I haven’t thought about that in such a long time that I almost forgot it happened. But now that Marie mentions it, I feel like it happened yesterday. I was so tired of sticking out all the time. Of the teachers looking to me for the “Black perspective” in history class and being overlooked by all the boys who loved my skinny, blue-eyed friends. I thought maybe, if I went somewhere I didn’t stand out as soon as I walked through the door, maybe things would be different. The horrified look on my dad’s face when I asked him broke me. I remember not feeling sad as much as I felt shame and guilt. I thought I’d raised you to be different than that, I thought you’d want to go someplace that welcomed everyone, he’d said. And that was the last we talked about it. I don’t think he meant harm by what he said, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t harmful. And I think I understand how he felt. Maybe he was afraid that I was ashamed of him, that I wanted to distance myself from him. But what he didn’t understand, what I’ve never acknowledged, is that he made me feel the same way. It taught me to measure my thoughts, my feelings, and to place them beneath the feelings of everyone around me.

And that has gotten me here.

“I thought we had fun together in college.” My deflections get weaker as their words continue to penetrate and break down my defenses.

“Sure, we had a blast together and you only remember that because you ignored the other shit you dealt with. And that wasn’t wrong . . . but I also think maybe Quinton was more right than you want to admit.”

Well, at least we can agree on that.

“Well crap, you guys.” I fall back against the fleece blanket. “What am I going to do now?”

“Probably call your therapist because you have some shit to work through.” Liv yanks me off the ground.

“But until then.” Marie picks up my thermos and stands up. “How about we meet back at your house? I’ll bring cupcakes and Liv will bring wine.”

“That sounds like a plan I can get behind.” I stand up and help Liv fold the blanket.

We walk back to our cars, navigating the headstones as we go. Liv and Marie bicker over what movie we should watch, a crying one or a laughing one, and when I look over my shoulder at my parents’ grave, the flowers already wilting in the vase, I feel a sense of peace starting to settle over me. It’s a foreign feeling, but I’m ready to fight for it.

Thirty-seven

A knock on my door forces me off the couch.