WHEN I WAKE up in the morning, I find my nose being tickled by a bunch of rubbery strands. I sit up, and Aisha is standing there, a proud look on her face.

“Behold, the new, improved, softer Porcupine of Truth!”

I look down. Aisha has replaced the broom bristles with rubber bands that appear to have been cut in half.

I shake my head. “And you did this because —”

“Hey. Porcupine two point oh is a great improvement. Far fewer God-related injuries. Puncture wounds and the like.”

“I do prefer the softer version,” I admit, picking her up and turning her over and over in my hands. “I mean, who likes being attacked by a truth porcupine, after all?”

We take her upstairs to show Turk, who is breakfasting and thrilled with the change, since he had been one of the first to mention his discomfort with our bristly deity, on the plane.

“I like a God that is more approachable. Less prickly,” he says.

“True dat,” Aisha says.

He picks it up and admires her handiwork. “Finally, the rubber meets the God,” he says, and we look at him funny. “It was supposed to be a play on ‘the rubber meets the road.’ Sorry.”

“My grandpa would have had a better one,” I say, and Turk nods.

The Billings Zoo has some animals. Not like a ton, but some.

It also has some damn beautiful paths to walk down, and probably the biggest change, when I go back for the second time, exactly two weeks after the first, is that I notice this.

That, and I have my family around me.

Some of my family can’t be here. My dad, because it would just be too much for him. My mom, because she’d rather be with my dad. But Aisha and Turk are definitely my family now, and I certainly don’t feel close to alone anymore.

“You know how the sika deer got their name?” I say.

“I’m truly afraid to ask,” Turk replies.

Aisha hijacks it. “It was this one deer. A doe. Got totally tired of being around only other deer. Where were the walruses? The goats? She whined and whined until the other deer shunned her, and then she started her own breed: ‘sick-a deer.’ ”

Turk puts his arm around her. “Are you sure you don’t have a little Smith blood in you?”

“If only,” Aisha says, and she half rolls her eyes at me to show me she’s basically kidding, that my people aren’t so great either.

I elbow her in the ribs. “Hey. Anytime you want to decide that you’re straight and take my name, you know where to find me.”

Sometimes we make up stories about the animals as we walk, and sometimes we just look at them. I hate that they’re locked up; I really do. But I am also really glad I get to look at animals, because they make me think about what it means to be an animal. I am one. Sometimes I’m all up in my head, which is a very human place to be. Other times, I’m ruled by my body, and that’s okay too, I guess. I stare at the Siberian tiger and think about how powerful he is, and also how powerful I am. I never knew. I always thought I had zero power in this world. But look where I am, and who I’m with. I have to have at least a little power to change things if I got here with these awesome people.

It’s not like my life is perfect. I mean, my dad. That’s not perfect, obviously. Mom still talks like I’m her patient about 50 percent of the time. This morning she told me that it was important to feel my grief about my dad even now, that there’s grief even now. She’s right, but you know? I’d really rather have a hug. The difference is, this time I said that, and she looked a little annoyed, but she did give me a hug. Progress.

Our path diverges, with one sign pointing toward the bighorn sheep to the right and another toward the Canada lynx to the left. We follow Aisha to the left.

“It’s hard with my dad, because I’m just getting to know him, and what if he dies?” I say. “I don’t know if anyone can quite understand what that’s like.”

Turk stops walking. I turn around and realize that of course he knows what that feels like.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Your grandfather was an idiot sometimes too.”

We walk in silence some more. I think about my grandfather. Who might have been an idiot, but Turk loved him anyway. So did my dad. So did my grandmother. That makes me feel happy and relieved, because apparently I have idiot tendencies too. It’s a Smith thing, I guess. And it’s okay. More and more these days, I’m realizing that I might be crazy, but I’m loved too. I don’t think I ever really knew that before, but I do now.

We stop for ice cream at this outdoor stand on Broadwater Avenue that Aisha recommends. I get a chocolate peanut butter cone that starts dripping immediately.

“So when should I break it to my mother that I’m flying back to San Francisco with you?” I say to Aisha between frantic Gomer-like licks. “That you and I will drive back?”

Aisha looks at Turk. Turk looks at Aisha. My stomach drops below my shoes.

“So here’s the deal,” Aisha says. “Can I tell him?”

Turk nods.

“So I’m actually going to stay in San Francisco,” she says.

“You are?”

She smiles, a beautiful, warm, happy smile. “I mean, I have no place to live here. And you’re going to go back to New York at some point.”

“But maybe you can come. With me. With us,” I say. “My mom said —”

She shakes her head. “This makes more sense. I can take care of Turk, and then maybe enroll in community college in the fall. Next year, if my grades are good, who knows?”

I feel like my body is going to cave into itself. I don’t want to feel these feelings.

“No, no,” Aisha says, seeing my expression. “It’s a good thing, Carson. We’re family now. Don’t you get it? I’m staying with your grandfather. We already told your folks. Your mom agrees. You can come visit any time you want. Turk will pay. And when you’re done with high school, if you wanna, you can move to San Francisco too. But for now, you have to be with your dad and your mom. Because you have a dad and a mom. Understand?”

I nod slowly. What two seconds ago felt like a kick in the gut is beginning to feel different. Like I can see how Aisha’s life will unfold, and it’s better, so much better than it was.

“Not to mention I could use the help,” Turk says. “My days of grocery shopping need to be over. If Aisha doesn’t show up, I’m about six months from a nursing home. Seriously.”

I simply can’t speak, because I’m so overcome with the emotion of all that’s happened in less than three weeks. Aisha’s life. Totally changed. My life. Totally changed. My parents. Turk. All the lives impacted, and maybe it’s not perfect. Maybe my dad will die soon. Maybe my mom is not the perfect mom. But despite all that, there’s change. Surprising, messy, wonderful change.

“I’ll call you every day,” Aisha says. “This isn’t good-bye, Carson. I mean, it will be, in a few days. But you will never be without me. I’m gonna be there on your phone and on your Skype ’til you’re sick of my ass.”

“Never,” I say. It’s ironic. I could not have been closer to people physically than I was in New York. Sometimes on the train, you’re pushed up against them. And yet I never really felt connected to people until I came West, where there are so many fewer people to connect with.