“Not at all.” I shake my head, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s so messed up. What he did. All those lies. My God…it’s astonishing that someone could lie for that long about something so big—”

“I know. But maybe he just felt trapped,” I say, instantly regretting my words. I quickly backpedal. “Not trapped by your mother and you and Ashley. But by the whole situation. Trapped by the lies.”

“I knew what you meant,” she says. “But I find myself wondering who he truly loved. I know it’s possible to love two people—but what was in his heart? I’d love to ask him.”

I nod as she continues. “A big part of me hopes it’s my mother, of course, because I know she’s so in love with him. But that’s not the real reason—”

“What’s the real reason?” I ask, threading the needle, doing my best to avoid mention of Lainey’s mother.

“Because if he wasn’t in love with my mother—that meant he stayed in a relationship that he didn’t want to be in. And as bad as the lies are, there’s nothing worse than living an inauthentic life.”

I nod, riveted. She makes it all sound so simple—and maybe it is—but in this moment, her statement also feels profound.

“I don’t think my dad is happy,” she continues. “In his marriage or his job. I think he’s settled his whole life. He should have been a musician. He used to be in a band—he played the guitar and has a really cool singing voice, a raspy baritone.”

“Your voice is raspy, too,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “People say that…. But there’s no way he’s happy working at JCPenney for all these years. Especially after they filed for bankruptcy. So depressing.”

I nod. “Does your mother have a career?”

She shakes her head. “No. She stayed home with us. She was a great mother in a lot of ways. Doting on us. Homemade cookies when we got back from school. Carted me to tennis tournaments all over the country. But she’s also so narrow-minded in a way that he isn’t.”

I nod, then reach for the wineglass, waiting for her to continue as I take a sip.

“Everything really came to a head when I came out to my parents,” she finally says.

I look back at her, surprised. For some reason, Olivia being gay has never crossed my mind. “When did you come out to them?” I ask.

“In college. When I got into a pretty serious relationship.”

“What was her name?” I ask for some reason.

“Zara. She was my best friend for a long time. And then it was more. And I just couldn’t hide it anymore. I didn’t want to hide it—or her. So, I went home and broke the news.”

“What did you say?” I picture my own mother, feeling impressed by Olivia’s bravery.

“I cut right to the chase.” She clears her throat, then says, “ ‘Mom, Dad. I’m in love with Zara. She’s my girlfriend. I’m a lesbo.’ ” She smiles, but there is something troubling in her eyes.

“What did they say?”

“My dad said nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. Zilch. Total silence. Although to be fair, there wasn’t any oxygen left in the room after my mother’s reaction.”

I wince. “Oh, no. What did she do?”

“She cried buckets. She asked if it was ‘just a phase.’ When I told her no—that this was the way I’d always been, the way I’d been born—she insisted that that couldn’t be true because—get this—I played with Barbies as a kid.” She shakes her head.

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah. Then she told me I needed to talk to my pastor. When I reminded her that I didn’t have a pastor, nor did I believe in God, there were more tears.”

“Gosh,” I say, shaking my head. “That must have been so hard.”

“It was. And what hurt the most was that my father just sat there the whole time. A few days later, after I’d gone back to school, he drove to Austin and took me to lunch. He told me he loved me no matter what—and said Mom would come around. Eventually.”

“And did she?”

“In her own way. But she still goes to some megachurch that preaches hate from the pulpit. And my dad goes, too…even though I know he’s only doing it for her. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it any longer.”

I nod, then say, “When did you know you were gay?”

“Oh. That’s hard to say. Growing up, I had crushes on girls. And I was obsessed with this one babysitter when I was about ten.” She smiles. “But I didn’t see it as a queer thing at the time. I just thought she was the coolest ever.”

I nod, thinking of the platonic girl crushes I’ve had over the years.

Olivia continues, “Then, in high school, I had a boyfriend. He was so cute. But—” She shakes her head. “Let’s just say I’m definitely not bisexual.”

I smile, thinking of Lainey’s belief that sexual orientation falls on a continuum, ranging from exclusively opposite sex to exclusively same sex with every possible combination in between. She has always insisted that very few people are at one of the extremes. I reconsider her theory now, as Olivia and I both reach for the wineglass.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling her hand back.

“No, go ahead.”

She takes a sip, then hands me the glass. “You seem surprised.”

“About what?”

“That I’m gay.”

I start to deny it but force myself to be honest. “I’m a little surprised. I don’t know why, though—”

Olivia nods, putting me at ease. “I get it. I present as straighter than some…but obviously those are just stereotypes.”

I nod, then blurt out, “Just so you know—I fully support the LGBTQ community.”

She nods, seeming to suppress a smile.

“Is that a dumb thing to say?”

“No, it’s not at all dumb. It’s nice.” She hesitates, then says, “Do you have gay friends?”

Her question is gentle, but I still feel defensive. “I work with quite a few gay men,” I say. “But I wouldn’t say I’m close with any of them.”