“Marquette,” I agree. After reading and rereading the Christmas cards from my great-grandma “Betty” over and over, I sent Vada a message, changing my destination for the third time in as many days and asking if she wouldn’t mind postponing her trip to take me north. To her credit, she replied only with, “Thank God for Google Maps.”

“The UP.” She stretches it out like Youuuuu Peeeeee.

My lips twitch. “The Upper Peninsula.”

“To meet your real dad’s family.”

“Yup.”

“That’s weird.”

“You have no idea.”

“Does his family know you’re coming?”

“Nope.”

“Should we call them or something?”

“And say what? ‘Hey, you don’t know me, but my mom boinked your dead relative eighteen years ago and surprise! It’s a girl!’”

“What have I told you about using the term boinked? Your homeschool is showing.”

I wince and swallow hard, my brain working on its usual snappy retort, but nothing comes to mind. Years of friendship has Vada pulling into a well-lit 7-Eleven parking lot and turning off her engine before facing me.

“I hear this one has those Vernors slushies you like,” I say weakly.

Her dark brown eyes narrow a little, waiting me out.

“I’m fine,” I insist.

“Bullshit. How could you be?”

“All right. I’m definitely not fine. I’m really…” I search for the term, but for the first time in my life, nothing but straight cusswords comes to mind.

Vada sighs and in a soft voice says, “Girl, if ever there was a moment to let it fly, now is it. It’s just me and you.”

A sob breaks in my throat, and Vada unlatches her seat belt, reaching for me in one smooth motion. “I’m just really, really mad,” I sputter in between sobs. “Okay? I’m furious.” The harsh words are strange on my lips. “My entire life has been a lie. I know—” I hiccup a breath, trying to slow the confused torrent spewing from my mouth. “I get why she did it. But that means I’m mad for her, too! What kind of fucking horseshit…” I shake my head. I can’t complete that particular thought. Not yet. I’m mad, but I’m not blasphemous.

At least not outside my head.

“Are they really getting a divorce?”

“Supposedly, they were waiting for me to leave for college, even before the truth came out. How gross is that? Like, they were locked into this eighteen-year-long contract because of me. I knew they weren’t blissfully happy, but this takes it to another level.”

“Because they love you, Meg.”

I inhale sharply, my hands trembling and my stomach sick. “I don’t think that’s why.” I can’t say the rest out loud. It’s too fresh. Too raw. I’m still processing, and it all swirls round and round, the pieces floating to the surface having little to do with love.