“Still married?”

I slouch deeper into my chair. “She hasn’t gotten divorced in the month since I saw you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And Harry and Max?”

Every.

Freaking.

Time.

Considering her favorite candy bar is Oh Henry! you’d think she’d be able to remember her grandson’s name. “Henri, not Harry, and they’re good too. Getting big. Halloween was last night. They were adorable.”

She frowns, which really isn’t all that different from her usual expression. “I’d know that if I ever saw them.”

“Yeah, well . . .” It’s the same guilt trip I get every time I come, like it’s somehow my fault Mallory’s never comes to see Mom. I don’t tell Mallory when I’m coming because she forbade me to see Mom when I was living with her. I doubt she’d feel different now. She told me a long time ago to forget about Mom. Mallory blames Mom for everything that happened to me at the group home and after. So do I, I guess, but there’s no changing it, so I don’t see the point in holding a grudge.

The truth is, I know it’s probably a waste of time coming here. I know I shouldn’t bother. I mean, it’s not like Mom ever really bothered with me. I was just an inconvenience most of the time. I don’t know if she wanted me or not, but once she got me, she didn’t really seem to care one way or the other. Indifference smarts, coming from the one person who’s supposed to love you unconditionally.

But for better or for worse, she’s my mom—the only parent I’ve ever had. So even though a big part of me is screaming that I should forget about her, there’s a smaller voice that comes from somewhere in my DNA compelling me to keep digging for something deeper—like if I try hard enough, maybe she’ll love me despite herself.

Mom leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, and splays both hands across her face to hold her head up, like it suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. “You should make like your sister and steer clear of me. I was never any good for you girls.”

I squirm a little in my seat, uncomfortable with Mom’s rare moment of honesty. I’m so used to her shifting blame that I don’t know what to say when she finally accepts some. “You did the best you could, Mom.”

She lifts her eyes but not her head and looks at me from under her stringy hair. “Wasn’t good enough.”

I shrug. “We turned out okay.” For the most part.

She pulls her head out of her hands and looks at me for a long second, as if finally realizing maybe it’s true. Her face looks younger all of a sudden, less haggard, as she straightens her arm and brushes her bony fingers across the back of my hand. “I guess so. You’re a pretty good kid, aren’t you? Maybe I didn’t screw up too bad after all.”

I don’t even know what to say. For some unexplained reason, a wet lump forms in the back of my throat. It’s not like she said she loved me, so why does it feel that way?

A tired smile pulls at her mouth as she draws her hand back. “So, if that’s true, when are you gonna find a man?”

And just like that, the moment is gone and we’re back on track.

I take a deep breath and swallow. “I’m still living with Brett. It’s been almost a year.”

“The model?” she says, her eyebrows rising.

“He’s an actor, Mom. On Broadway. Not a model.”

“But you don’t got no picture,” she says with a skeptical squint. I’m pretty sure she thinks Brett is a figment of my imagination. Somehow it’s not real if she can’t see proof.

“You know they take my phone. I can’t bring it in here.”

She crumples the Oh Henry! wrapper and shoots it basketball style at the trash can in the corner. It misses by a mile and uncrumples itself on the cement floor. “What about cigarettes? Did you bring me any?”

This is the part of the program where she gets in all her jabs to remind me what a shitty kid I am.

“You know we’re not allowed to bring those in either.”

She frowns deeper. “You’d have snuck some in if you loved me.”

Who said I loved you?

The thought springs out of my mind like some demented jack-in-the-box. The scary-clown kind that gives little kids nightmares.

In Mom’s defense, I’ve never told her about anything that happened to me after she got her sorry ass thrown in jail. Maybe that’s why, despite everything, I don’t mind coming here. She never gives me that look I get from Mallory—the one that reminds me she knows all my shit and she feels sorry for me.

“Are they keeping you busy?” I ask, just for something to say.

“Oh, yeah.” She makes a big production of rolling her eyes. “Big trip planned for tomorrow. I’m walking the runway in Paris, then shopping in Monte Carlo.”

I slouch in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. “Sorry.”

We sit in silence for the next fifteen minutes, and the visitor room starts to fill up. The chatter gets louder by the second, which only punctuates our silence.

“You want another candy bar?” I finally ask.

She shrugs.

I get up and buy her two. I come back and drop them on the table, then we sit in silence for another fifteen minutes while she eats them.

“So, I gotta go, but I’ll see you next month,” I tell her when she’s done.

She stands and turns for the door, and I pull myself out of my seat as the guard opens it for her. But just before she disappears through it, she glances at me over her shoulder. “Bye, Hilary.”

The lump is my throat is back. I can’t remember the last time she called me by my name. And the look in her eyes when she said it . . . like it was the saddest word known to man . . .

I head back through security and collect my bag, looking forward to the walk back to the train station.

“WHERE YOU BEEN?” Brett asks when I come through the door. He’s on the couch slipping on his shoes.

I peel off my jacket. “The same place I always am on the first of the month.”

He just looks at me for a minute, then understanding dawns. “Your mom.”

I nod.

“Crazy as ever?” he asks with a smirk.

“She’s not crazy,” I say. Ever since I told Brett about Mom, he keeps thinking she’s in some mental institution or something. “She’s incarcerated.”

He shrugs, then scoops up his gym bag and stands, hiking it onto his shoulder. “So, I heard from Tim about that audition.”

I look up from where I was hanging my jacket on the peg near the door. “And?”

“They’re replacing the pregnant chick after the first of the year, so they’re auditioning the first week in December.”

My heart sinks as I step deeper into the room. “That’s over a month away.”

“Chill, Hilary. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” He squeezes my ass on his way to the door. “Wish I had time for a quickie.”

Something in my gut squirms in a not-so-good way and I slap his hand away.

He grins and pulls the door open. “See you after the show. Your ticket’s on the counter.”

Shit! I totally forgot it’s opening night. Guess my mind has been elsewhere for the last few weeks. “Great. I’ll see you down there. Break a leg.”

He grins over his shoulder and swings the door shut.

I move to the kitchen and pull my phone out of my pocket, dialing the bar.

“Yo!” Jerry yells into the receiver.

“Hey, Jerry. It’s Hilary.”

“Don’t you dare bag out on me,” he warns.

“I’m hacking up a lung here, Jerry,” I lie, barking out a cough. “You seriously don’t want me there.” I need the money, so it’s almost never that I do this. I can’t believe I forgot to ask for the night off.

“You better get your ass better before tomorrow. I need you this weekend.”

“I’ll find some drugs. I’ll be fine.”

He hangs up without another word.

I shower and pull Brett’s favorite dress out of the closet. It’s a black backless number with an asymmetrical hem. The last time I wore it, we had sex in the back of the cab on the ride uptown from closing night of Brett’s last show. I think about wearing no underwear in case he’s planning a repeat performance, but that uncomfortable tightening in my stomach is there again at the thought.