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“Oh, he and Patty are out back with your dad trying to get the grill going. Leave it to your father to buy the fanciest model they make without having any idea how to use it.”

That makes me smile. It definitely sounds like Dad. I finish chopping the pecans for the bottom of the pie so Mom can add the filling, wiping my hands on my apron before pulling it over my head. “Do you need my help to finish this up? I was going to get changed.”

“Oh, I got you a new dress,” she tells me. “I left it in your old room.”

“What? Why?”

“Do I need a reason to buy my daughter a gift?”

I roll my eyes. “Is this bribery? Because I already brought the apple pie.”

“No,” she laughs. “I just thought it would be nice to see you out of work clothes.”

I glance down at my beige linen slacks, frowning. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing at all,” she assures me. “Just indulge an old woman, okay?”

“Fine, fine.”

She pauses what she’s doing, eyeing me from across the kitchen. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just know how you get when we’re all together…”

“Mom, stop.” I have to shove down the roiling emotions bubbling inside. “You know I love Bill and Patty.”

“I know, honey, but…” Her teeth worry at her lower lip. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like you hardly ever smile anymore. I guess some days I can’t help but worry that it’s our fault.”

Jesus Christ, the universe is really out to get me lately.

“Mom,” I answer, trying to keep my tone even. “It’s been years. I’m over it.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that you could talk to me,” she urges. “I don’t care how long it’s been. You’re always working so hard, and I just worry about you.”

“We don’t have to talk about this at every family gathering,” I say softly. “Honestly.”

She nods slowly. “All right. Don’t mind me. Just being a worrywart.”

I can tell there’s more she’d like to say; there’s nothing new about my mother prodding at my emotions whenever we’re alone as if she might somehow teach me how to suddenly open up to someone, and just like every other time, I’m determined not to give her much. I never want her to feel guiltier than she has to for the way our lives turned out. I carry enough guilt for the both of us.

“I’ll just…go get changed.”

Mom nods again. “Good idea. People should be arriving soon.”

I leave her in the kitchen to head for the stairs toward my old bedroom; I’ve told Mom and Bill a hundred times that they should turn it into something useful, but Mom insists on keeping it as is. I think deep down she tells herself that keeping this one small thing the same might somehow make up for the childhood I still feel like I lost.

I find Mom’s gift laid out over my bed—a bright red sundresscovered in tiny little daisies that cinches at the waist. It’s nothing that I would ever pick out for myself, but I can’t deny that it’s pretty. I move to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, holding it against my body. It’s weird, the last time I did this—my high school graduation, I think?—I agonized over which dress to wear, which seems silly now, given that it was going to be under that ugly gown the entire time.

The small smile on my face falters, my mind inevitably wandering toaftergraduation. To coming home and finding out my entire life was a lie.

We didn’t mean for you to find out this way.

We were going to wait until you went to college.

We made this decision together.

We just wanted what was best for you.