20
It wasn’t that late when we picked up my car, but it had been a long day, and I was about to have an overnight house guest. Before my mind could spin out too far—a teenager in my house—said teen spoke from the seat next to me.
“Tallahassee is kind of a weird place.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding self-conscious now that she’d spoken her opinion aloud. “Like it can’t decide if it’s a city or a suburb.”
“Most of Florida feels that way to me,” I admitted. “Suffering from an identity crisis. Too many growth spurts, too many people from too many places, supposedly reinventing themselves but recreating the familiar.”
Now I felt self-conscious. I tried to avoid being philosophical while I was sober.
“Did you grow up here?” Addy asked.
“No,” I said, signaling
