The next afternoon, I got to meet my new cousin, Molly Jade Perkins-Collier. She was an ugly baby, but I wasn’t going to admit that. All newborns were ugly, right? I figured there had to be some major hormones or pheromones or whatever at play, because my aunt and uncle seemed very much in love with their new naked mole rat, and for that I was glad. At some point she’d get chubby and smiley and less alien-looking, and once she stopped projectile vomiting, maybe I’d be willing to babysit. Maybe. I’d probably bring Josh along to help, considering his skills in the matter.

            My mother, of course, was deep in Nostalgia Lane today.

            “Oh, I remember bringing you home from the hospital,” she told me, draping an arm over my shoulders. She squeezed the back of my neck as she said, “You were so cute.”

            “Pretty sure I wasn’t,” I muttered.

            “You were a good baby. The first time I breast fed you, you latched onto me like a fish grabs a worm.”

            “I’d prefer not to know this.”

            “I told Kent that you liked drinking about as much as he did.” She sighed, looking sad and wistful. “You were a hungry little bugger. Who knew you’d grow up to be so skinny.”

            My mother so rarely ever said my dad’s name, and most of the stories she told about my childhood were after she’d returned to California. I couldn’t help but be a little curious—not about the breastfeeding, dear God no— but about my dad. I knew they’d split up early on because of his alcoholism, and because my mom could no longer handle the poverty she’d suffered in Montana. She’d only gone there to escape her mother, and without a plan or a support system, she could only find work as a part time waitress at a hunting lodge outside Missoula. That was how she’d met my dad, who had just started working in construction and came by every other day for a cup of coffee and some toast. Beyond those details, she didn’t tell me much. I knew my grandmother hated him, so he couldn’t be that bad, right?

            “Mom…” I began, thinking of how I wanted to phrase my next question. But then Molly started hiccupping and then crying, and it was all hands on deck to calm her down and figure out what she wanted, which meant it was my time to exit.