“Felix?” Mom calls from the living room. “Who’s at the door? If it’s someone you know, you should invite them in. It’s rude to make someone talk to you from the hallway.” It’s a very Emily Jamison thing to say, but I barely take notice because in front of me, the color is leaching out of Gracie’s face. Her eyes dart around, landing on the pair of heels Mom discarded just inside the front door. “Oh. You—you’re on a date,” Gracie says softly. She swears and takes a step backward, wobbling again, this time enough that I reach out a hand to steady her. She’s still carrying her cello on her back,
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