Then, as if in direct response to my anxiety, Vanessa said, “So are we not going to talk about the black sheep in the room?” I knew what the “right” thing to do here was. I was supposed to hang my head and feel ashamed of my choices. I wasn’t supposed to respond and should just let them humiliate me for blemishing the precious Huntington name. That didn’t really work for me anymore. “Here we go. I don’t know how I’ve managed to survive the last few months without your constant criticism.”
