Finally, her mother shifted in her seat. “Your father always said you and I were oil and water. I thought if I said something enough you’d hear me. I thought if I told you how I became so unhappy you would learn from my mistakes.”

“I didn’t think you believed you’d ever made any mistakes.” Marissa shook her head. “But oil and water, that makes sense. Maybe . . . maybe because I’m a blend of both of you.”

“You are like him in so many ways. And like me, and goodness knows I’m stubborn.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Her mother sat up straight in her chair. “Just because we’re having this little heart-to-heart doesn’t mean you can be rude.” Then she burst out laughing.

At some point the evening had turned into an Altman film, Marissa decided. Or Fellini—any minute a juggling dwarf would walk through the room singing the Notre Dame fight song. “You’re stubborn and I inherited it from you. Deal with it.”

“You inherited being gay from your father.”

“Maybe.” Marissa shrugged. “If you don’t eat your salad right now I’ll eat it for you. And how long did you know I was gay?”

“Years.” Her mother finally poured some dressing on her greens and took a bite.

“So what the heck was with the dates every year for the summer ball? The annual fussing about what dress I wore and if my date and I will take a good photo? Geez, I hate all that.”

“It’s your own fault. Well, partly.” Her mother speared a chunk of feta cheese. “What else was I supposed to do? I asked about your romantic relationships. I hinted broadly that you were free to bring anyone you wanted home. You wouldn’t tell me you were gay. I thought if I pushed men at you that you’d tell me the truth.”

Dang it, that sort of made sense. It really sucked that her mother might have had reasons for some of the ways she acted. “But you were so totally homophobic about Dad. I thought you’d act just the same way toward me. And when I told you, you did get angry. You had that disappointed face you get, which I hate, by the way. You said I should have picked a better time and place.”

“I meant . . . maybe I lost my temper a bit. I’m human. So sue me.” Her mother lifted one shoulder in an expressive gesture that simultaneously dismissed her own flaws and suggested Marissa would do well to dismiss them as well. “What I meant was maybe you could have told me a long time ago. You kept so many secrets about yourself from me, and it did hurt. It felt . . .” She took a quick sip of water. “Goodness. I never thought of this before. It felt like your father’s lies. It hurt and I blamed you and him and myself for not being able to show you that I could be trusted. I had to find out about you and Octavia starting that business from a friend.”