“It’s a long story. Come in, Mom.” I open the door a tiny bit more, still blocking the majority of the room from view. Gunshots from the TV drown out our dialogue, and I pat myself on the back for thinking on my feet with that.

“When did you get your hair done? I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be…” She walks past me into the room and yelps at the sight of Dad.

“Grier?! What the fuck are you doing here?”

I gasp at the language. It’s not ladylike. It’s extremely impolite. Trashy. No one likes a potty mouth. My mother broke one of her own commandments.

“Intercourse!” I correct loudly from behind her.

She staggers into the wall next to the closet, looking from me to Dad.

Dad looks only at me, his eyes saucer-wide. I can see the cogs turning behind them.

“Jamie, what the hell are you doing?”

“Jamie?” my mother says.

I quickly turn off the TV.

“What are you doing here, Mara?” my father says calmly. “I’m here because my daughter’s performing a comedy set later. Were you invited as well?”

Mom’s face twists up in confusion. She glances at me. “You’re doing a comedy set?”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

Dad sits forward on the bed. “What do you mean you’re not? We were literally about to run through your set.”

Mom shoots laser beams at me through her eyeballs. “Siri Martine Maza, tell me what the hell is going on right now. Did you contact your father?”

“Jamie,” Dad says from the bed.

Mom’s eyes dart over to him.

“You’re talking to Jamie, Mara.” He sounds exhausted already, and she’s been in the room for all of sixty seconds.

“I know my kid,” Mom snaps venomously. “This is my daughter Siri, Grier.”

“You’re losing it, woman. Jamie, would you care to fill us in on whatever the hell you’ve gotten us into?”

I guess she never told Dad about the “Jamie is imaginary” lie. He probably would have brought blackmail back into the equation. My dad was going to blackmail my mother out of her children.

“Siri,” Mom cries. “Explain!”

Mom’s glaring at me, Dad’s watching expectantly.

I … can’t find the air to speak. I don’t know which of them was more wrong. Why do I feel the innate need to choose a side right now? I feel betrayed in every way by these people who brought me into the world. I don’t want to ever have to choose a parent. They shouldn’t be making me choose. I’m supposed to start our dialogue. I brace my hand against the wall.

The bathroom door bursts open with loud dramatic flair, and Jamie strides into the room. Mom screams and bangs into the wall again. Dad makes a muffled, horrified noise, his face losing color. I push out the stagnant breath I’ve been holding for the last twenty seconds.

“Yeah, so I’m Jamie. I guess you haven’t been following Siri on social media or you’d know we look a lot alike nowadays.” She shrugs.