“That’s not . . . it’s not . . . true,” she said through a big, fake grin. Default Cheshire grin. The one she always plastered across her face, no matter what she was really feeling.

“Mom, when was the last time you looked in the mirror?” I continued.

“Sorry, what?” Her fake smile faded now.

“Because I don’t even recognize this person standing in front of me as my mother anymore. You have become this weird caricature of a person that I don’t even know.”

I heard the principal clear his throat. “Maybe now is not the time for—”

“It’s never the time.” I turned and cut him off. “Because she never has any time. And this time is as good as any.” I turned back to my mom. “And I’m sorry Dad fell in love with someone else. I’m sorry he divorced you and blew up your perfect picket-fence life. I’m sorry you gave up your career to look after us and allow Dad to build his career and then when he got successful, he went and shared that with someone else. Someone young and beautiful. And I’m sorry that that makes you feel so insecure about the way you look that you pump toxins into your forehead and lips. And I’m sorry you feel the need to define your life with material things, and I’m sorry that you have an autistic son, and a daughter who is clearly a big, fat disappointment to you . . . literally. I’m sorry! Okay!” I paused and watched to see if any of my words had sunk in. If they’d even penetrated the surface. I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I wasn’t sure if my words were simply falling on deaf ears, shooting out of my mouth only to collide with some impenetrable wall and die there.