I shrug. “He ghosted me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I mean, why would he choose me?” I look away and bark out a laugh to cover up the truth of the next statement. “No one else has.”

“I say this with all the love and respect in the world, but what a fucking absurd theory to have.”

Startled by Mary’s raised voice, Frank jumps to the floor and slips under the couch.

I swallow tightly. “Is it? My parents never wanted me around—stop, it’s true—they confirmed it completely at dinner when I saw them—and you didn’t want me around, and, and, two seconds after you shove me out the door . . .”

“I didn’t shove you out the door—”

“You literally did, and slammed it on me.”

“Not in a bad way!” she protests.

“And two seconds after you shove me out the door, you hire a dude-bro to manhandle the phones,” I snap back. “How do you think that made me feel?”

Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Darren? He waters my plants and I asked him to pick up the phone ONCE. Did you call me? When? What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is—”

“Your gran wanted you,” she interrupts forcefully.

“That wasn’t a choice. She was the only family member left—she had to take me in.”

“But she adores you.”

“I know. And I adore her, too. But it’s not the same thing as having a parent who wants you around. When people have a choice, I’m never the one they choose,” I add shakily.

“All of this is nonsense,” she roars. “Why do you think I pushed you out of the nest?”

“Because you think I suck, obviously; you couldn’t even look at me when I gave you notes on your play—”

“Because I want more for you! You shouldn’t be stuck emulating me—look at me!” She stands up so I can see her full outfit: sailor shirt, leather culottes, striped tights, and high-heeled penny loafers. A feather boa not owned by me also hangs on the coatrack. (It’s not owned by Mary, either; it’s Frank’s.)

We stare at each other for a moment.