“Did Annie invent the person you met?”
“No.”
The certainty of the answer surprised me.
“She didn’t fake liking terrible breakfast sandwiches or being nervous underwater. She really bought too much cheese. She really hates being told what to do while being surrounded by people whose jobs involve telling her what to do.”
“So Annie is real,” Dad said.
“Yes.”
“And Savannah?”
I thought of the concert video.
The white spotlight.
The smile afterHard Winter.
“Also real.”
Mom watched me carefully.
“That makes it harder.”
“Yes.”
“Were you sleeping together?” she asked.
Dad reached for his wine.
“Carol.”
“She is thirty-two.”
“I am at the table.”
“You are welcome to leave the table.”
“It is my table.”
Mom looked at me.
“Well?”
“Yes.”
Dad drank.
Mom nodded once.
“Then she should have told you.”
“She should have.”
“Does she understand that?”
“Yes.”
