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Mama shakes her head. “No. I don’t even remember her.”

“Oh, come on. She was the year below us.”

“I honestly don’t remember, Billy.”

“Actually, I’m not surprised.” Grinning, Daddy turns to Celia and me. “Girls, your mama was the most popular girl in school. She didn’t have time for the little people. Girls like Anita didn’t cut the mustard with your mama. Not cool enough, no sir. Heck, I’m lucky she ever looked at me.” We’ve heard him say this a million times over.

Swatting at Daddy with her napkin, Mama says, “Don’t believe a word your father says.”

She’s eating it up, every word. No wonder Ms. Gillybush doesn’t like me. Once upon a time, Mama must’ve been snotty to her. Way to go, Mama. Talk about the sins of the father.

Then Daddy asks Celia which boy is in love with her this week. He doesn’t ask me of course.

Buttering a biscuit, I say, “Daddy, Celia’s a lesbian now. Didn’t you know?”

Daddy chokes on his iced tea. “My baby girl a lesbian?”

“Billy, she’s pullin’ your chain. Celia’s no lesbian.” Mama shakes her head and laughs.

“Mama’s right. I’m not a lesbian. I’m just bi.” With that, Celia gets up and puts her plate of half-eaten food in the sink. “Thanks for dinner, Mama. I’m goin’ over to Margaret’s.”

Mama raises her eyebrows. “Your daddy’s just come home. Don’t you think you should spend some time with the family? We could all go see a movie. Or we could go to the diner for ice cream.”

“I have a life, Mama. Daddy doesn’t expect me to change my whole life around just ’cause he’s in town. Right, Daddy?” Celia smiles her angel smile.

Daddy falls for it every time. “Of course not, princess. You go have fun at Miss Margaret’s. Tell her your old man says hey.” He winks at her.

Celia gives him a kiss on the cheek and runs off, her one ponytail bouncing.

As soon as she’s gone, Daddy turns to Mama and me. “Now what’s this about being bi? What’s this bi talk?” His forehead creases like a walnut. “Is Margaret her—her girlfriend?”

Mama and I look at each other and laugh our heads off.

Daddy used to tuck me in at night. He’d get the covers nice and tight and say, “Snug as a bug in a rug?” and then he’d hug me, kiss me on each cheek. It was nice. Now he doesn’t come too close.

I’m reading a book in bed, and he stands in the doorway. “Is that your homework, Shug?”

“Nah, it’s just for fun.” I put the book down, hoping he’ll come in and ask me what it’s all about, the way he used to. “What’s this one all about,” he’d say, thumbing through the pages. I’d screech, “Give it back, you’ll lose my page!” But I didn’t really mind. I liked telling him about my books. My daddy’s not much of a reader.

Daddy just nods. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says, closing the door.

I never felt as safe as I did when he would tuck me in at night.

Chapter 16

The first night is always good. There’s good food and good talk; they make each other laugh. They smile at each other, secret little smiles over the dinner table. They’ve forgotten grievances for the time being; they’re just enjoying each other’s company. On the first night, I can relax. Daddy’s remembering all over again how pretty Mama is, how clever. And the only time Mama really seems alive is when he’s looking at her. She tells fantastical stories about whatever happened at the nursing home while Daddy was gone. My mama knows how to tell a good story. Old Mr. Schuman and his trumpet or Mrs. Kirkpatrick and her sparkly red dress. I’ve heard all her stories before, but I still lean forward and listen like it’s the first time. When I go to bed, I’m full on steak and stories.

And the second night’s okay. I can count on the second night being okay.

It’s the third night that’s the problem.

They sit at opposite sides of the den—Mama on the far end of the couch, reading a book with a glass of red wine, Daddy in his easy chair watching TV with a beer. Each pretending the other doesn’t exist. Maybe not even so much pretending. So what’s the point of sitting in the same room? It’s not to be near each other, I know that much. At no point does Mama look up from her book and wiggle her nose at Daddy, and he certainly doesn’t take his eyes off the TV screen to wink at Mama.

And me, I’m sitting at my perch, the dining room table, with my homework all laid out in front of me. If I’m here, then nothing bad can happen. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I sort of believe it too.

Moments like these, when the air is thick and the night feels like forever, I wish I was Celia. Not because she’s prettier or more popular, but because she’s older. She’s old enough to have places to go to. There’s one place in particular—college. I imagine she whispers it to herself at night, when no one else can hear. College. College, the Promised Land, with no Mama and no Daddy. And no me.

When Celia leaves, I’ll be all alone. With Mama and sometimes Daddy. Celia’s hardly here as it is, but just knowing she’s nearby makes me feel safer.

Still, the big problem isn’t Celia leaving. She’s nearly gone already. It’s me. I’ve got five more years at home, but what happens when I leave home too? When I’m gone, who will keep watch? Mama and Daddy need me here. When Daddy’s gone, it’s my job to take care of Mama, and when he’s here, it’s still my job.

She’s different when he’s home. We all are. When Daddy’s home, Celia and I don’t walk around in our underwear. Mama wears lipstick, and she stays home at night. And poor Meeks isn’t allowed on the couch.

It’s strange to come home from school and see Daddy mowing the lawn or cleaning out the garage. It’s like he’s this extra piece of a puzzle that doesn’t fit, and you have to keep moving the pieces around to readjust your whole way of thinking. So you end up changing the whole puzzle around, just so he’ll fit. We all do it in our own ways.

By the end of the week, Daddy’s itching to leave, and we’re ready for him to go.

Chapter 17

When I get home from school, Celia and Mama are having one of their blowout fights. I can hear Celia yelling before I even open the front door. It turns out that Mama forgot to deposit Daddy’s paycheck, and the check for Celia’s SAT prep course bounced.