“What a story it would be,” she says. “Childhood sweethearts coming back together.”

“We weren’t childhood sweethearts. We never dated.”

“Wouldn’t it be something if you two got together, and then Scarlett got back together with Rich.”

“I think Rich is married.”

Mom waves her hand like she’s clearing smoke. “Marriages don’t last.”

“You’re married.”

“Guy and I are soul mates,” she says.

“Ah, right,” I say. “Of course.”

“Maybe you and Ian are soul mates.”

“Definitely.”

I did look up our zodiac compatibility earlier, a true low point for me. The match seemed promising, but I bailed when it got into moon signs. All set there.

“I know you’re a skeptic,” Mom says, cracking the window even though the heat is on. “But if you open yourself up to the possibility of love, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Do soul mates make each other cum a lot? Like, multiple times in a row? Because then, for sure, we’re soul mates.”

“You’re vulgar,” she says. “But yes, they do.”

I start chuckling. She tries to resist, but eventually joins in.

“You surprise me,” she says. “You’re my daughter. You’re of me. I raised you. But I don’t know where you came from.”

“It’s a mystery.”

“I’m very proud of you,” she says. “I just want to see you happy. If that’s with Ian or in Manhattan with your job. Whatever life you choose.”

“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate that.”

“You’ll be successful no matter what you do. You’re very driven. Smart. Strong,” she says. She pauses long enough for me to get nervous about what she’s going to say next. “Everything that happened, everything you’ve been through, it’s made you the strong woman you are today.”

I think I understand what’s happening here. I think she’s insinuating that the incident with Dave was actually for the best because it made me a “strong woman.” I think she’s trying to tell me that I should be grateful for my trauma because it’s somehow positively contributed to my personal development.

There’s no winning. The trauma is either your fault or it’s a gift. It’s either You should have done this to stop it or Look what good has come of it! If you don’t get over it, why can’t you get over it? Why can’t you get past it or learn how to cope? Or if you do find some way to move on with your life in a socially acceptable manner, then you’re so brave and so strong, and aren’t you amazing? Let’s applaud you for moving forward while there’s a knife at your back.

The wind shrieks through the crack in the window.

“You’re a survivor.”

It’s like Scarlett said. Mom can’t accept any responsibility. She can’t accept responsibility for letting him into our house, for not listening to me, for not paying attention, for not being more supportive in the aftermath. She couldn’t live with herself. She can barely live with herself now. Why else would she say something like that? Why else would she keep trying to rationalize, to justify what happened?