”It’s 3:06, Mom.” Jake has both palms on the glass of the storm door, staring out at the street where I know Todd is not going to arrive any time soon. Damn him and his selfish horse shit. I should never have relied on him for anything.

”I know, babe,” I tell my son. I pick at my shirt, adjusting one of the ”capsule” outfits that Lisa and June declared interview appropriate. I don’t actually have an interview, but I plan to go ...