Those words had followed me for nearly a decade. “Figuring myself out” was their polite way of describing the ten years I disappeared from family gatherings, missed holidays, skipped birthdays, and returned home carrying scars nobody cared enough to ask about.
My relatives never truly wanted answers about my life. They only wanted an explanation simple enough to fit the version of me they had already created in their minds.
My cousin Hannah eventually turned around with a smug smile.
“Why are you even sitting here? This section is for immediate family.”
“I am immediate family,” I answered calmly.
She smiled even wider.
“I meant supportive family.”
My aunt laughed quietly beside her while my father ignored the insult completely. Even Jason heard the exchange from the formation, yet the slight movement at the corner of his mouth suggested he agreed with them, and somehow that hurt more than anything my parents had said.
A few minutes later, my father leaned toward me without making eye contact.
“After the ceremony, don’t come to the private reception unless Jason invites you. This is a military crowd. People ask questions.”
