Juliet stopped drawing and suddenly wrapped her arms around my side. I pulled her into a hug, kissed her hair, rocked her gently back and forth. Every type of undefinable love forced its way past any residual resistance to it. And not just romantic love, all of it: my niece, hugging me when she sensed I was sad. My sister, making me laugh as I cried. Dad, Kathleen, and Eric cooking us dinner in the kitchen with music in the background.

It was impossible to fully describe the depth of my family’s loud and bright love. But one thing was clear: it had never been conditional. That had been my mother’s style, not theirs. I had to trust that this unconditional love wouldn’t waver when I was finally honest with them. I’d avoided fully accepting it—had even, literally, run from it—because with this kind of love there could be no shameful secrets. No hiding of what had happened between me and Mom and the guilt I carried.

I was going to have to tell them everything. Which meant I’d get to stay, a realization that sent a jolt of pure joy through me.

Alexis touched the top of my hand. “Are you okay? You seem stunned.”

The world was tilting around me, a myriad of missing pieces sliding into place. “I’m wonderful,” I said softly. “I was simply trying to figure out how to respectfully break a contract without burning every professional bridge I had in the great city of Austin, Texas.”

Her eyes went wide. “Tabitha. Don’t joke.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

Eric pushed the storm door open and hung from the side. “Raise your hand if you’re ready for the best homemade pizza you’ve ever had in your life.”

Alexis and I raised our hands, eyes still locked together with matching smiles we’d inherited from our Dad. “We’ll be right in,” my sister said.

“I’m ready,” Juliet squealed, leaving my side and running up the steps.

“Way to show enthusiasm sweetheart,” Eric called after her. Then he turned back to us. “And I don’t know what’s happening right now, but it sure looks like good news.”

I squeezed Alexis’s hand three times. It wasn’t necessarily good news or bad news but the beginning of a story I’d been seeking all along.

37. Tabitha

Thirty-Seven

Tabitha

The difference was unmistakable as soon as we gathered round to eat. Kathleen had opened up a bottle of wine and Dad kept the music on, though at a lower volume, and for a while we were rapt listeners as Juliet spun us a tale about a giraffe with wings she swore she’d seen at the park the other day.