“I’ve never been south of Maryland.” She draws her knees up to her chest.
He sits on the bed without waiting to be asked. His mother would be ashamed, but he stopped caring what she thought years ago.
“So who, pray, were you going to set on me before?”
She looks at him again, full of calculation and ice. “You’re persistent.”
“I know what it’s like to not know which version is the real you,” he offers gently.
She is quiet for a long time and then she says, “That’s the problem. We’re both real. But no one believes us.”