Dad sits next to Mom, scooping potatoes absentmindedly. He's not really all here, doesn't seem to have much to say. He hasn't had much to say since Rosie died, and he's on the same "let's just never discuss it again" wavelength as my mom.
He pays careful attention to Miles, but there's no sign that Dad objects to my so-called boyfriend. Dad isn't even bothered by the tattoos that peek out from Miles's t-shirt.
This is what I wanted, the attention on Miles instead of me. But it feels wrong for them to so easily accept him. Shouldn't they be prying about his intentions? Shouldn't they be worried about their little girl?
Miles is too charming, too good at convincing them he adores me.
Mom clears her throat. "You know, I'm so thankful to have my daughter and her friend here. And she's healthy, and she's going to medical school next year." She holds up her glass of wine like she's toasting me. "You're going to do great anywhere."
"Thank you." I hold my water to my chest, avoiding anything close to a toast. "It'll be nice to finally get out of southern California. Spread my wings and see the world." And get away from this house and the way it tears open a hole in my gut.
"If that's what you want." Mom sips her wine slowly. She sets the glass down, folds her hands, and looks directly at me. "Megara, honey, what are you thankful for?"
I bite my lip, fighting my temptation to call out the bullshit. This is supposed to be a nice family dinner. I'm not going to ruin it by pointing out how much we're pretending that Rosie isn't here.
"For honesty," I say.
Mom frowns, not sure what to make of that. "It is important." She pats Dad's hand. "Especially in a relationship."
The mood shifts and her desperate attempt to pretend like my sister never existed disappears. Her expression is misery. The memory must be hitting her like a ton of bricks.
I know that feeling. It's a horrible feeling. Half of me wants to rush to comfort her. But the other half can't forgive her for erasing Rosie from the house.
I know it isn't fair. She's coping the only way she knows how.
But it's still wrong that there's no sign Rosie ever existed.
Mom shakes her head and that hurt is gone. Back to an everything is okay smile. "I miss Rosie, too. I wish she was here. But she's not. She's gone, and keeping her stuff around isn't going to bring her back."
I offer my best smile. This conversation won't go anywhere unless we're honest, and I can tell she's not ready to admit how much it hurts. I'm not sure I'm ready either.
Miles cuts in. "I'm thankful for your hospitality." He smiles, all charm.
"My pleasure," Mom says. She turns to me. "You've really found a nice young man."
I make eye contact with Miles. "He's the perfect boyfriend."
He raises an eyebrow.
"He bought me an N64," I say. "You remember how Rosie and I used to play with ours? The one cousin Jimmy gave us. For a while, she loved racing games."
Mom frowns. "Yes, I remember. I remember a lot about your sister. More than I want to remember." A tear forms in her eye.
I pull together some kind of an apology, some way to connect over how much this hurts.
Nothing comes together. I have no idea what I should say here.
>
Mom pushes out from the table. "Excuse me, Megara, Miles. I'm developing a headache. I'm going to lie down."
Dad looks at her with concern. She waves like it's fine and makes her way up the stairs. Her steps are calm and even, but I'm pretty sure her hands are shaking.
* * *
Miles makes effortless conversation with my father, never missing a beat. It's sports, movies, requests for embarrassing stories about me. After dinner, they take to the TV. Dad flips around channels, eventually settling on a rerun of some kind.
I creep upstairs. If my mom really wants to talk about Rosie, I want to be there with her.