“They were here in the 1950s?” I thought about the movies I’d been watching at Steph and Lisa’s.

“Yes, in San Francisco.”

I studied the group photo again, looking at Lily and Judy. I realized Lily was on her own; she didn’t have a husband beside her. I wondered if it had been too difficult for her to work at JPL and have a family. I wanted to ask my mom if that career pressure was why her relationships had been so short-lived—until now. But that wasn’t the sort of question I could ask her. Instead, I said, “How did you know Andrew was the right one?”

Her face softened into a smile. “Everything made sense. It was easy, no obstacles.” She added, “That’s how you’ll know, too.”

Chapter 25

Back in Woodacre, I took Joan’s catalog off the shelf again and flipped through to the photo of my mom.

Now I remembered it. She was doubled, and the places where her two bodies overlapped were transparent, as if she were part ghost. One Alexis was looking slightly to the left, and the other Alexis was gazing straight at the camera. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. I wasn’t used to the bareness of her lips, the soft shadows beneath her eyes. It felt so intimate to see her like that.

Beneath the picture, the caption read: ALEXIS TANG, 1997. It was the same year she’d gone to Los Angeles and met our engineer cousin. I got the photos Mom had given to me out of my purse. I took out the group shot and compared the way she looked in the small color photo with the black-and-white portrait that Joan had taken. They showed the same person, but it was remarkable how different she looked in each one. The color photo showed her the way she appeared on the outside, but the portrait seemed to show the way she looked on the inside.

I heard Analemma’s claws clicking down the stairs from the third floor, and a moment later Joan’s footsteps followed.

“You’re back,” she said as she came into the living room. “How was your mother?”

I hadn’t decided if I would tell her, but then the words just came out. “She’s engaged. To this guy in Hong Kong.”

Silence. Joan came around the couch and sat down beside me. “How do you feel about that?”

I gazed down at the two pictures of my mother. “She says she’s happy, so I guess I’m happy for her.”

“It’s all right to have mixed feelings.”

“I don’t know what my feelings are.”

“That’s all right, too.” Joan reached for the catalog and slid it toward herself. “I forgot about this picture.”

“She gave me this other photo today.” I showed her the snapshot. “Same year, same person, but she looks so different.”