted. I did what interested me.

When I got my GED, I immediately starting looking at college. By that point, I was speaking comfortably with people I didn't know, even if I was still a woman of few words. Susie was starting to sprout up like a weed, and Uncle Liam watched us grow with his trademark quirk of the mouth and good-humored shrug of the shoulder. I looked at public programs, and found one not too far away, in architecture, the way I'd wanted. I started the year I turned twenty, sitting in the back, quietly in awe of the other students in the classes, who clearly knew how to be students at this point, and who were not as excited as me to be sitting in a half-empty auditorium, watching slideshows of famous buildings.

I was in a summer course now, methods of building new structures in classic styles, which was significantly more challenging than I'd thought it would be. If I wanted to see the sun that day, I would need to go for a walk or something right after my shower—I wouldn't get another chance.

The toast popped, and I flipped the eggs onto the slices, one for me, one for Susie. She was gulping down orange juice as I handed her the plate, and she made a wordless noise in thanks.

"Hey, do you mind if I go see Billy after camp instead of coming straight home?" She asked after she swallowed.

Billy lived in Southie with a couple of his friends, managing a successful bar and grille whenever he wasn't at training.

"Isn't he working tonight?"

"Nah, he has the night off tonight. And since you have to study, I was thinking…" she trailed off suggestively. My stomach dropped a little at the thought of my spending my birthday alone, of it going unnoticed again. Uncle Liam and Billy had made such a big deal of it the past few years, to make up for Ned's silence, but I didn't expect them to remember every year, not when they had things of their own going on.

And Susie was only twelve. It wasn't fair to keep her here to watch me do homework just because I didn't want to be alone on my birthday.

"Sure thing. But do you want to go to breakfast or something tomorrow? I think I'll need a break by then."

"Yah, dude. As long as I can get a full stack of pancakes this time."

"You get whatever that little heart desires."

"This is why you're my favorite. Billy's all about moderation."

"Well, so am I. In moderation."

She grinned, wiping the rest of the egg yolk with the corner of her toast, and stuffing it in her mouth before jumping up to deposit her plate in the sink and grab her backpack from next to the door.

"Catch you later, nerd!" The door slammed behind her, making the old dog across the street wake up and bark a few times as if angry at being caught off guard.

I finished my toast in silence and cleaned up, trying to gear myself up for what was likely to be a long, boring, and lonely day. I didn't have many of those anymore.

If I were being honest with myself, there were things I missed about Mansfield. If I were being brutally honest, I missed most things about Mansfield Park.

At Mansfield, things were so well organized that nothing happened that was outside of the plan. At Mansfield, there were no unpleasant surprises at all, not in terms of scheduled events or in terms of bank accounts. We had almost never talked about money there. I had never heard anyone say anything about "budgets" there. Nothing was ever impossible, nothing was unattainable.

At Mansfield, the only people who were invited over were people who were Like Us. There was never the risk that your dinner guest would say embarrassing things and make everyone uncomfortable. There were no surprise visitors, and fathers and mothers were still together and still behaved the way they were supposed to, and didn't knock on your door drunkenly on Christmas Eve.

At Mansfield, you had days off. All of your days could be days off, and you could go camping on the grounds if you wanted to. You could have a conversation with someone in the kitchen late at night and not wake everyone up. You could go whole months without seeing your neighbors. You never had to go shopping on your own, much less in a hurry.

I missed Mansfield in ways that were often silly. I had never liked being isolated, but I sometimes longed for that isolation. I had craved love and affection, but sometimes wished my Uncle would love me less, so he would pay less attention to me. I missed my lack of accountability to anyone. At home with my real family, I had to live up to expectations. No one had expected much from me at Mansfield, and I was nostalgic for that way of life, no matter how much those low expectations had hurt me in the past.

But more than anything, I missed Edward Nicholas Bertram. Ned, who had wanted me to be free of the whole Bertram family, had never called me, had never written me, and never even sent a card for my birthday. I still felt him next to me, though, sitting not too close and not too far. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and his low, comforting voice in my ear. I had whole conversations with him, sometimes, where I told him all about my life, told him all about my dreams, all about my family. The conversations always ended once I asked him about himself. Of him I knew nothing, not even if he and Mary were still together, not even if he had been ordained yet. I longed for that update, and dreaded it, and despaired of it. I would never hear from him again. It was probably for the best.

That didn't stop my heart from breaking, just a little bit, every week that went by without his calling me. It didn't stop me imagining running into him quite by accident, and forcing him to talk to me, to realize that he missed his friend as much as I missed mine. I hoped he missed me. The alternatives were too painful to think about.

There had been a boy in my freshman seminar who had sat next to me every class, even when there were empty seats all around us. We didn't speak much, but we had kissed at a party later in the semester. There had been a guy, a couple years older than me, who had helped me pick up my books when I'd dropped them and then asked for my number. He hadn't been deterred when I'd told him I didn't have a cell phone, and asked me out to dinner that weekend, anyway. Then there had been a man I thought was cute in my class the semester before who had smiled back at me when I introduced myself and laughed at my terrible jokes. We'd dated for a couple months until the end of the school year, when he'd moved back to California. It was possible to live without Ned, to be attracted to other people, and attractive to other people.

I didn't think I was in love with Ned anymore, but I did miss him. That longing became a part of me, a part of the fabric of me until I didn't even need to examine it to know its state, to feel its edges, so smooth one day and so rough the next. Missing him was like having a right elbow, like catching my breath after climbing up stairs. I missed him, and, in some ways, missed the person I'd been when I'd been in love with him. It had been simpler, then, when he was my only dream. I had lived a simpler life, even if it was a life that was deeply unfair to both of us.

No one should be a hero.

Three years is a long time. By calendar, it made me only a thousand days older, but those days and the distance and my determination to be different made Fawn seem like a dream I'd had sometimes. Other times she was sitting right next to me, watching me in fascination as I spoke to strangers. Other times she was in my throat. Sometimes, just sometimes, I would still be her, and I would be rocked by that possession for the rest of the week. I hated her and loved her like she was a sister, and had nightmares about being her from which I would wake up crying with longing. Uncle Liam would take one look at my pinched face and dark circles and would send me out on some kind of errand with Susie or with himself, getting me out of the house and out of my head. By the time of my twenty-first birthday, Fawn only came to perch on my shoulder every now and then, staring in confusion at the pile of homework I had to do.

My birthdays always brought her back, though.

When the phone rang, it was early afternoon and the growling in my stomach made me contemplate an immediate lunch of some kind. I hadn't made as much progress as I'd wanted to in my reading, which I attributed to my law night and the quiet of the house. I toyed with the idea of heading out and going to the library, but knew I wouldn't be much more productive there, either. The bleating of the phone broke into my reverie, and I hauled myself to my feet to answer it by the third ring.

"Price residence, Flannery speaking."

"Holy shit, it's you." The voice was familiar, but it took me a second to place it, and in that time Mary added, clearly laughing, "It's Mary, Fawn. Wow, first try and I knock it out of the park. How are you?"

"Uh…" I gave myself a little shake to reset my system. "Uh, I'm fine. Thank you. And yourself?"

"That's it? Just 'fine'? God, and you're talking now. Jeez, time flies, right? But seriously, tell me how you're doing."

This was a dream of some kind. I was hungry and hallucinating. "I'm doing well. Studying for a class right now. Was about to make lunch."

"Holy moly. Taking classes, too. That's so…congratulations, Fawn."

"Flannery."

"What?"

"Flannery. My name's Flannery. How did you get this number?"

"Oh, Ned had it in his address book," she said breezily, and I could just picture her flapping her hand casually, "it was pretty simple. I don't think he knows a lot of Prices, do you?"

"Mary."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you calling?" The question, far more abrupt than I ever would have dreamed of being before, brought her up short.

"What?"

"I mean, is this just a social call, or do you have a real reason to call me right now?"

"Oh. Down to the point, huh? Well, okay. Um, so I have a favor to ask you. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Oh, uh—"

"Ned told me that, too. I mean it was on his calendar. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd mind doing something for me."

"What is it?"

"Would you mind calling Ned for me?"

I blinked, and though it was impossible for her to have heard it over the phone, my reaction must have registered, because she pressed on, "Oh, come on, it's not like you two hate each other or anything. This weird pining thing has gone on for a little too long, if you ask me. And I wouldn't even ask you two to stop being noble freaking idiots, but I seriously need your help, so. Ned's in New York right now, as part of his student ministry, and he hasn't returned any of my phone calls this past week. We had this big fight, you know, again, and he's just gone radio silent and I'm a patient woman but there's only so much I can take of this back and forth stuff. I need a go-between. I'd really appreciate your help on this, Fawn," she skidded to a stop.

She sounded different. Desperate, somehow, not the smooth, unflappable woman I'd remembered. Maybe it was just desperate times. Maybe I'd remembered her wrong. But I felt a wave of temptation run through me. I could call Ned. I could talk to him. I could talk to him today.

To tell him what, though? That he should call his girlfriend? And nothing else, presumably, if Mary's jabs about Ned and my pining for each other were anything to go on. If I was a messenger in this, then Mary really was desperate, and I was her last resort.

Happy birthday to me.

"Mary, I don't think that's a good idea." My voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat as unobtrusively as possible.

"Why? Because you're still in a fight?" Her patience was straining.

"Well, yes, there's that. But also because your relationship is none of my business. If you want to talk to him, you should talk to him. I'm sorry," I wasn't, but it seemed like the polite thing to say.

"Whatever." She hung up, and I stared at the receiver in amazement. My old life, which had been so far away twenty minutes ago, was close enough to breathe on me now. I needed to sit down.

Ned. His life suddenly had shape. He was in New York, and ending his student ministry, and he and Mary were still together, but they were fighting. He had my birthday on his calendar. I couldn't think about that too much. I wasn't going to call him. I was not going to call him, but it made me feel better to know something about his life. He was still alive, and still doing what he dreamed of doing. It made me feel better to know that, for some reason.

And what was Mary doing calling me? I had been right—it was none of my business—but the curiosity was getting the better of me. Why was she so eager to bring me back into Ned's life?

What was going on?

My stomach rumbled. I grabbed a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread and ate it as I grabbed my shoes and laced them. I needed to get out of the house and do something, or I would obsess about this for the rest of the day.

I met Liam coming up the stairs on the way out. He smiled at me, raised his left hand for a high five, and swooped a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Happy birthday, baby girl. Here, this came for you," he handed me a bright square envelope with my name and address written in unfamiliar handwriting.

"You okay?" He looked at my face, his grizzled brow knit in concern.

"Yeah, just need a break. Long day," I shrugged, attempting nonchalance. He made a non-committal sound, opening the screen door and standing propping it with his hip as he pushed the front door open.

"Just be home by eight tonight, okay? And get ready to look surprised."

"What?"

"Billy and Susie and I forgot your birthday, so you're not going to believe your eyes when they throw a party for you tonight in your own home. Got me?"

I laughed, relief surging through me. "Gotcha." I turned away before he could see the tears that had welled in my eyes. "See you then!"

Why had I wanted to call Ned, exactly? What had been so great about my old life that I wanted to feel it again?

The card's edges were sharp against my palm. I ripped it open along the top edge and pulled out the card, a jaunty cartoon of a cat with a pink sparkly tiara, and the words MEOWPPY BIRTHDAY in big glittery letters.

On the inside, in bold block letters, was "I still love you, you know. Henry."

I crumpled up the card, throwing it in the closest recycle bin as I picked up speed, slamming my feet on the pavement.

Twice in one day. Those weren't odds. That was calculation.