“Zeke finally got a job with insurance that covers his top surgery,” she said. “You just missed the party; he’s got the surgery scheduled for next month.”
“That’s great. Is he still dating Rhonda?”
“Moira’s couch-surfing again,” Virginia said suddenly, as if she hadn’t heard me. “She’s stayed clean so far, but she’s a long way from safe. Your mom’s thinking of putting her up in y’all’s guest room.” She put her hands in her pockets and looked up at the sheet of iron-gray clouds overhead. “Your mom’s a really great person, you know.”
“I know,” I said, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes. “Virginia. What happened to Rhonda?”
“Can I tell you later?” Virginia asked, giving me a pleading look. “You’re under enough stress as it is.”
“I’d like to know,” I said.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “She killed herself about a month ago, just after I got back. Didn’t leave a note.”
“No,” I said, covering my mouth and wrapping my other arm around myself. “Jesus. Why?”
“You know why,” Virginia said, shaking her head slowly. “We all know why.” She was silent for a moment while I processed that information. “Her parents were monsters about the whole thing, of course. They lopped all her hair off and buried her in a suit and tie.”
We walked in silence for a while, lost in our thoughts. Rhonda wasn’t the first friend I’d lost; since joining group, I’d been on the other end of that middle-of-the-night phone call too many times. I used to wonder if someone would ever have to make one of those calls for me.
“So what’s next?” Virginia asked after a while, as we headed back toward home.
“I don’t know,” I said, letting the wind whip my hair into my eyes as I put one foot achingly in front of the other. “This time, I really don’t know.”
32
For most of my life Thanksgiving had been a huge, noisy day full of grandparents, great-aunts and -uncles, cousins, half cousins, and nieces, but ever since coming out and living as a girl full-time, Mom and I had been informally exiled from all family functions. That was fine by me; I much preferred the kind of quiet, cozy meal I was sharing with Mom the Thanksgiving after I came back home.
She had made too much food like she always did. We were going to be eating leftovers for weeks. We mostly ate in silence, which could have been awkward but was somehow comforting. Mom knew I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened and I loved her for giving me the space. Halfway through dinner I heard a scratch at the door.
“Could you let the cat in?” Mom said.
I opened the front door and the cat trotted through, giving me three loud, terse meows to register her complaint at having been made to wait. The cold, wet air was bracing after the drowsy heat inside. I stepped out to the porch and leaned against the rail with my eyes closed for just a moment, enjoying the chill. My eyes snapped open again when I heard the sound of tires crunching down the driveway. I recognized Dad’s car immediately. I didn’t say anything as he stepped out of the car with a covered casserole dish under his arm.
When he neared the porch I smelled his sweet-potato casserole with the marshmallow crust on top.
“Hi,” he said, looking rickety and out of place. He tried to smile and, despite everything in the last few weeks, I couldn’t resist smiling back at him. “Am I late?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked instead. He stopped just inside the door and looked around quietly, like our living room was a strange foreign country.
“Amanda?” Mom called from the other room. Her chair squeaked and I heard her feet coming from around the corner. “Is someone—oh.” She froze when she rounded the corner. Dad finished taking off his coat and waved sheepishly.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said. I leaned against the back of the couch and looked back and forth between them, waiting for the detonation. I had always wondered what would happen if they ever saw each other in person again, and the most likely outcome seemed to be a full thermonuclear exchange. Instead, Dad said, “Your home is lovely,” and Mom replied, “Thank you. Come join us.”
The conversation didn’t improve much when Dad joined us, but that was okay. We finished the meal in silence and Mom started to clear away the dishes. Dad got up to help but I touched his forearm to get his attention.
“Actually,” I said, “could we go for a walk? Rain’s been gone for a few hours.…”
“Yeah?” Dad said.
“I just thought,” I said, “there’s a baseball diamond they keep lit at night.” Dad stood there, holding a stack of plates, blinking slowly. “We could, you know, play catch … if you still want to.”
“Oh,” Dad said. He put the plates down and thought for a moment. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“I’d like that,” Dad said.
Mom was more than happy to keep us out of the kitchen, since she had her own arcane way of loading the dishwasher that nobody could ever get quite right. The gloves and ball were in an old box, unused and dusty after more than a decade. The squelching and slipping as our boots worked their way through the wet leaves and muck made me glad my ankle had almost completely healed. Dad was silent for the entire walk, staring from the sky to me and back again.