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“You’re not driving anywhere right now,” Dad says calmly.

“I’m eighteen, fucking stop me,” I say.

“The title to that car is in my name, and I’ll report it stolen if you drive off in it,” he says.

“Why in the world would you think that’s a helpful thing to say right now, Tom?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, Tom,” I pile on.

“Ava, turn around and talk to me,” Mom says calmly, putting both hands on my shoulders when I do. “Where do you want to go?”

I want to be somewhere I’m understood, somewhere I’m safe.

“I want to go to Restoration Acres,” I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “I want Widow.”

Something flickers across my mom’s face—hurt, maybe—but she nods. “I’ll drive you over.”

“Really, that’s what you’re doing?” Dad yells as we head for the door.

Mom suddenly spins around, knocking into me. “What I’m not doing is reporting my own daughter to the police. And by the way, I do hate that goddamn calendar.”

She slams the door on his face.

“You will have to apologize to your father when you come home,” Mom says as she pulls out of the driveway, after I threw some things into an overnight bag.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you called him a piece of shit,” she says.

“I called him a fucking piece of shit,” I correct her. “And he is. They all are.”

Mom sighs. “I know it can feel that way sometimes, but it’s not true, and I won’t agree with you.”

“Really, Mom?” I ask, turning in my seat to face her. “Do you know how many—”

“I’ve been moving through the world as a woman for way longer than you have, little girl,” Mom cuts me off, her voice sharp. “You don’t have to explain shit to me. And I overheard you making jokes about a boy not being able to masturbate because he has two broken wrists. Is that funny?”

“Yeah, actually,” I tell her. “It is.”

I catch her lips twitching before she can flatten them.

“Ava,” she says. “I know how you feel, and I understand why. But not all men are horrible. Surely you can think of at least one guy in your life that you trust?”

A month ago, I would’ve said no, and it would’ve been true. But I said I needed someone to talk to, and he showed up.

“One,” I admit.

“Good,” Mom says as she turns onto Widow’s road. “Does Widow know you’re coming? Are you staying the night?”

“No,” I say. “And yes. But I think it will be okay.”

“Let me talk to her first,” Mom says, killing the engine. “You’ve been spending enough time out here, I should probably introduce myself, after all.”

Mom gets out, gives a little wave to Widow, who is standing on the front porch, arms crossed. She relaxes a little when she sees it’s another woman, and the two begin to talk. Mom calls from the porch and waves me over. I knew I’d be allowed to stay, knew Widow would let me in, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not still a little embarrassed at the fact that I need her to.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my head down as I slip past her into the house.

“Up the stairs, to the left,” is all she says. “First door.”