My house hasn't changed since my childhood. The shutters on the windows are still the same color, a chipping grey from all the years of rain. Our hideous green curtains are hanging in the living room and they still don't match the rest of the house. My mom has already hung her Christmas lights up, complete with an inflatable angel for the front yard. Her garden is well-manicured and our welcome mat continues to feature Beware of Dog even though we haven't had a dog in fifteen years.

It's my house. It's the same house that I left behind down to the rocking chair sitting on the porch. Some things truly never change.

"Anything I should know?" Joel asks, only half-joking.

"She might actually smack me across the face for not calling her enough," I warn him. "Other than that, probably not. My mother holds grudges, but she'll definitely pretend she has no issues with me until you're out of earshot."

"Got it." He nods. "Anything else?"

"Tread lightly? She can be... interesting sometimes."

He chuckles. "You actually seem unnerved by the prospect of visiting your mother."

"We can't all have a Mallory. She's definitely not as warm and fuzzy," I reply before getting out of the car.

The rain has stopped, so I have one less thing to concern myself with as I ring the doorbell.

"Violet Marie Carrigan!" my mother exclaims as she yanks the door open. "You better have a good reason for why you haven't responded to any of my calls in the past few days. I heard that my daughter's apartment caught fire and couldn't even get ahold of her. Oh, Violet, I was so worried. I ought to yank your hair out of your head and beat you!"

Her blue eyes, almost the same color as mine, fall on Joel, and she closes her mouth into a thin smile.

"And who is this?" she prompts, her tone shifting entirely.

"Joel Reed." He reaches around me to shake her hand, his other resting on the small of my back. "And she didn't get a chance to call because we've been very busy the past few days and her phone was lost in the fire."

"It's true," I say. "I'm sorry, Mom, I really should've called."

"By the grace of the Lord you're okay," she replies, her palm closed around her rosary. "Jesus's twelfth commandment is to always call your mother."

"Aren't there only—" Joel begins, but I elbow him in the ribs and silence him immediately.

"Well, I won't leave you to freeze on the porch," she says. "Come in, both of you. And young man, my name is Roselyn, but you are free to call me Rose."

As she strides ahead of us, I whisper to Joel, "She makes her own additions to the Bible, by the way. I've learned to just go with it."

"Got it."

The house is only a one-story with a couple of rooms, nothing too extravagant. The entire hallway leading up to the living room is full of pictures of me as a little kid, staring up at the camera with a toothless smile. It's a little weird having Joel look at younger pictures of me, considering all of it came long before him.

"You were adorable," he whispers, gesturing to a few of my middle school pictures where I was still rocking the pigtails and forcing myself to look happy.

By the time we reach high school, which is every picture sitting on the bookshelf in the living room, anyone can see that I had given up my efforts in looking falsely chipper for the camera. In most of the pictures, I posed awkwardly the way the photographers always wanted, but I wasn't really smiling. Especially because sometimes, the camera person would reach out and brush my hair out of my face. The contact triggered a vision. The vision meant I would have to ignore the fact I felt like I was suffocating until whatever horrible image had passed from my mind.

Not everyone got the peaceful, falling asleep sort of death. Some died violently, some died because of car wrecks, some died because of cancer.

"You grew your hair out." Joel notices upon seeing my senior photo.

"I got tired of short hair, I guess. I really only got the pixie because my mother told me she thought it would look hideous."

"And it did," she interjects.

"I liked it!" I fire back. "I only grew it out again because I wanted to change it up and I was too lazy to pay to get it cut again."

"Whatever you say, Violet," she replies in the judgemental manner she grew so accustomed to using when speaking to me. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, though it probably ought to.

"See, you and your mom fight just like Mal and me," Joel points out.

I exhale, muttering under my breath. "Except it never really stops with us."

Mom has made us some coffee, leaving it on the table as we settle into the family room. I try to relax into the couch, even though I hardly feel at ease here.

"So you two are dating?" asks Mom.

"Yep," Joel says proudly. "She's a great girl. I've never met anyone quite like Vi."

She considers this for a second. "Have you had lots of other girlfriends in the past?"

"Mom!" I exclaim, face burning.

She raises her hands to get me to back off. "I'm just asking. He's a handsome man and handsome men tend to have girlfriends."

I rub the back of my neck awkwardly and look down at my lap, already uncomfortable.

Joel clears his throat. "I've had a few girlfriends. Nothing serious. Nothing like this. I'm a detective, which sometimes means my job isn't conducive to lots of social time. Since I started working for the NYPD, the hours have been a bit better. Vi actually helped with a case a while ago. She's an excellent intern."

My mother raises an eyebrow in genuine astonishment. "Wow. It's lovely she's gotten more involved. She's always been an introvert."

Joel intertwines our fingers, still politely giving her his attention. "So what do you do, Rose?"

"I'm a nurse and I also work down at the church when I can." Her gaze shifts to me. "Have you gotten a job yet, Violet?"

I shake my head. "I'm a full-time student, Mom, and an intern. I haven't really found the time to get one."

"You and your excuses," she says, taking a slow sip of her drink. "It wouldn't hurt you to work somewhere. I paid quite a bit monthly for that apartment of yours."

"I apologize," I tell her. I don't have the energy to argue.

"She doesn't have to worry too much about finding a new place for a while," Joel chimes in. "We were discussing her moving in with me for a bit."

"Before you're married?" my mother gasps. "Violet!"

"Mom, it's the twenty-first century," I say defensively.

"Alright. Be that as it may—"

"How about we talk about something else?" Joel offers, redirecting this before it gets ugly.

My mother waits expectantly. "How about we talk about your family, Joel. Are your parents still together? Do you have any siblings? Children?"

He squeezes my hand reassuringly, knowing that I'm feeling awkward and he probably is too. "My parents are married, going on thirty-five years actually. I have a sister named Mallory and she has two amazing kids who I love very much. No, I don't have my own children. I don't plan on it anytime soon."

She considers this for a few seconds. "Alright. I'm going to make lunch if you guys would like to eat. Violet, would you mind joining me?"

When her back is turned, I mouth for Joel to save himself before disappearing into the kitchen with her.

She's at the sink doing dishes like she always is. I'm convinced most of the time they're clean and she's just rewashing them over and over again, but I don't bother questioning her. Doing so is, almost always, a bad idea.

"He's a nice man," she says.

"And?" I ask, waiting to hear the but at the end of her sentence.

"And I just think it's a bad idea to get involved with him," she replies, setting a plate down in the drying rack. "Your father was like Joel. He was smart and handsome and successful. And he was also not who I believed he was. I'm just saying you should be careful."

I pretend to heed her words and stride over to the fridge to start making sandwiches. Eventually, Mom takes over, waving her hand and telling me to give Joel a tour of the house. I take that as my opportunity to temporarily escape any other questions or doubts she might have.

It takes everything I have for me not to doubt Joel too. I've been trying to ignore every voice in my head telling me that he's too good to be true or that getting involved with him is a bad idea. My mother isn't making that any easier.

Joel and I wander down the hall, passing more pictures of me until we reach my bedroom, which still remains relatively untouched. I didn't bring much to New York with me, so quite a few of my clothes and decorations are right where I left them.

We had painted it blue when I was in elementary school, so there are still stars stuck on the ceiling and pastel curtains in the window. My bookshelf is intact, my One Direction sheets are on the bed, posters cover the walls, and outdated pictures are taped alongside them. On top of my bookshelf, a few participation trophies collect dust. I stopped playing sports in the fifth grade after I broke my leg during a soccer game. Part of the cast is still there next to the award for the season.

"This doesn't look like a room I would see you living in," he says.

"Me neither," I agree. "I honestly haven't been here in so long. But hey, I'm finally doing something I never did in high school."

"And what's that?" he asks.

I close the door with a mischievous smile. "I've got a boy in my room."

He chuckles, his hands on my hips as he brings his mouth closer to mine. "Oh, yeah?"

I welcome his kiss openly, our mouths moving together slowly, methodically. The first few kisses with him always felt unsure. I didn't know if I was doing it right and was nervous as I could possibly be. Now, it's natural like we've been doing it all our lives.

When my mother calls out to me, I reluctantly pull away.

"Later?" I say.

"Later." He nods.

By the time we're sitting down to sandwiches, my mother's demeanor has shifted and she's become much more welcoming to Joel. We make conversation about the football season, even though my mother barely watches and I couldn't tell you the names of any teams. It's a normal afternoon. Not nearly as wonderful as things were with Mallory, but it's okay.

It's another calm day.

As we're leaving a few hours later, my mother finally caves. "You have my approval, Joel. Don't give me a reason to retract it."

He briefly looks at me before returning his gaze to her. "I wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."

She gives me a hug. "I love you, Violet. Do you remember what the twelfth commandment is?"

"Always call your mother?" I offer, fighting a nostalgic smile.

She nods. "And don't you ever forget it."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Rose," Joel says as he lifts his hand to wave goodbye.

"Likewise," she replies as she closes the door.

As we're leaving, Joel nudges my shoulder with his playfully. "See? That wasn't so bad."

He must really care about me because she basically interrogated him. I love my Mom, but she really makes it hard to want to be around her for long. She drilled him and mortified me. It's a wonder he stuck around through all of it.

At least I broke our silence. That's progress, and I'll take what I can get.

Joel drives to a nicer hotel in the better part of Boston. When I give him a quizzical look, he shrugs his shoulders. "When in Rome, right?"

"Sure," I agree. "We should take advantage of the fancy restaurant they have operating out of the lobby later tonight."

He hands the clerk at the desk his credit card and faces me. "Want to go sightseeing for a bit? We are in Boston after all."

I shift the bag of clothes I brought from Mom's house on my shoulder. I'm not sure I feel like going anywhere, especially with everything going on. I can tell he's trying his best to take my mind off the hackers and my mom. Admittedly, I could use the distraction.

"Just let me change first," I say.

It's nice to wear things that belong to me. As I'm sifting through the pile of t-shirts and jeans, Joel sets his bag down at the foot of the bed and takes a look outside the window.

"If we ever leave New York," he begins, opening the blinds completely. "We should move to Boston. Do you see how beautiful that is?"

"Have you seen the view from your apartment?" I counter.

"Let's agree to visit every once in a while then?" he proposes, his eyes still scanning the city below. "Boston is cleaner than New York."

"That I can agree to," I concede as I'm changing into a black t-shirt and an old pair of jeans. "Any word from Chief?"

Joel looks down at his phone, shaking his head. "They're trying, Vi, but these guys are invisible. I honestly don't know how they do it."

I cross my arms over my chest, obviously frustrated. "I want this to be over. I want a chance to just breathe again. I know we're safe now, I know we're okay now, but I don't know how long that'll last and I just keep worrying that they're going to hunt us down and finish what they started. That's part of the reason I haven't gotten a new phone yet. I don't want them to track that either."

"Just breathe," he tells me, taking my face in his hands. "We'll be okay. The best detectives in New York are working on this right now."

"I know that," I say sadly. "But I've never been wrong, Joel. And I doubt a miracle is in the cards right now."

He kisses my forehead, resting his lips there for a few seconds. "Well, I'm not a praying man, but I think now would be a good time to start."