Minutes later, with my hair messy and no shower, wearing a black hoodie and blue jeans, I get into my aunt’s truck. “Why aren’t we taking the subway?” My aunt usually doesn’t drive in the city.

“I’m too nervous. I need to keep my hands busy and mind distracted.”

“This sounds dangerous,” I say, buckling up.

As we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, she tells me stories of her first years in New York. I’m not really listening, too busy running scenarios of how this will go down. The closer we get, the more tense I become. It’s almost nine; Mom will be up and about. Maybe we can catch her in the lobby and talk alone. That could help our case.

We descend into the underbelly of the hotel’s parking garage. It’s dark. Empty. Aunt Lil kills the engine and doesn’t move. “August, are we making a mistake?”

I look at her, surprised. “I don’t know. You’re the adult here.”

“I’ve been avoiding this confrontation all my life,” she says.

“I’ve tried to have this confrontation and failed,” I admit.

“This is a fool’s errand, and we are two fools. I’ve lived too long scared of my sister knowing I’m a lesbian. I’ve kept her in my life by keeping her out of my life. She loves her version of me, not the real me. And I have paid for it without even realizing.”

“You’re brave,” I say.

Aunt Lil smiles big. “I learned it by watching you.”

“I don’t feel brave,” I admit.

“Bravery isn’t not being afraid—it’s doing what you need to despite the fear. So, let’s put brave pants on and go.”

“You’ve always been my favorite aunt.”

She laughs. Pinches my cheek. “Mark my words, they will not take you to conversion therapy. I’ll sell all my paintings to pay for lawyers.”

I nod and get out of the car wearing my invisible brave pants.

The hotel lobby is packed with tourists. I scan the crowd looking for Mom’s curly hair. Or Randy’s mustache. Aunt Lil talks to a man behind the concierge desk. His head is down, typing away on a computer. Her movements get more animated. A minute later, she puts her hands on my shoulders. “They checked out last night.”

“Last night?”

My mind swirls. They left without saying come back, or stay here, or even goodbye. My body goes limp. Aunt Lil tightens her grip on me. “Do you need to sit down?” she asks. “You’re going pale.”

I haven’t eaten, the champagne is punishing me, and my parents left. “I thought they would see me onstage and be so proud that they would accept me,” I confess, and realize how irrational it sounds.

“I wish it was that easy.”

“I disgust them,” I say, my stomach in knots.