“Can you give me a ride home?” I asked my father, assuming he could pick me up on his way home from work at Pixar, where he went on Fridays instead of NeXT. I’d hardly noticed, living with my mother, how easy it was to get from here to there; I just arrived at place to place as if by magic. Despite our fights, there was never any question that she would drive me to and from friends’ houses, doctor appointments, dance classes, and school. “Nope,” he said. “You’re going to have to figure it out.”
