If you might have noticed, this story is all Jessica and her imagination now. No mention of others. Remember, she is sick. So don't bail on me. Because trust me, it is worth it.

THE FALL AFTER the European trip, I started a project. I give away something of mine everyday. 

          I mailed Tiffany and old Barbie with extra-long hair, one we used to fight over when we were kids. I mailed Minho a striped scarf I used to wear a lot. He likes stripes.

          I mailed Taeyeon non. 

          As a Jung, I did what I had to: pretend she never existed.

          For the old people in my family---Mummy, the aunties, Grandad---the accumulation of beautiful objects is a life goal. Whoever dies with the most stuffs wins.

          I used to be a person who likes pretty things. Like Mummy does, like all the Jungs do. But that's not me anymore.

          Mummy has our Burlington house filled with silver and crystal, coffee-table books, and cashmere blankets. Thick rugs cover every floor, and paintings from several local artists she patronizes line our walls. She likes antique china and displays it in the dining room. She's replaced the perfectly drivable Saab with a BMW.

          Not one of these symbols of prosperity and taste has any use at all.

          "Beauty is a valid use," Mummy argues. "It creates a sense of place, a sense of personal history. Pleasure, even, Jessica. Have you ever heard of pleasure?"

          Yeah, the Liars were mine.

          But I think she's lying, to me and to herself, about why she owns these objects. The jolt of a new purchase makes Mummy feel powerful, if only for a moment. I think there is a status to having a house full of pretty things, to buying expensive paintings of seashells from her arty friends and spoons from Tiffany's. Antiques and Oriental rugs tell people that my mother may be a dog breeder who dropped out of Bryn Mawr, but she's got power---because she's got money.

GIVEAWAY: MY BED pillow. I carry it while I run errands. 

          There is a girl leaning againts the wall outside the library. She has a cardboard cup by her ankles for spare change. She is not much older than I am, I think.

          "Do you want this pillow?" I ask. "I washed the pillowcase."

          She takes it and sits on it.

          My bed is uncomfortable that night, but it's for the best.

GIVEAWAY: PAPERBACK COPY of King Lear I read for school sophomore year, found under the bed.

          Donated it to the library.

          I don't need to read it again.

GIVEAWAY: A PHOTO of Granny Sunny at the Farm Institute party, wearing an evening dress, holding a piglet.

          I stop by Goodwill on my way home. "Hey there, Jessica," says Summer behind the counter. "Just dropping off?"

          "This was my Gran."

          "She's beautiful," says Summer, peering. "You sure you don't want to take the photo out? You could donate just the frame."

          "I'm sure."

          Gran is dead. Having a picture of her won't change anything.

"DID YOU GO by Goodwill again?" Mummy asks when I get home. She is slicing peaches with a special fruit knife.

          "Yeah."

          "What did you get rid of?"

          "Just and old picture of Gran."

          "With the piglet?" twitches. "Oh, Jessica."

          "It was mine to give away."

          Mummy sighs. "You give away one of the dogs and you will never hear the end of it."

          I squat to the dog height. Bosh, Grendel, and Poppy greet me with soft, indoor woofs. They're our family dogs, portly and well-behaved. Purebred goldens. Poppy had several litters for my mother's business, but the puppies and the other breeding dogs live with Mummy's partner at a farm outside Burlington.

          "I would never," I say.