But perhaps I have not made peace.
Because my mother marrying a man who is not my father feels like a butt splinter.
“This is so great, Mom,” I say as we pull out of the hug.
“Is it okay?” She looks right into my eyes, as if she knows I’m the one who’s going to be tough about this. “Is it? I know it might feel weird or strange or odd—”
“All those words mean the same thing, Mom.”
“Ha!” she says, which is different from actually laughing at something. “You’re right! But really, Mags, we want to do this in a way that works for everyone—”
“It works, Mom. It really does. I’m happy for you.”
“Me too,” Vivian says. “The best news.”
“Oh, thank you, girls,” Mom says, hugging us again. “I love you both so much.”
And I reallyamhappy for her, for the way she’s glowing, for all the ways dorky Ron is a better fit for her than Dad ever was.
So why does celebrating this right now feel like dancing in quicksand?
It is possible I’m... jealous? Of mymom?
I mean, I obviously don’t want tomarryCarter, but it is kind of unfair. Mom and Ron are engaged, and Carter and I are... two people who don’t interact because one of us has no idea the other one exists.
“Okay!” Mom says, accompanied by an emphatic clap. “Time for me to revert to being stressed again. I need you both upstairs, lots to do.”
“Aye, aye,” Vivian says, doing a cheesy salute.
“I’ll meet you two up there in a minute,” I say. “Just want to finish this episode.”
“Oh, yes, of course, the ringmasters,” Mom says as she heads up the stairs, which is both endearing and totally irritating.
“You sure you’re good?” Vivian asks, putting a hand on my arm with a tenderness that makes me want to cry.
“I am,” I say. “Really. Just want to... finish this.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she nods and follows Mom upstairs.
I sink down into the couch and stare at the high-def rainforest screensaver on the TV, thinking maybe I’ll rewind to that scene with the broken-bones acrobat and watch it on a loop.
January.
Carter
“Should I even go back tomorrow?” I ask before taking a bite of the curry salmon Dad made. Oh god, it’s so delicious. As far as I can remember, he always sucked at cooking. Like, couldn’t-even-scramble-an-egg sucked. But now suddenly he’s Bobby Flay.
It’s Sunday night before school picks back up after winter break, and I’m sitting at the dinner table with Mom, Dad, and Lincoln, feeling the Sunday-night scaries on steroids.
“Well, if you didn’t go,” Dad says, gesturing with his fork, “what would you do instead?”
“I dunno.” I look to Lincoln. “More of what I’ve been doing the past week, I guess?”
That’s mostly been playing Nintendo Switch with Lincoln—so many new games have come out, including a few we just got for Hanukkah—and pretending everything is normal.
“Right, but Lincoln will head back to school in two weeks, and then what?” Dad asks.
“You can still play the games with one player, Dad,” I explain.
