It was so predictable. Anders and I had planned to spend Thanksgiving in Los Angeles (Calabasas, actually) but Mom, at the very last minute, decided to go to Turks & Caicos with her latest boyfriend, some billionaire techbro who likes “mature” women. When I practically screamed my dismay into the phone, she mentioned spending Christmas with us in New York instead. I reminded her that Anders and I had promised grand-mėre we would be in Westport along with Alastair and Joanne. Mom ended the call right then by saying they were ready to board the plane. A gruff voice could be heard in the background telling her to hang up.

It would have been the first Thanksgiving I had spent with my mother since my senior year at Columbia. With Anders going through Columbia Law and living all this time in the city, it would have also been our first substantial time spent together since our wedding day two years ago. But, since the plane tickets had already been purchased, Anders and I took the journey back home anyway. We even stopped to visit the old Mirage Canyon High School campus as we drove the Ventura Freeway down from Calabasas to Silverlake. Alastair and Joanne, when they learned about Mom cancelling on us, invited us to Thanksgiving dinner in their home. They insisted we stay in their guest house as long as we were in Los Angeles. We enthusiastically accepted their splendid offer.

When we arrived at their doorstep on Thanksgiving Day, two bottles of Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc in the crook of Anders’ arm, and discovered that three other guests were already inside. It was Philippa Chang! I hadn’t seen her since that fateful summer when Mom was rehearsing that Broadway play. Of course, I knew she had fully transitioned since then, as I had, and married Annie Flaherty’s cousin, her old Stanford roommate Paul Flaherty. I watched the Oscars the year they both won. Paul for directing and Philippa for original screenplay.

The real surprise, and a pleasant one at that, was Philippa introducing us to her 4-year-old daughter, Clarissa. She and Paul had privately adopted her as a newborn. What a little cutie. A bundle of joyous energy. She even sang for us. A chorus of “Jingle Bells.” When Philippa teased her that Christmas was still a month away, she just laughed and started another chorus of it.

Over turkey, which was expertly cooked, moist and tasty, Philippa and I caught up with each other. I learned how Joanne and Alastair had become so friendly with her and Paul. Even after Paul decided to form his own production company and end his deal with GlobalNet, much to Alastair’s chagrin. It was only last year when Joanne’s fictional biopic, written by Philippa and directed by Paul, got streamed on GlobalNet, bringing Joanne’s life story to a mass audience. I was so happy that Alastair had finally popped the question and Joanne had accepted. They are the kind of couple I hope Anders and I will be when we’re in our 60s.

“So, what happened after Trent’s livestream told your story to the world?” Philippa asked.

“Happily, the media stopped stirring up a controversy over my being Lulu’s transgender child. And I decided for both our sakes that I’d move in with grand-mėre for the rest of the summer, staying away from the media spotlight as much as possible. The Balsam brothers were disappointed and rather preferred I stay in the news cycle. Any publicity is good publicity, you know. Oh, and I finished the film course—”

“Looks like you two got to…ahem…know each other better as well,” Paul interjected.

“We found we worked together very well,” Anders declared as I blushed. Joanne brushed my shoulder and smiled.

“Did you ever confirm the identity of your biological father? As I recall, that was your main reason for coming to New York with your mom in the first place,” Philippa pointed out.

“When I told Mom that I was going to stay with grand-mėre for the remainder of the summer, I sat her down and had a real heart-to-heart about it. I wanted her to finally come clean about the whole mystery. It took a couple of glasses of pinot noir but…”

I was waiting for Mom in our suite at The Carlyle the night after Trent’s livestream. I had taken the train in from Westport to tell her I was moving out. I had every intention of going back to Mirage Canyon when my senior year started at the end of August. Until then, I’d come into the city twice a week to attend my film class and wrap up the project Anders, Charlotte and I were working on. With the play going into previews soon, there wasn’t much left to shoot. Of course, there was a question for Mom I needed an answer to.

A little after 9PM, she came in. She had just taped her segment of that night’s Stephen Colbert’s Late Show, to be aired at 11:30PM. She gasped when she saw me sitting on the sofa, Alice in my lap. Dropping her handbag onto the floor, she ran to me and crushed me in a bearhug.

“Cherry! I thought I’d lost you forever!”

“Oh, Mom, don’t be so over-dramatic.”

“Sweetie, I’m an actor! What do you expect?”

“Mom, I’m not staying. I think it’s better for both of us if I stay with grand-mėre until I leave for school,” I stated. “I really enjoyed spending time with you and seeing you in your work environment was very enlightening but we’re kind of in each other’s way. No, Mom, I won’t change my mind about Trent, even after the nice thing he did for me.”

“You’re ashamed? Embarrassed? Disturbed?”

“I really don’t think it’s a healthy relationship. He’s less than half your age! I tried to get you and David back together but…”

“Cherry, it wouldn’t work, David and I. The hurt’s too deep to just ignore it. But, really, I didn’t think you’d be such a conventional moralist. I didn’t raise you to—”

“You didn’t raise me, Mom! You birthed me, that’s about all. Thank god for Alastair. At least for a few years I had a real parental figure in my life.”

“Cherry, how can you say that? What haven’t I done for you that you’ve missed out on? You had all the toys any kid could possibly want. I even got you that damn dog!”

“Alastair gave Alice to me,” I exclaimed.

“I sent you to the best schools. Got you the most expensive piano lessons from the most highly-rated tutor in the Valley. I took you to the best qualified therapists and doctors for your…condition.”

“After Alastair harangued you incessantly for weeks after I told you about it,” I sneered.

“Sometimes I think Alastair talked you into believing you were trans. He’s got some kind of fetish I think—”

“Mom! You’re talking crazy now!” I stood up to leave.

“Don’t go, Cherry. Don’t go yet. It’s late. Stay overnight. We’ll be more civil to each other in the morning.”

“There is one thing I want to finally have you clear up, Mom. Tell me and I’ll won’t leave until tomorrow morning. Who’s my biological father?”

“Alright. I suppose I had to tell you sometime. Now’s as good a time as any. But, first, I want a glass of wine. It’ll calm me down before I get into the whole story.” She walked into the kitchenette and I heard her open the refrigerator, take out a bottle of chardonnay, and pour herself a glassful. She returned to the living room at a solemn pace and sat down on the sofa, patting the spot next to her.

“Sit down, honey.”

“It’s not David. He told me he had a vasectomy done. And it’s not Tony Webster—”

“Tony Webster? What made you think I was ever involved with him? He was just a friend—”

“So who was it, Mom?”

She took two sips of her wine and then commenced.

“After the whole thing with David blew up and the tabloids had their day with our public conflagration in that hotel lobby in London, I fell into a months long depression. I didn’t even return calls from my agent. The last thing I wanted to do was go over scripts or even think about my next job. I was famous, unimaginably wealthy for a girl who grew up helping my parents water saplings in their tree nursery in Providence, and utterly alone, feeling unloved, unwanted.”

“Mom, talk about being over-dramatic.”

“That’s how I felt. I was in a really dark place. My manager thought I should check into a sanitorium. Secretly, of course. Don’t want people in the industry to think I was bonkers or suicidal. I went back home to Providence and stayed in my parents’ basement for a couple of months, occasionally visiting the nursery. That’s when the idea came to me.”

“To quit show business and become a tree surgeon?”

“Cherry! Do you want me to tell you or not? It’s not a laughing matter. Any of this.”

“Sorry, this sounds like a bad indie movie…”

“I’m a woman. A woman who has a strong maternal drive. Don’t, Cherry, don’t! I was devastated when Max was taken away from me by that stupid judge. There are lots of single, working mothers. Why single me out as unsuitable? Some people would think it was a boon for a child to be exposed to different countries, different cultures at an early age. I had the resources to hire the best governesses. I made more money than my ex-husband, for chrissake.”

I let the conversation descend into silence as I allowed Mom a moment to recover. I felt guilty about wanting to laugh at her delusions about her maternal drive. Where was that maternal drive when she sent me away to boarding school or refused to acknowledge my dysphoria? Still, I could see that losing custody of her first-born, Max, was truly gut-wrenching. I suppose anyone would prefer Max, the smarter, better-looking, less needy child, over me. I hugged Alice to my budding breasts and gave Mom some space.

Another sip of wine and she resumed.

“I had to come back to L.A. to get ready for the premieres starting in September. Looking at those tree saplings for weeks on end made me want to have another baby, come hell or high water. I did some research and landed on this highly-rated fertility clinic in Newport Beach. I wrote a check for some outrageous amount and, lucky me, it took only one cycle of IVF to knock me up—”

“Did you know who the donor was?”

“There’s layers of confidentiality in the whole process, honey. I don’t know their identity. Just the clinic’s assurances that the donor was a healthy, suitable individual.”

“And obviously redheaded and freckled.”

“It’s part of your unique beauty, Cherry. I couldn’t be prouder of my ginger daughter.”

“But you wanted a son, didn’t you?”

“No, I wanted a healthy baby. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter.”

“Well, you got both, didn’t you?”

“I love you. Cherry. Please know that. I’m an imperfect human being. Maybe not the best mother in the world either. But I’ve always loved you.”

Real tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks. I crossed the distance between us on the sofa, reached for her hands, pulled her toward me, and finally embraced her, my own eyes as wet as hers.

“Anders and I kept in touch all through my senior year at Mirage Canyon. He even came to the campus during winter break and hid in my dorm room for two weeks. We played a lot of video games and ate pizza and lasagna from Ralph’s down the road,” I told Philippa as Anders nodded and smirked.

We had already started on the sweet potato pie Joanne had baked for the first time ever (it was delicious). Anders playfully patted my distended stomach. Joanne had prepared quite a Thanksgiving feast. I never knew a little 4-year-old girl could put away so much food! But Clarissa confirmed that fact.

After Philippa, Paul and Clarissa left to head home, Anders and Alastair repaired to the living room to watch football. Joanne and I took our cups of cider out to the backyard and sat at the table next to their covered swimming pool. Fall weather in Southern California. It’s a beautiful thing. 75 degrees and sunny.

“You seemed utterly charmed by Clarissa. You’d like a little girl like that for yourself,” Joanne said.

“You know I can’t, of course.”

“Philippa adopted. You can too. Does Anders want children?”

“Yes, we’ve talked about it. We’re not ready to start a family. Anders just graduated from Law School this summer and he’s not working at some white shoe Wall Street firm. I’m not making a mint doing editorial work for scientific journals either.”

“You don’t want to ask your mom, I know. Alastair and I are more than willing to help out. We think of you as our daughter and Anders as our son-in-law. And your grandmother would love to have a great grand-child.”

“And I think of you as my other set of parents. That’s lovely of you, Joanne, but we’ll be alright. Anders has a real future in his firm. It’s not a white shoe firm but they do wear sneakers in the office.”

There was a gaggle of extended family in grand-mėre’s Westport house on Christmas Day. I had remembered to wrap Sylvėre’s gift just that morning before Anders and I drove up from the Upper West Side. A bottle of his favorite. Courvoisier cognac. The old man’s eyes lit up when we handed it to him. Without unwrapping it, he instantly knew what it was.

“He’ll be asleep before the last course, dear me,” grand-mėre clucked at me. “I know it’s Joanne’s doing. That scamp.” She wagged her finger at Joanne, who was sitting on a love seat with Alastair.

We circulated the room before our Christmas meal would be served. It was Anders’ first time meeting the whole sick crew. They were duly impressed that he’d just graduated from Columbia Law School. At one point, Sylvėre shouted out, “Mark my words. That boy will be on the Supreme Court one day.”

Anders was cornered near the grand piano, being peppered with question after question by admiring female members of the clan, when I felt a light touch on my shoulder from behind. I turned to face Carson Gabriel. I hadn’t seen him in several years. As you all know, he’s a very successful pop star nowadays. He just completed his 2-year-long world tour. He’s been warbling and scratching his guitar in places as far flung as Indonesia and Bolivia.

“Hello, Carson. Long time no see.”

“May I apologize once again, for the hundredth time, for being a stupid blabbermouth?”

“It’s forgotten, Carson. We’ve all moved on, no worse for wear. What’s new with you?”

“I’m taking some time off. Two years of constant touring have been exhausting. Has Anders treated you well?”

“Yes, he’s my rock. And the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re doing well, Cherry. I’ve always said you’re a special, special girl.”

“Woman, Carson. Woman.”

“Cherry, why don’t you play something for everyone while they’re waiting for dinner?” grand-mėre asked.

I sat down at the piano and searched my memory for an appropriate tune to play. My fingers descended on the keyboard.