By now, our fears of rejection were slowly diminishing, and while my parents had come to know that I wasn’t going away, they were still a long way from truly feeling that way. With each hug, I could feel that they were squeezing just a little longer and harder. With each look, I could tell they were taking me in “one last time.” And whenever I’d hang out with a different friend, my mom would ask hopefully, “You aren’t going to tell them, are you?”
