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My mother is in Stillwater.

My mother is in my hotel room.

At any given moment, Serena could walk through that door.

This is not an irrational fear. Serena has been in and out of this room constantly for days. She's expecting me back soon. She has no reason to knock before coming in, because until approximately forty minutes ago, there was no possibility that entering without warning might result in her meeting Nora Mayfair.

I stare harder at my reflection.

Okay.

Fine.

This is manageable.

Our mothers aren't even that different, really.

Serena's mother is a hoarder. Mine believes inanimate objects retain emotional memory. Serena’s mother gets her information through neighborhood surveillance. Mine gets hers through psychics and whatever the fuck the trees are telling her.

Those are simply differences in methodology.

Fundamentally, they're both intelligent, opinionated women with strong convictions who love their children and have absolutely no difficulty making those convictions everyone else's problem.

This could be fine.

It might even go well.

Serena is good with strange. She works with dead people and voluntarily spends time with me. Her threshold is demonstrably high.

I straighten, splash some water on my face, and look at myself again.

Fine.

Completely fine.

When I open the bathroom door, my mother is standing barefoot in the center of the room with her eyes closed, holding a cherry in each palm.

Faun is perched on the edge of the bed watching her, his head tipping from side to side every time she shifts one of the cherries, completely fucking captivated.

I stop. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing which one wants to be eaten first.”

I decide I don't have enough remaining psychological resources to pursue that.

Then someone knocks on the door.

Three quick taps.

My mother opens her eyes.

Every argument I made to myself in the bathroom immediately collapses.

“Oh,” my mother says, brightening. “Are we expecting someone?”

“No.”

Yes.