“How were the roads?” my dad grunted out.

  I sat at attention. This wasn’t idle small-talk; it was how Midwesterners—uncomfortable with emotion—showed we cared.

  “Clear the whole way here,” I said. “I was worried about black ice, but it was just warm enough. Didn’t see any deer either.”

  My dad didn’t look in my direction as I spoke. He kept his focus on his plate, which he periodically added more food to, as if he worried me might run out before he’d had his fill.

  My mom spoke next: “So, what’s new?”

  It was an innocuous question, like when someone asks how you’re doing. Did they really want to know, or were they simply being polite? But my mom had opened dinner conversation with the same question for as long as I could remember. I’d rarely been forthcoming about what I’d learned in school that day or what the new drama was with my small group of swim team friends, but she still asked whenever we were at the dining room table.

  “We closed another Cold Case,” I said.

  “Oh?” My mom’s voice sounded interested.

  “Yeah. A girl went missing thirty years ago. We found her and we arrested the person responsible.” I purposely refrained from using words like murder, death, and skeletal remains in front of my family.

  “Cassidy is really doing well,” Julia chimed in. “She’s already helped close three cases since joining the department. I think it might be a record.”

  “Whatever,” I deflected. “You’re the accomplished one. Julia just got hired by one of the biggest law firms in the cities to do their pro bono cases.”

  Julia hid a smile behind her glass of two-percent milk. “Not bad for two small-town girls.”

  “Where did you grow up, Julia?” my mom wanted to know.

  “Embarrass.”

  My dad hadn’t been paying much attention to our conversation until Julia’s admission. Something akin to recognition flashed across his features. “Embarrass? You’re that lawyer?”

  Shit.

  Everything in my body tensed. The last time I’d sat at my parents’ dining room table, I’d recently left Embarrass. My dad had heard all about Julia’s legal defense of her dad from his childhood best friend—Larry Hart, Embarrass’ Chief of Police. It hadn’t been a very flattering portrayal of Julia, and I’d promptly left the table and the house.

  My fingers clenched around my utensils, although I didn’t know why; it wasn’t like I was going to stab him with my fork. “Dad.”

  My dad cleared his throat. “Larry told me about your dad. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Julia included her head toward my dad. “I appreciate the kind words, Mr. Miller. I’m not sure I deserve them though. I betrayed a lot of people’s trust back then, including your daughter’s.”

  If I’d thought Coming Out to my parents was going to be an uncomfortable conversation, it couldn’t have been much worse than this.

  My mom and I spoke at the same time.

  “All in the past!” I squeaked.

  “Who wants dessert?” she bellowed.

  I wanted to follow my mom’s speedy retreat to the kitchen, but I didn’t want to leave Julia alone with my dad.

  My mom returned quickly, perhaps not wanting to leave us alone with my dad either. When I saw her dessert selection, I covered my face with my hands. She strode into the room carrying a multi-tiered grocery store cake … with a baby Jesus cake topper.

  My mom set the monstrosity in front of me and produced a lighter. When her thumb rolled over the mechanism to create a small flame, I realized the baby Jesus cake topper doubled as a candle.

  “We’re going to hell,” I muttered.

  “Oh hush,” my mom censured. “It’s just a little fun.”

  I winced as she began the opening notes: “Haaaaaaappy Birthday to youuuuuuu.”

  I had no choice but to sit through an awkward rendition of the Birthday Song. My mom had perfect pitch from years as a piano teacher. Julia quietly sang along while my dad’s mouth moved without producing any sound.

  I watched it all through the cracks between my fingers. The baby Jesus’s head started to melt before I could blow out the flame.

  We’d gotten to my parents’ house late that night, and once dinner had been eaten and dishes had been washed and put away, it was basically time for bed. My parents’ house was small, with only one level for living. They didn’t have a finished basement to escape to, so conversations and television watching ended whenever my parents went to bed. My dad was an early riser even though he’d been retired for several years. My mom would unwind in bed with a romance novel and a cup of decaffeinated tea.

  The hide-a-bed in the living room shrieked and whined when I pulled the collapsible mattress out of the couch. It probably hadn’t been used since I was in high school unless my mom banished my dad to the couch after a fight. My mom had made the decision for us that I would be sleeping on the ancient torture device while Julia would spend the night in my childhood bedroom. She claimed she didn’t want us to have to share the small bed, and short of Coming Out to her at that moment, I had no good reason to insist that we didn’t mind the squeeze.

  I laid awake in the darkened living room. A persistent blue-green glow from the DVD player kept me company while in the next room, the refrigerator periodically turned on and interrupted the silent night with its low hum. I twisted this way and that on the ancient mattress. No matter how I positioned myself, a hard metal rod seemed to poke me in the middle of my back. I missed the memory foam mattress from Julia’s condo, but I missed the woman who slept beside me even more.

  I tried to be stealthy rolling out of bed, but the hide-a-bed gave me away. I stood motionless in the living room and waited to see if my movement had woken up my parents. When no one appeared, I left the living room and quietly crept down the hallway.

  I stopped in front of my closed bedroom door. A gap between the floor and the bottom of the door was illuminated from a light on in the room. I lifted my hand and quietly drummed my fingers against the door.

  “Yes?” I heard Julia’s voice.

  I leaned a little closer to the shut door. “It’s me,” I whispered.

  I heard the rustling of sheets and the squeak of feet on floorboards before the door opened a few inches. Julia appeared in the doorway. She’d already changed into her pajamas—thin cotton joggers and a v-neck t-shirt.

  “Hey,” I greeted, keeping my voice low. “How’s it going in here?”

  Julia’s manicured fingers curled around the edge of the door. “Good. I’ve got freshly laundered sheets, an eye mask, and a bottled water. Your mother is quite the hostess.”

  I peered beyond Julia to the interior of my old bedroom. It looked the same as it had in high school. The same ugly carpet. The same posters on the walls. Swimming medals and trophies lined the bookshelves and dresser drawer. The Navy Cross I’d been awarded for saving my buddy Terrance Pensacola still sat in the sock drawer.

  “Want some company?”

  Julia’s lips quirked. “Nancy seems to think we shouldn’t share.”

  I ignored her response. “So here’s the plan. I’ll wait until I’m sure they’re sleeping, and then I’ll come back.”

  “And you’ll, what? Set an alarm to go back to the couch before they wake up?” Julia shook her head. “If you would just tell them, we wouldn’t have to sneak around.”

  “Tomorrow,” I promised.

  “Then tomorrow, maybe I’ll share a bed with you.” Julia smiled as she slowly closed the bedroom door in my face. “Sweet dreams, roomie.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, I was in the kitchen having coffee before the rest of the house was up. The curtains in the living room hadn’t offered much protection from sunrise. It was hard enough sleeping on the pullout couch in the first place without early morning sun blasting me.

  I took my time to enjoy the quiet of the house. As soon as my mom woke up, that peace would be erased. Today was the day. Today was the day I was going to Come Out to her.

  I still didn’t know how or when to do it. I hadn’t taken the time to write down a big speech either. It wasn’t that I found comfort flying by the seat of my pants, but I was no wordsmith. I was no great brain. Even if I sat down with a pen and paper and plotted out what I wanted to say to my mom, I would still get tongue-tied when the moment arrived. I might as well fumble through that conversation as my most authentic, organic self.

  I heard the creak of footsteps on the laminate floor. Julia, not my mom, entered the kitchen in running tights and an old sweatshirt that I recognized as belonging to me. Her bed head made me smile. If I had been the one staying with my significant other’s parents, I would have hidden out in the guest bedroom or at least showered and fixed my hair.

  She greeted me with a soft kiss to the top of my head.

  “Good morning,” I murmured. “I made coffee.”

  Julia nodded, still looking sleepy. I’d left an extra coffee cup on the kitchen counter so she wouldn’t have to hunt for her own. She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined me at the small kitchen table where I’d eaten innumerable bowls of cereal in my youth.

  Julia’s hands cupped the ceramic mug. She dipped her nose inside and inhaled. I heard her pleasant hum echo inside the coffee cup.

  “How’d you sleep?” I asked.

  “Good.” She brushed at her unruly hair. “It was a little surreal to be surrounded by all of your things, like a time capsule from years ago.” A small smile played at the corners of her lipstick-free mouth. “I had no idea you were such a Britney Spears fan.”

  I made a face. “I can’t believe my mom hasn’t taken down those posters.”

  “Oh hush. It’s charming,” she insisted. “A whole new side to you I didn’t know existed.”

  “Yeah,” I snorted. “A super embarrassing part of me.”

  “Good morning!”

  I turned away from Julia in the direction of the cheerful greeting. My mom stood in the archway that separated the kitchen from the dining room. She looked a little more put-together than either Julia and myself, but she was still in her pajamas.

  Julia and I returned our mumbled good mornings.

  My mom remained in the entryway. “Do you girls need breakfast?”

  I glanced in Julia’s direction. She shook her head.

  “No thanks, Mom,” I said. “I think we’re both still full from dinner.”

  “What are your plans for today?” my mom asked.

  I looked again to Julia. She shrugged beneath the ancient sweatshirt. God, I loved it when she wore my clothes.

  “I don’t think we have any,” I admitted. “What do you want to do?”

  It was obvious my mom was trying to mask her excitement. “Feel free to say no, but there’s something I’d like to do.”

  She motioned for us to follow her.

  It took some effort on my part—my lower back ached from spending the night on the uncomfortable mattress—but I stood from the small kitchen table and trailed after my mom’s retreat. Julia followed a few steps behind me.

  I blinked a few times at the chaos spread across the dining room table. Several silver cookie sheets were filled with flat planks of gingerbread. A variety of ceramic bowls containing sugary candies and fluffy white frosting joined the slabs of gingerbread. None of it had been on the table when I’d first woken up.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  My mom swayed where she stood. “Your father isn’t interested in these kinds of things, so it’s usually just me now that you’re out of the house.”

  She hadn’t actually vocalized her request, but it was obvious what she was asking us to do.

  Julia was the one to speak next: “We’d love to build gingerbread houses with you, Nancy.”

  “Oh good!” my mom enthused.

  I was apparently outnumbered.

  I sat down at the dining room table and claimed one of the cookie sheets for myself. I’d never actually assembled a gingerbread house before. It wasn’t a Miller family tradition, but I assumed I’d figure it out. I wondered at the sheer amount and variety of supplies my mom had assembled. How long after my phone call, alerting her that we were coming for a visit, had she waited before rushing to the store to buy the gingerbread house materials?

  In addition to the slabs of gingerbread—pre-cut pieces that would make the roof and four walls—she’d laid out bowls of multicolored frosting and piles of candy with which to decorate our respective homes. Gumdrops, candy canes, red vines, peppermint disks, and other various candies covered the dining room table.

  Julia required no prompting or instructions. She commandeered one of the frosting piping devices and began to glue together the walls of her candy home.

  I started with the four walls of the house. Not knowing what I was doing, I layered on thick smears of frosting at the joints and pressed the pieces together until I was satisfied that the frosting had set.

  “Is this a Miller family tradition?” Julia asked.

  The base of her house was already complete—no surprise there.

  “No. We never did this kind of stuff,” I replied.

  “Oh, you make it sound like we were a bunch of Grinches when you were growing up,” my mom chastised. “I always made sugar cookies for you to decorate to leave out for Santa. And when you were much younger, you and your dad would leave a bale of hay outside for the reindeer. You’d get so excited on Christmas morning to go outside and see the hoof prints in the snow.”

  “Yeah. Encouraging the urban deer population,” I snorted.

  “Oh hush,” my mom censured. “Julia, does your family have any special holiday traditions?”

  I tried to give my mom a look that said don’t, but she wasn’t looking in my direction. It felt almost on purpose.

  “A few,” Julia confirmed. “Nothing as hands on as this, though. My father would drive us around the neighborhood to look at the holiday lights. My mom stayed behind. She used the excuse that she needed to finish making dinner, but as I got older, I realized it was so Santa could make his visit. We’d finish driving around the neighborhood and when we got home, there were presents under the tree and candy in our stockings. Then on Christmas Day we’d load into the car and drive out to my grandparents’ house.”

  “That sounds lovely,” my mom approved. “And it’s so nice that you can appreciate your mom’s role in making those memories happen. The hidden labor of mothers is often lost on our children.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. Having these two women at the same crafting table might have been a mistake.

  Julia’s gaze was intensely trained on her half-constructed gingerbread house. She carefully arranged gumdrop candies on the roof. “The grand irony is that my mother might not even remember those moments anymore.”

  I heard my mom’s soft gasp. “Oh no. Is it …”

  Julia sat up a little straighter in her chair and audibly sniffed. “Dementia,” she confirmed. “She’s been living with it for several years now. I’m grateful that she hasn’t forgotten me yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time.”

  My hand tensed beneath the dining room table. I wanted to grab onto Julia’s hand and at the very least give her a reassuring squeeze. But without having Come Out yet, I found myself embarrassingly paralyzed. Luckily, my mom wasn’t frozen. She did grab Julia’s hand. The fine bones and tendons on the top of her hand flexed with maternal affection. The two women shared a sympathetic smile while I dumbly sat apart and disconnected from the moment.

  I scowled when one of my roofing slabs slid off the base of its house.

  “Too much frosting,” my mom clucked.

  “You could always make it a midcentury modern house,” Julia chimed in.

  “Thanks for the feedback,” I grumbled.

  “Cassidy did a wonderful job of decorating the Christmas tree in the apartment,” Julia remarked. It felt like she was going out of her way to defend me in front of my mom. “She took the task very seriously, making sure each ornament was perfectly placed.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” my mom said. “She always was such a detail-oriented child. Very …” My mom paused as if searching for the right word. “Mission driven. Almost to the point of obsession. I’d give her the grocery list and she’d come back with everything checked off and give me back every single cent in change. Nothing unaccounted for. Nothing I hadn’t requested.”

  Julia cocked her head thoughtfully. “That’s surprising. I don’t know why, but I guess I thought she was a bit of a wild child in her youth. Kind of cavalier and carefree?”

  “Cassidy? Carefree?” My mom chuckled. “Goodness, no. She was such a worrier. I was sure she’d give herself an ulcer before high school.”

  “I’m loving this trip down memory lane,” I deadpanned.

  “When Cassidy joined the Marines, I wasn’t surprised,” my mom offered up. “I worried about her—what mom wouldn’t—but I knew she’d excel in that environment. I only wish she hadn’t been sent so far away for so long.”

  I’d long ago lost interest in my gingerbread house. My mom was revealing things she’d never told me before. I had never known how she’d felt about my enlistment or my time spent in Afghanistan. I only knew that neither of my parents knew how to talk about it with me—not that I was very forthcoming myself.

  “Did you know, Julia, that Cassidy won the Navy Cross? It’s a very prestigious award in the military. She saved a man’s life over there.”

  “I did know that,” Julia confirmed. “In fact, I’ve met Terrance and his wife. Did you also know they recently had a baby boy and they named him Miller?”

  My mom’s breath sounded like a squeak. “Oh my goodness. Cassidy! Why didn’t you tell me?”