I can think of several things to say to Mom.
Sadly, they’re all swallowed by my hiccups.
Fortunately, Mom seems to be able to read my mind.
“Yes,” she says calmly, pushing my wet hair back from my eyes. “I know.”
“H-how?”
She smiles. “Darcy told me the moment she found out. But I knew something was up long before then.” She shrugs. “Your hours didn’t make any sense, your stories sounded like what someone who’s never been in a senior center would make up from reading pamphlets. And . . . there is something about you when chess is on your mind. You feel like another person. A much happier person.” Her smile turns rueful. “Mal. They talked about you on Good Morning America. Did you think I wouldn’t have gotten phone calls from every distant cousin of mine about how you should really perm your hair?”
I groan. Between hiccups. Mom lets out a soft laugh and pulls me closer with an arm around my shoulders, like she doesn’t hate me for calling 67 percent of the people she gave birth to bitches.
“I think I’m doing this wrong,” she says gently. “Maybe before we talk about the World Championship, we should talk about your dad.”
I instantly shake my head. “No, I— I’m sorry. I was way out of line. We don’t have to— ”
“But we do.” Her lips press together, and her expression morphs into something sad. “It’s been over a year, and I take responsibility for not doing it earlier. For a long time, I lied to myself that I was doing you a favor. That you were deeply hurt, and didn’t need to be re-traumatized.”
“I’m not.” I wipe my eyes and let out a phlegmy laugh. “I am not the one who’s traumatized. You are the one who got cheated on. Sabrina and Darcy are the ones who grew up without a father. I am the one who made it happen— I am the bitch here.”
“No, no, no.” Mom shakes her head, looking crestfallen. “See? That’s why we should have discussed this. You are not responsible for any of that. You know who is?” A beat. Her eyes shine in the late afternoon light. “Your father. Your father made some terrible, cruel, careless choices. And part of why I don’t talk to you girls about him as much as I should is that it’s very difficult, even years later, for me to come to terms with the person he’d become toward the end. But I will never hold you responsible for any of it.”
“You should. It was my fault. If I hadn’t— ”
“Mal, our histories are not made of ifs and buts. Although, if this is the game you want to play: if you hadn’t told me about what you’d seen at that tournament, I would have found out anyway. Because it wasn’t the first time he’d done that. And your father had a long history of dealing with problems with alcohol, and he’d had two DUIs before his accident, so even if he had still been living at home, there’s a good chance that what happened would have happened anyway.”
I take a shuddering breath, thinking about Dad. How much I miss him. How he could have done that to us. “Sabrina blames me for it. And she’s right— ”
“No, I don’t.”
I glance at the door. Sabrina is leaning against the doorframe, glaring at me.
“I know you do.” I’m sobbing again. “And you have every right. I stole Dad from you, and— ”
“I don’t, you bitch. And I never did.” She looks down at her feet. “However, I am familiar with your Red Cross nurse tendencies and with your habit of shouldering the universe, Atlasstyle.” She swallows. “So I may have used the knowledge that you blame yourself for every damn thing to ever happen to my advantage. When you piss me off.”
Mom sighs. “Sabrina.”
“I apologize, okay?” she says defensively. “I didn’t think you felt this bad about it— it’s not like you show emotions, ever. But it also is your fault, a little bit. It used to be fun, hanging out with you. We’d do stuff without Mom and Dad and Darcy, and I’d feel like you and I were a thing. You treated me like a person. Now it’s like you’re ready to narc me out on anything I do. You give me orders and act all superior and like you’re trying to be Mom. You treat me more like a child now than you did when I was a child— ” Her voice breaks, and she quickly bends her neck to hide her tears. “Maybe I’m a bitch, but I’m not ungrateful. I’m very grateful, actually. I know how much you do, and if you didn’t try to be so secretive about it, maybe I could actually show it. But if you want, I can send you a thank- you card, or— ”
She stops between sniffles, and I want to stand, I want to go hug her, I want to tell her that it’s okay and I don’t want her stupid card, I just want my sister to stop crying. But Mom’s hand closes around mine.
“When you stopped playing chess, Mal, I assumed that you did it because your father’s actions made it too painful for you. I assumed you’d find your way back to it once you were healed. And when you decided not to go to college . . . well, you seemed genuinely hurt and offended whenever I tried to talk you out of it, so I told myself that you were an adult, and were making choices that were best for you and your well- being, and I had to respect that.
“But when Darcy told me about your fellowship, it occurred to me for the first time that maybe there were other reasons. That maybe your main goal was to protect me from something, and if that’s the case . . . let me tell you something: when I think about chess, I don’t think about Archie, or about the other women.” She smiles through her tears. “When I think about chess, I think about my brilliant oldest daughter, doing what she loves, and kicking ass while she’s at it.” Her chin trembles. “I watched you at the Challengers, Mal. Hours and hours of you being so beautiful in your”— she lets out a wet laugh— “in your Corpse Bride dress. And even though I couldn’t understand one single thing you were doing, I was so proud of you— ”
I can’t look at her anymore. I can’t bear one more word, so I hug her. More forcefully than I should, given her joint issues. And she hugs me back, her arms around mine, like she used to when I was little and needed my mom. And when I hear a putupon “Oh, fine,” and Sabrina’s arms close around us, I feel whole in a way I haven’t in over four years.
“Way to make me feel excluded, bitches.”
“Darcy,” we all say at once, all in the same disapproving tone.
“What?” She shrugs from the door. “I thought we now just sprinkled the word generously in conversation. For seasoning.”
“We most certainly do not,” Mom tells her.
“God,” Sabrina mutters, shuffling away from us. “There is no privacy in this house.”
“Of course not,” Darcy says. “It’s minuscule and the walls are made of toilet paper and Tazo tea bags. Mallory, can you please win that stupid World Championship and move us elsewhere with your smart checkers money?”
I scowl at her. “Great job keeping secrets, by the way.”
“Technically, I kept the fact that I hadn’t kept the secret, secret from you.”
I mull it over as I rub my cheeks clean. Then I nod, impressed despite myself.
“Well.” Mom pats my knee. “Now we can move on to talking about that handsome ‘senior center coworker’ of yours.”
“Right. Do you and Nolan fall asleep together to scalp massage ASMR like Twitter says?” Sabrina asks.
“What? No! We’re not— I’m not— ” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, which comes back full of something that looks suspiciously like snot. We really need a parental control firewall, I almost say. Then remember what Sabrina said about me trying to be her parent.
“Did you guys break up?” she asks. “What’d he do?”
“He . . . lied to me.”
“Ah, yes. Lying. Something you’d never stoop to.” Mom’s tone is soft, but I wince anyway. “Let’s hear about this lie.”
I tell her about Defne, and the fellowship, and Koch’s TikTok. After I’m done, Mom takes a deep breath and says, “Listen, I like Nolan. And when I saw the two of you together . . . I think he’s been good for you. But this is not about him. It’s about chess, and about you.” She squeezes my hand. “You made good money from the tournaments you’ve been in. My new meds are working well, and I’ve been able to work regularly for weeks. Things are so much better than they were even just six months ago. I appreciate what you’ve done for us, but now it’s time to focus on what you want.
“Guilt and responsibility are heavy burdens, Mallory. But they’re also something we can hide behind, and now you can’t do that anymore. You are free to do what you love. Which might be never thinking about chess against and moving to Boulder to be with Easton. It might be becoming an auto mechanic. It might be taking a year off to backpack around the world. It can be whatever you want— but it has to be your decision. Your choice, free of constraints. And to do that, you’re going to have to look into yourself, and be honest about what you want. And yes, I know that’s terrifying. But life is too long to be afraid.”
I snort wetly. “Too short, you mean.”
“No. Years spent carrying grudges, talking yourself out of things that might make you happy? They go slowly.”
I turn to Darcy and Sabrina. They’re looking at me with identical shades of blue eyes, identical serious expressions, identical wispy blond strands framing their pretty faces.
“And one more thing,” Mom says. “If you need something, you are allowed to ask for it. God knows we have been. But I know you’re not good at it, so I’m going to offer: whatever you decide to do, about chess, about your life . . . may we be there for you? May we be part of your life, from now on?”
I can’t bring myself to say yes.
But maybe I’m making progress anyway, because at least I manage to nod.
