"Feeling a little better now?" Mrs. James asked slowly, pressing her hands together in front of her so her daughter wouldn't see them trembling anymore.
   Grace shrugged, "Yes, in some ways."
   "Well, you're not pregnant, or herpes or anything. And the doctor did give you a prescription."
   The relief in her mother's voice bothered her, "No, Mom. I'm not pregnant. I don't have herpes, or syphilis. But I have to continue getting checked for AIDS for months to come. I'm not exactly looking forward to that. So now, I have to put my relationships on hold until I find out if I'll test positive."
   Then, she continued on, impulsively, "I now have my own prescription for Ritalin. Just so that I can calm me down. And yet, if I abuse it, I can become addicted and it can destroy me. Yes, Mom, in some ways I'm feeling a whole lot better now."
   Her words tumbled out in an angry rush, also betraying the fear that slowly started creeping up through her. Tears started streaming like an overflowing river.
   Automatically, Mrs. James turned and enfolded her little girl into her arms. "I'm sorry, Gracie. I'm so sorry we didn't think about this before. I'm so sorry I couldn't stop this all from happening." She confessed feebly.
   Grace gripped her mother and held on tight. "I didn't think it'd ever happen to me, Mama." She whispered. "I thought it'd be ok, living with Em and partying the entire time. I was so upset. I thought you and daddy didn't care about me anymore, and then Taylor hurt me, and she just… she was like the poster child for freedom and happiness."
   Stroking her hair, Mrs. James kissed her temple. "We always cared, baby. But we saw you growing up, and didn't think you needed us around all the time." She took in a shaky breath, "Your father and I argued over how much we should leave you alone, and how often we should put our foot down about things and insist you be with us."
   Pulling away, Grace managed a weak and watery laugh before she sniffed and started using her sleeve to wipe away her tears. "We're a mess."
   Her mother shrugged as she opened her handbag and started pulling out crumpled up tissues. "What's it matter anyway?" She fretted, trying to laugh as well. "We deserve to be basket cases."
   Handing her daughter one and blowing her nose, Mrs. James sniffled before dabbing at her eyes. "I believe we deserve a great big lunch and a TCBY for dessert."
   Grace laughed and wiped at her nose with the tissue. "Trying to make me fat?"
   Mrs. James smiled and nodded. "Definitely."
   "In that case," Grace started, hooking her arm around her mother's. "Let's go! I vote for seafood. Lots and lots of seafood, cooked in alcohol, and hopefully the cook forgot to cook it long enough."
   They laughed lightly together, each acknowledging the truthfulness of the comment.