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explanation, something. But Mom is now furiously pinching
back the cilantro. Finally, I wave my hands in front of her
face. “Yoo-hoo, Mother. Remember me? The redhead who
lives with you?”
Mom brushes a clump of dirt off her lap, looks up at me.
“Sit down, honey.” She pats the stone bench. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“You’re old enough to hear the truth.”
My stomach lurches. The truth? This is it? The moment
of truth I’ve been waiting for all my life? Out here in the
garden, I’m finally going to hear why I, too, have been kept
in solitary confinement?
Dazed, I lower my butt to the bench.
Instantly, my armpits feel wet. Images of “the truth” race
through my mind. My mother was once a man. Unable to
bear another minute being trapped inside a hairy chest, she
undergoes sex-change surgery and goes from Frank to Fay.
No, that can’t be it. No way would a woman trapped in
a man’s body emerge with such grubby fingernails.
Is she going to tell me I’m adopted? Was the egg a donation,
too? Are both of my real parents living in Wilmington?
I feel myself getting angry. She picks now of all times to
drop a bombshell? Now, when my emotions are already so
frazzled over Perry?
“Am I adopted?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Is that it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ruthie. I’ve never lied to you
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