“Hi, Auntie,” I say, on my way to wash my hands. There are five empty wine bottles in the sink. “Did you drink all of these?” I ask, both scared and in awe.

She laughs. “I poured them down the drain in a dramatic gesture.”

“I would have taken them,” I kid. After drying my hands, I sit down at the table.

Aunt Lil clears her throat. “I’ve been struggling a bit. Don’t know if you noticed?”

Oh, I noticed. The heavier drinking, sadder nights, no Davina. “Maybe a little,” I say.

She takes off her glasses. Rubs her eyes. “Your mom’s upcoming visit has been weighing on me. Does it weigh on you?”

“I’m worried they’ll take me back to Pennsylvania,” I answer. “Or worse.”

“I hate that you have to play dress-up,” she says. That’s what Aunt Lil calls the dinner with my parents because I’ll be wearing girl clothes.

“I hate it, too,” I admit. “I appreciate you being there. An actor needs an audience.”

Aunt Lil frowns. That’s not a good sign. “August, this dinner has been bringing up all of my past crap. That’s why I’ve been struggling.”

Is she not going to go? I need her to be at the dinner. If she’s there, I’m putting on a show for her. If she’s not, it’ll feel like one big lie. “It’ll be fine. It’s just acting,” I say. “And I’m playing the role of my parents’ daughter.”

“I know, honey, and you’ll nail it. But I’m not good at acting. I’m nervous about messing it up for you.”

I get more desperate. “You can invite Davina,” I say, then remember Mom doesn’t know about her. “Is that why you two are fighting?” I ask.

“Not exactly. But she does think I should come out to my sister. The lying is tough on me. My parents never knew who I truly was, and that hurts. I’ve spent my life, like many queer people do, as two different people—the person my family knows and the person I am. I’ve not been honest with my family to keep them in my life, but also pushed them away so they don’t find out my truth. Thinking about this dinner with your mom, it’s surfaced all these feelings I’d tucked far away. Made me face them. And they’re ugly. Like those two different people I am are fighting in my belly.”

“And who will win?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “But once my sister knows the truth, she’ll never talk to me again, and that’ll hurt.”

“If I understand any feeling, it’s that one,” I say.