That was the heart of the matter. I was pining away during the day and dreaming of him at night and still had no idea what he felt toward me. It had gotten so serious that when he was around, I felt like I couldn’t speak. For the first time in my life, I got a glimpse into what it felt like to be Franny. I didn’t understand the feelings I was having and I couldn’t really talk to Lavi about it, but I had to talk to someone. So as much as it killed me, I chose my mother.

She was fumbling in a cabinet drawer, looking for something. “Got it.” She pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Now what was it you were asking me? How do I know about men?”

She unrolled a piece of tape and, as it detached from the rest of the roll, it made a high-pitched ripping sound. “I just know. I get a sense. Know what I mean?”

“I guess,” I answered.

She turned to me. “You do? You know what I mean? Do you get a sense, too?”

I was thrown by the plea in her voice. Like she was inviting me in. I could say that I knew and then maybe things would change between us. I thought about it for a second. “No, Mom. I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Oh.” She shrugged and went back to taping the refrigerator door.

That was it. I could tell she was done with me.

“Is that what it was like with my father? You got a sense?” I knew I was breaking the rules. I knew he was a subject never to be discussed, but I was past caring.

She slipped the roll of duct tape back into the cabinet drawer. “Your father. He was different. And no, I didn’t get a sense. That was pretty much the problem.”

She turned back to what she was doing and I understood that we were now definitely done with our discussion. There was nothing left for me to do so I went back to unloading groceries. I was responsible for putting away the pantry items. I pulled out a can of soup and a bag of rolls, but there was something heavy at the bottom of the bag that I had to reach down deep to get. A can of SpaghettiO’s. I hated SpaghettiO’s because they tasted like tin, but Franny loved them. She was amazed that they could make letters out of pasta and they were her favorite.

I could feel the anger welling up inside me, pushing everything else aside. It rose into my cheeks and made my hands shake. “What’s this?” I asked. I held up the can as though it was the key piece of evidence in a murder trial.

“Hmm?” She mumbled from behind the refrigerator door.