“His teacher says he might be gifted,” my mother was telling her friend Irene, her voice ringing with delight. “Not just smart. Gifted. She said you do not see kids like him every year. Maybe every five.”

Irene gasped theatrically. “A genius in the family.”

My mother touched her chest, eyes shining. “Inherited from his grandmother, obviously.”

They laughed together, heads tilted toward one another like co conspirators.

I cleared my throat.

“Hi, Mom.”

She turned, startled, as if I had materialized out of thin air rather than walked through the front door. “Oh. Stephanie. You made it.”

Made it. As though attendance had been optional. As though my presence was a pleasant surprise rather than an expectation.