“Good morning, Eddie!”

I open my eyes. Beth’s face is inches from my face. I can smell her perfume, something expensive and awful. Her green eyes are bright. She’s either been up for ages or she was snorting lines of cocaine in the bathroom. Or both. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. I’ve been asleep three hours. Maybe.

“After I caught you prowling around the house last night, it got me thinking about circadian rhythms,” she says, clapping her hands. “And then your mom told me you’re up very late these days. Maybe you have a sleep disorder. I think we need to get you back on track.” She sits on the edge of my bed while I briefly marvel at the fact Mom notices anything I do these days. “I was talking to Kevin—”

“God, what is he?” I grumble. “An esthetician-slash-life coach?”

“—And he made a really good point. We should focus on not doing things that exacerbate the inherent sadness of this situation and do what we can to maintain a positive balance as much as possible. Did you know lack of sleep is detrimental to a positive attitude? You need to make sure you get enough sleep. And you should exercise, get those endorphins going! Eat healthy! Come downstairs and have breakfast!”

“No.”

“But your mother would love to see you at the breakfast table. She told me so.” She gets off the bed. “Positive attitude, Eddie! I’ll see you in five or I’ll come back for you in ten.”

She leaves. I roll over and stare at the ceiling. I hate when Beth stays the night. Mom upgrades from zombie to total robot, which isn’t much of an improvement because it just means she’ll do anything Beth tells her to do. Beth tells her to get out of bed and she does it. Beth tells her to eat and she’ll eat. Beth won’t ask her to get out of Dad’s housecoat, but she’ll get Mom used to the idea, suggest it in a way that won’t lead to a total breakdown, like I accidentally did the second week after he died.

But I guess easing Mom into the idea of getting out of the housecoat isn’t a bad thing.

Not that it makes me hate Beth any less.

Breakfast. More positivity than I know what to do with. Mom dredges bite-size pieces of pancake through sticky maple syrup, but none of them actually reach her mouth. I wonder if Beth pre-cut her food. I wonder if, in the future, Beth will have to pre-chew it.

Gross.

Mom stares out the window like there’s nothing more fascinating than the maple tree in the front yard. Beth follows her gaze. I sip at my coffee. It’s decaf.

Beth has brought decaf into this house.

“It’s almost better that it’s summer,” Beth says thoughtfully. “Then you’re not dealing with SAD on top of everything else…”

I choke. That’s the dumbest to come out of her mouth yet. It’s so dumb I start to giggle, and I shake so much I have to set my coffee down. And then I start to really laugh. I laugh so hard I have trouble breathing. Mom finally turns her gaze from the window and stares at me, but her eyes are so empty. I want to wave my hand in front of her face and say, hello? Is anyone there? Are you hearing this? But I can’t because I can’t seem to stop laughing.

And Beth looks at me like I’m crazy when I finally do.

“I’m so glad you find that amusing, Eddie,” she says.

“When are you leaving?” I ask her. “Like, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Actually, it’s funny you should say that because it turns out I’m going to be staying with you for a while,” Beth says. She smiles at me, but it’s not really a smile. “Maybe a month.”

“What?” I turn to Mom. She’s not looking at me anymore. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Because you need someone here,” Beth tells me. “To get all the…” she trails off, but I know what she wanted to say. Death. To get all the death out. “You need someone here to bring some positive energy to this place.”

“But I’m here,” I say.

And then Beth starts laughing.