My family is…a lot. White on Dad’s side, Guatemalan on Papá’s, and they love to get together. My dads adopted me three weeks before my third birthday—I don’t really remember anything before them—and my whole life has been these big gatherings. Everyone talking, happy, in each other’s business—just like Max. Which was fine when they were pestering me about asking Lola to homecoming freshman year or crowding around to show her my gap-toothed tee-ball photos from kindergarten after she’d become a regular at family dinner. But now it means forced smiles and not talking about the one thing that
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