My mother shifts from busying herself needlessly in the kitchen to straightening her shoulders. She sets her glass of water down carefully and presses her lips together. “Well, it’s clear whose side you’re on,” she says, affecting woundedness. “And it’s definitely not mine. But then, what did I expect? It’s never been mine. Has it, Cat?”

I stare at her. There is a word for this: aghast. You read the word all the time in stories, see it acted out in movies, but how many people actually get the opportunity to experience being “aghast” in real life? With Mary, “aghast” is as commonplace as peanut butter and jelly. “How is this about me?”

“Everything’s about you, isn’t it? You were abandoned. You were mistreated. You didn’t get to live the life you wanted. You lost someone. Do you ever think about me? The special brand of hell my life has been? What I’ve gone through all these years—wanting you, missing you, having no way to get you back from that…that witch! She stole you from me. She stole my heart. She took everything and left me with nothing. And she taught you to hate me for it. But you’re always the victim, huh, Cat?”

She does this. She twists and twists and twists some more until you can’t recognize the truth. The weight of what I have lost and what I have gained descends over me like a lead veil. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black if I ever heard it.”

With that, she bolts to her room, slamming the door behind her. I am left standing, reeling like I’ve been punched half a dozen times, feeling like the mom on the outside of my willful teenager’s room. “I’m sorry,” I say to Gary.

“Don’t be,” he says quietly. “She’ll cry it off for a few minutes, and then I’ll go in there and calm her down. Later, we’ll go out as usual, and it will be like this whole scene never happened.”

“This happen a lot?”

Gary chuckles softly. “It’s part of the package, Cat. I knew that going in. Don’t feel sorry for me. I love your mother, and she loves me too—I know that.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“She excites easily. This has been a lot for her, you know. Losing her momma and you coming here. Don’t get me wrong, she’s happy to have you, but anytime the pot gets stirred very much, whether for good or ill, we usually have one of these upsets. The meltdowns are just part of it.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm. I didn’t sign up for this like you did.” I don’t get a choice, not anymore. This maelstrom is my reality now without Moony to shield me from it.

XII.