My mother said my old bedroom was packed with Caitlyn’s wedding supplies, so I slept on a folding cot in the garage beside bubble-wrapped centerpieces and
boxes labeled CAITLYN – TABLE DECOR. My duffel rested on the concrete floor, dust still trapped in its seams from places I had never been permitted to talk about.
At dinner, every seat at the main table was occupied. My mother pointed me toward a folding table in the corner beside a broken vent and half a slice of cold pizza.
A teenage cousin asked whether I was one of Caitlyn’s friends.
Caitlyn raised her wineglass. “Oh, that’s Erin. She was in the Navy once, I think. She never really finished. These days she does yoga, nonprofit work overseas, or
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