“No, this isn’t Faye,” I say automatically.
“Huh? Then how’d you know my name?” Jillian demands. “Who the f**k’re—”
“Faye doesn’t exist, Mama,” I snap. “It’s me. Paige.”
A pause. A long, pregnant pause. Then: “… P-Paige?”
More scrambling on the other line. Dad’s breathing comes through the line clearly. “f*****g hell. Is that my Paige girl?”
I would roll my eyes if they weren’t brimming with tears. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. They don’t deserve my sadness. “You have literally never called me that in your life.”
“Oh, for f**k’s sake,” my mother interjects. “Bawling like a baby because you didn’t get a nickname? Grow up.”
I exhale. There isn’t enough time in the world to outline all the things I didn’t get from them. I don’t even want to try. “I just want to know why you called
