When I’m silent too long, George gives my back a hearty shove. I awkwardly take the gift from her and grudgingly offer her a seat at the table with George and me. Don welcomes her and offers her a slice of cake. She takes it, steadying his shaking hands with one of hers, the warmth of her smile making him light up.

Don looks from her to me. “Are the two of you related? You must get this a lot, but you both look very alike.”

If only he knew.

I snort, and George cuffs the back of my head. Rubbing my scalp, I shoot him another glare. “Do that again, and I unlock your brake at the top of a very tall hill.”

He grins and shoots back, “Be nice or I’ll take back my camera, brat.”

I gasp. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Leaving me to sulk, he tells Don, “This here is Sophie’s mother. I invited her. Sophie, this old geezer is Don Baruth.”

He introduces her around to my friends. If she wonders why I’m the only teenager present, she keeps it to herself. It occurs to me that my secret—this one, at least—is out. Now that folks know we are related, it’s only a matter of time before my father finds out she’s back. Shit.

My mother’s attention bounces back and forth between me and George. I can see she’s trying to figure us out. I can’t blame her for that—not many people my age are best friends with old men. I wouldn’t be, if not for special circumstances.

Despite her obvious discomfort at being the stranger in our midst, she greets everyone with warmth. A couple of the nurses recognize her from the third floor and ask after Uncle Eddy. She shoots me another look and changes the subject quickly, as if she thinks I’ll be upset at the mention of him.

I glance at George, and I can tell he’s disappointed in me. I feel the weight of it in my gut. I’m not sure how he expected me to react, inviting her here. My distress must show because he leans close and whispers, “You need someone, girl. I won’t be around forever.”

The happiness I’d felt before blinks out like a smashed light bulb. We don’t talk about death. Not his. I can’t breathe.

“Please don’t say things like that. I can’t—”

My lip trembles, and George’s stern gaze gentles. He pats my hand. “Give her a chance, Sophie. You should’ve heard how happy she was when I invited her. You just might be missing out on something if you turn her away without listening to what she has to say.”

I doubt it. I really do. But I can’t deal with the idea of him dying. So I pretend to accept my mother’s presence to make him happy.

“How is Eddy?” I ask, knowing George would approve. I don’t say “Uncle.” It’s one thing to hear it in my head, but the word tastes like bleach on my tongue.

My mother’s face lights up with affection. “Better every day. He’s moved up the kidney transplant list, so things are looking up.”

I can’t bring myself to ask what’s wrong with him. It may be harsh, but I don’t care. Instead, I say, “That’s good.” Bland, but the best I can do.

Silence falls, and I can’t think of anything else to say that won’t provoke a fight. She takes charge and suggests I open my gifts. I’ve already opened the ones from the staff and other patients. They’d given me a gorgeous leather case to keep George’s camera in. And then I open George’s gift.

I bawl like a little baby. He’s given me his Nikon. Not as a loaner, but as my own. He’s included a note: Stun them all. Love, George.

He clears his throat, and I know my reaction has touched him. I hug the camera, and he says, “No one else would take care of it like you would.”

I set the camera down carefully and reach over to wrap my arms around his neck, tucking my wet face into his neck. No one has given me a gift that meant so much.

He pats my back. “Hey, now. What’s this? I thought you liked it.”

I laugh and sit back, wiping my face with a dessert napkin. “I love it. Honestly, George. It’s the best. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

“You better,” he threatens me with a mock glare.

I notice my mother watching us again, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Pain curls into her furrowed brow and the tense way she holds herself together. She reminds me of myself at school, the odd man out. That’s when I realize: It’s the love. George and I so obviously care about each other, and she doesn’t even know me. I know I’m right when George smacks a loud kiss on my cheek and she turns away.

I expected a moment like this to make me happy. See how well I got on without you? That’s what I thought would run through my mind. I didn’t expect to feel sad. It’s all a lie, after all. I didn’t really get on so well.

George says, “Why don’t you open the gift from your mother?”

I take the box and carefully pull off the wrapping paper. She twists her fingers together, wrapping them around her knee. It’s a laptop. My first thought is that she’s buying me off, but she sits forward and says in a rush, “It’s a MacBook. George mentioned how talented you are. It has Photoshop. The computer store said it has the best software for professional photographers.”

She waits nervously for my reaction. I could hurt her. That’s painfully obvious. This is up to me, to choose how I will go forward with her. I decide to test the waters.

“Thank you. I love it.”

I don’t hug her, but she appears pleased anyway. Her knuckles lose some of their whiteness as she relaxes her grip. The conversation picks up around us as a couple of the guys break out a deck of cards. Most of the doctors and nurses return to work, but a few of us stay behind to play poker. I’ve learned a lot about how to play from George. My mother is better. She shocks us by raking in half the pot, while I take the other half.