I chew in silence, thinking of what Betty had been saying. I wonder if it’s true. If my mom wasn’t always as conservative as she is now. If her choices, and the fallout of those choices, resulted in who she is today.

That makes sense, and if that’s the case, it would make her not so much hypocritical as … cautious.

“Maybe she wasn’t always like that,” I concede. “But she is now. And she has been since I was a baby.”

“Have you spoken to her lately?”

I shake my head. “Only to tell her I’m staying. It didn’t go very well.”

“I imagine not,” Betty says kindly. “She’s being left out. Mothers love their children. They never like it when they move away.”

“She kept me from you for years. Aren’t you a little mad about it?”

Betty’s cup is midway to her mouth, and she puts it back down. “Not mad. Maybe a little hurt. For me, but also for James. Andrew was charming, but he spent a lot of time in trouble as a kid. Nothing serious—until the end, of course—but there was a lot of contention between big brother and little. Sometimes I wonder whether, if James had gotten to be a part of your life growing up, it might have healed his hurt a little. But,” she says, straightening, “it doesn’t do any good to think that way. What’s done is done, and you’re here and the healing can take place.”

“You’re more gracious than I am. I’m mad,” I admit. Aside from Micah, Betty is the only person I’ve been able to be completely honest with about my anger with my parents. After my little outburst the first time I met James, I’ve been careful to mostly keep my bitterness to myself. I think that’s another reason why I like our weekly visits so much. It’s like I can be real here.

“It’s still new for you, Meg. But you will have to talk to your mom eventually. And your dad, for that matter.”

“I guess so.”

Betty sips her tea and gestures for me to do the same. “Enough of this. Go grab that deck behind you. We need to practice. Mabel is impossible when she wins at Uno.”

16

Micah

Days after my dad’s release and I’m still waiting. For what, I’m not even sure. Maybe for the other shoe to drop. Maybe for random strangers to stop writing speculating articles using my picture. Maybe for my dad to reach out. Maybe for my mom to stop looking so wounded around me. Maybe for Brian to stop “checking in” every morning. Nothing is resolving, and I’m stuck in this fucked-up stasis of wanting things to happen and hoping they never will. So, I finally go to church.