“How, um,” I said, searching very carefully for the right words, “how do you know what hospice is?” Ian shot a look that immediately told me I’d asked the wrong question. “See, now you’re doing it too.” More stereotypical teenage moves came: a huff, a headshake, muttering under his breath. “Doing what?” I asked, trying my best to sound sincere and sympathetic but without edging into patronizing. “Talking to me like I’m five. Of course I know what hospice is.”
