text: And now I do finally head home, once again filled with great intentions. The day with Ari has left me in an oddly mellow and surprisingly sanguine mood about everything. I let myself in, welcoming the smells from the kitchen, planning to just enjoy a lovely familial dinner and then dedicate some time to catching up on my tonnage of neglected homework.
  
  It begins just as I envisioned it. Yes, there was a bit of a raised eyebrow from Mom, but since I had texted and made it home early enough not only to eat, but to actually help prep, it was not the hairy eyeball of death, just the quirked is-everything-okay-I-am-keeping-my-eye-on-you one, which is manageable.
  
  And Dad and I stand together, chopping vegetables for the salad, which really means I chop vegetables while he takes turns annoying Mom and amusing me with bad singing impressions, until Jean comes home carrying a loaf of French bread and then, voila, here we are, happily dining on pasta, salad, a little garlic bread, indulging in a little chit, a little chat.
  
  Jean complains about a math exam, and then Dad tells some long-winded story about his latest star sighting, one that involves Neil deGrasse Tyson crashing his lunch and therefore, "because you are known by the company you keep," having people falling all over his feet. And somehow he manages to tie up this story by sharing his version of some inverted Aesop-type moral, in case we needed help. "And you know, it would be nice to get a little more feet falling from my family."
  
  For the record, there are no takers for this undisguised, pathetic attempt to bait us. There is, however, the trio of jeer, snort, and scoff.
  
  It's my night for clearing the table and washing the dishes, which is really about rinsing them off and stacking them in the dishwasher, because my Mama is a member of the you-wash-the-dishes-before-the-dishwasher-washes-them club. So I begin as everyone else heads off on their own ways.
  
  I actually don't mind dishwashing night because the quiet combined with monotony does occasionally provide me with a good use of head-clearing time, and sometimes inspiration will strike.
  
  Which is why I absurdly thought I might think about the paper I am theoretically writing on Anne Brönte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, or for that matter even replaying my conversations with Ari, but no. Instead I start mulling about the game, wondering if the reason I can't uncover what's going on is because I am missing the obvious?
  
  All this mulling has the unfortunate side effect of leaving my defenses wide open for attack when Mom strolls into the kitchen, finds me standing here, silently pondering, why is it the only times we have found Tile-Boy he is near the same cave?, staring off into space, with a wet plate in my hand and the water running. She reaches around my unseeing self and turns the water off, then leans against the sink, studying me.
  
  Busted. Am I. And if you don't know, an apartment kitchen is incredibly tiny, but highly efficient. And when Mama is on the hunt, the kitchen is a perfect trap. I honestly don't think it's mere coincidence she just happened around the corner. I think she was lying in wait. She is the master of the art of waiting. She is also the master of the cheap trick. I, sadly, am the master of folding. Like a cheap suit.
  
  As she gently removes the suspended-in-air plate, she says, "Ah Sidonie, tu faire des châteaux en Espagne."
  
  Which is a French idiom for you are building castles in the air. However, it is mom-speak for "spill it."
  
  "Ce n'est rien, Mama." I shrug, force a half smile. "It's nothing."
  
  She does not reply, but her body slightly adjusts, so now her hip moves against the counter, while the arms cross. This is the not quite annoyed, but inviting me to speak stance.
  
  "No. Really." And I am scrambling through my cranial rolodex to find an adequate response, one that will be credible and still not give away too much. Or at least more than I want. "I mean, I told you I was with Imani and her old school chum, Fenny, right?"
  
  Pause for the nod.
  
  "Well, Imani never told me that Fenny is now Ze, so I was kind of surprised by all that and just thinking about it."
  
  And while this wasn't what I was actually thinking about, it isn't really a lie either. I mean it has been on my mind. Mostly because if I think about it, I just don't get why Imani never said anything. I mean it's not something I would have ever judged. Which of and by itself could mean it was something Imani was judging. Or maybe something she didn't want me to know. But why? Or is it, why not?
  
  "And how does Fenny being Ze make you feel?"
  
  Like I am super thankful I spent the afternoon with Ari. And also oddly thankful Mom cut to the chase. No tiptoeing around, asking for more details. Just a direct question aimed right at the heart of the matter. "No. I mean, it's all good. Ze seems really cool. It was just kind of, well, surprising, you know?" Wow, Sid, could you sound any more pathetic if you tried? At least I didn't wince.
  
  Or maybe I did.
  
  Mom raises her right arm and kind of lays her chin on her fist, hooks her right index finger around her lips and looks at me. I think she is about to say something, but instead she lowers her hand, tuts to herself, and turns to go.
  
  But then, just as I think I can relax, exhale, with one final head quirk, she reaches back out to pick my chin up. Even as I lift my eyes to meet hers, I am fighting, trying to keep them from being either defiant or smug or caught out, or anything that she can somehow read.
  
  And I try to distract my brain by thinking I will be inscrutable. Okay, yeah, not so much.
  
  Enigmatic. I wish.
  
  Incomprehensible. That one might work. I will try and maintain incomprehensible.
  
  She lets go of my chin and leaves me with one parting thought, "Ah, Sidonie, why are we going to have to do this the hard way?"
  
  And I do wonder for just a millisecond if she means the story of Ze or the story I am not telling. Then I wonder, which one do I mean?