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“The tower?” Dad asks.
“Her tarot card,” Mom says.
“Yes. The fucking tower. I’m actually taking a break from the tarot, and do you want to know why?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Because I’m tired of the negativity. I’m tired of questioning who I am. I’m just fucking tired, Mom, Dad. So get on with it. I’m descended from not one but two psychopaths. I want to know about my Greek side, Mom. I want to know about Theodore Mathias.”
Dad clears his throat. “Ava, I thought long and hard before I told you about my birth mother. I decided it was time. But your mom—”
“It’s okay, Ryan.” Mom pats his hand. “She deserves to know the truth from both of us.”
“Damned right I do, and so does Gina.”
“Dad and I have decided not to tell Gina until after graduation. Let her finish her college career, Ava.”
I draw in a breath. “All right. Why mess up the awesome foursome?”
“Ava…”
“I get it, Dad. We leave her in the dark for now. But after she graduates…”
“We’ll tell her,” Mom says.
“Good.”
Mom clears her throat. “There’s no easy way to start.”
“Try the beginning, sweetie,” Dad says.
“I’ve put a lot of it out of my mind,” Mom says. “But I suppose it all begins with Gina.”
“What’s Gina got to do with this?”
“Not your sister,” Mom says. “My cousin. Gina Cates.”
“Right. You named Gina after her.”
“I did. She meant a lot to me.”
“I was your firstborn. Why didn’t you name me after her?”
Mom sighs. “I thought about it, but it was all too fresh in my mind back then. I didn’t want to be reminded of it every single day. By the time your sister came along, we had done a lot of healing, and I wanted to pay homage to my cousin.”
I breathe in, confused. And hungry. “What does your cousin Gina have to do with all of this?”
“Gina was a patient of Aunt Melanie’s,” Mom goes on, “but now that I think about it, it actually began long before Gina. I didn’t even know about Gina until I met my birth father. It began with your Grandma Didi.”
“When you were born.”
“Yes. My father, Theo Mathias, was a terrible man. Of course I didn’t know any of this. Not until I was fifteen years old.”
“But you lived with Grandma, right? They weren’t married.”
“No, they weren’t. Grandma and I lived modestly, but we were happy. At least I thought we were. Then…” Mom’s voice begins to shake. “God, it’s all so buried beneath everything horrible.”
“Easy, baby,” Dad says. “We’re not in any hurry.”
I’m in a hurry, but I don’t say anything. Mom opens her mouth again, but she’s interrupted by a knock on the library door.
“Yes?” Dad says.
The door opens and Michaela enters. “I have Miss Ava’s lunch.”
“Thank you, Michaela.” I take the tray from her and set it on the table. Then I close the door.
Funny. How can I be hungry and nauseated at the same time? But I am. I take the cover off the plate. A green salad with vinaigrette and a roast beef sandwich on my own sourdough bread. A plate of fruit and cheese plus a peanut-butter cookie rounds out the meal.
I don’t have a sweet tooth by any means, but I grab the cookie first and take a bite. I’ve got to get something down before my mother continues her story.
“Grandma Didi was beautiful in her day,” Mom says wistfully. “Her hair was brown but lighter than mine, fair skin, blue eyes. I look a lot like her.”
I remember my grandmother’s blue eyes. They were just like Mom’s and mine. Though she was old and worn, I always considered her beautiful. She and I understood each other.
“I never looked anything like my father,” Mom continues.
“Are you sure he was your father?” I can’t help asking.
Mom widens her eyes.
“I mean…you know. Because Dad found out the woman he thought was his mother wasn’t…and all.”
“Believe me, Ava, I wish I didn’t have to claim him, but he was my father. He had olive skin from his Mediterranean roots, and his eyes and hair were dark.”
I take another bite of the cookie. This one is drier.
A sigh whooshes out of Mom’s mouth. “Anyway…my mother died when I was fourteen.”
“What?” I drop the cookie back onto the plate.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Resurrection from the dead seems to happen a lot in this family.
Mom continues, “She didn’t, as I found out later, but that’s what I was told. I never saw a body. Who would show a fourteen-year-old girl her dead mother’s body? She didn’t have any family that I knew of or that anyone could find, so the court sent me to the man whose name was on my birth certificate. My father. Theodore Mathias.”
I pick up the cookie, break off a piece, and hold it.
