The People We Choose by Katelyn Detweiler (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📕

“And Elliot, this is my mom. Margo.”

Elliot clears his throat behind me. “I thought it would be nice to drop in and say hello.” He steps up to Mimmy, arm extended, reaching for her free hand.

Mimmy looks at his hand for a minute before nodding and putting out her limp fingers. It’s a very sad shake. Nothing like the power shake Mama taught me when I was still in elementary school. “Every woman needs to learn to shake with authority. First step to cracking that glass ceiling wide open,” she’d said. I hadn’t understood. What glass ceiling? And why do I want to crack it? But I’d mastered the shake anyway. Mama had been proud.

“Let me get Stella,” Mimmy says, pulling her hand back. “She’s out in the garden.”

We’re alone for a minute, me and Elliot, while Mimmy is outside. “She was the easier of the two,” I say. “Just to warn you.”

“Excellent. Thank you for the heads-up.”

Mama steps through the kitchen door first. Her skin looks pale under the tips of pink on her nose and cheeks, already burning from her morning in the sun. The contrast of color makes her expression even more formidable. She is steeling herself, her face pulled into tight lines to mask the softness underneath. She thinks she’s good at pretending the softness isn’t there, but she’s never as good at it as she thinks.

“Hello,” she says with a curt nod. “It was thoughtful of you to stop by.” Unlike Mimmy she initiates the shake, and, also unlike Mimmy, her grip is firm and assertive. Too firm. Too assertive. Elliot winces before he can catch himself. A victory for Mama. She will make permanent note.

“I don’t want to intrude. Today, I mean, and also generally speaking. But I was glad when Calliope asked me to breakfast this morning.”

“Oh, she did?” Mama lifts an eyebrow, leveling her gaze at me.

“Yes. I thought it would be helpful.”

“And was it?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“Good.”

We are in an impromptu staring match. I will not blink. I will not.

“Anyway,” Elliot continues, and Mama breaks, turning back to him. “I won’t push for other meetings, of course. It’s all what Calliope and the two of you are comfortable with. I’m here if she wants to talk more. Otherwise, I’ll keep to my side of the woods. I know what my role is here. And what my role isn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

Mama seems to sag a bit, like some of her fire has dissipated. Mimmy is just nodding, nonstop, a human bobblehead, her arms wrapped tight around her chest.

When no one else speaks, Elliot adds, “I’m happy to know that Calliope has such a strong family. And she seems like an amazing young woman. You two must be so proud.”

“Oh, we are,” Mama says.

“Well, then…” Elliot glances back over at me, looking flustered. He needs help. I would expect more confidence from a lawyer.

“Maybe we can all have dinner sometime.” I say it without thinking, grabbing at the first thought that comes to me.

“That would be nice.” He gives me a nervous smile. “Though it might have to wait until my family starts speaking to me again.”

“They’re mad at you?” Mama asks. Her face has fewer sharp lines now.

“More hurt, I think. Shocked. They didn’t know. About me donating. It was before any of them, obviously. I never felt the need to disclose it, but clearly, I should have.” He gives a sad, helpless shrug. “I’m hoping they come around. Just like I’m hoping it comes around for you, too.”

That last part is directed at me, his blue eyes looking disarmingly sincere and sympathetic.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mama says, and I can tell she actually means it. “It’s no one’s fault. And you had a right to donate. I’m glad we picked you, you know. Despite all the horseshit that’s come along with it. Without you we wouldn’t have our dear girl.”

Elliot smiles, and—against all odds—Mama smiles back.

“Yes,” Mimmy says quietly, stepping in closer to our circle. She has finally stopped nodding. “Thank you.”

All three are watching me now. I feel so strange inside. A blend of too many things, not all of them seamlessly mixing. Like a smoothie with too many fruits and powders and seeds.

“I’m not sure I deserve the thanks,” Elliot says finally. “But I’m glad I was picked, too. I wouldn’t take it back. Not a chance.”

Chapter Seventeen

I knock on their door two days later. Monday morning.

I shouldn’t be here. Max said he couldn’t do this. Us. But I care about him. I have to know if he’s okay. Even if it’s kinder—more effort—than he deserves right now.

Joanie comes to the door. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“How are you holding up?” she asks.

I shrug. “Not great.” I don’t have to ask to know she’s not so great either. She’s wearing sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt and looks like she hasn’t slept since she heard the news. Or eaten. There’s a new hollow to her cheeks. She fits with the house, too well. A matching set. They are both empty and forlorn.

“It’s certainly a mess, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Definitely a mess.”

“I’m sorry, Calliope. That you have to go through this. I know it can’t be easy.”

“No. But I poked around in the past. I started this.”

“Well, imagine if you hadn’t?” She sighs heavily and reaches out to grab the peeling doorframe, leaning against it for support. “Seems to me we’d all be worse off in the end. The truth has a way of coming out. One way or another. Better to have this truth sooner rather than later, don’t you think?”

I nod. She’s right. Even if it doesn’t make right now any easier. “Is Max around?”

She sighs, and somehow manages to look even more exhausted. “He is. But I don’t think it’s a good time. I’ll tell him you stopped by. How about that?”

“I guess. Sure. Whatever you think.” I take a step back, the