“You’ll figure it out. But you better make me look good when you write about me.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“Hey!”

“What? I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Yeah, sure.” She laughed ruefully, but it was the laugh of an opponent. I wondered if she was thinking something awful about me. We all think awful things about the ones we’re closest to. She followed it up with “You were always so creative. I’m sure it’s great because you’re very talented at everything you do, and I can’t wait to read it.” She said it with such sincerity, I felt awful for thinking she was thinking awful things about me.

“Thank you. Yeah, we’ll see.”

“You could end the book with us chatting at the kitchen table. Airing grievances.”

“Oh, is it that time now?”

“It’s always that time. Hey, I’m on my third glass of wine.” She adjusted herself in her chair, settling in. “Have you heard from your father lately?” His name was never spoken; simply “your father,” with an emphasis on your, as though I were due some ownership or blame for who he was.

“No. Haven’t talked to him in a while. Since late August, I think.”

“That’s because in the eyes of his church you don’t exist, you never happened.” Mom was in her glory, getting to be angry on my behalf.

“Ma, we’re both busy—why do you still get so upset over the annulment thing? I don’t believe in it, and you don’t believe in it. It doesn’t matter to me. So, whatever, right? Or do you believe in it? It’s okay if you do. I get it.” She grew up in a strict Catholic family, and while she hadn’t been to a church in decades, she still prayed to Saint Anthony if she lost anything in the house.

“No, I don’t believe in it, but it’s not about what you or I believe. It’s about what he believes. He’d rather wipe our marriage and your birth and baptism from existence so that he could get married again stain-free in his precious church. It’s all about him, and it’s not right.”

What??? I didn’t know you didn’t exist, Art. Unclean!!!