Tess’s mother, Sandy, stood there, smiling. For a moment it was Tess, the way she might have looked now—with long blond hair, willowy and tall. Sandy came out with arms wide.
“Oh,” the older woman gushed when Rain climbed out to greet her. “Look at you!”
They embraced, and Rain had to bite back a rush of emotion. The scent of her shampoo brought back a vivid sense memory—lying in bed with Tess, her mother kissing them both good-night.
“And look at that baby!”
She took Lily as soon as Rain got her out of the car seat. Lily, of course, was all smiles.
Sandy had been the youngest of their mothers—and definitely the coolest. Funny and pretty, she’d turn up the radio in the car and sing along (not like Rain’s parents, always listening to some talk radio show on the public station), watch soaps and music videos on summer afternoons with them (not make them go outside like Hank’s dad). She didn’t have that many rules, let them eat whatever they wanted. At Tess’s place, they could stay in their pajamas all day, have the leftover pizza for breakfast. There was always something just light and easy about her; she seemed less grown-up than Hank’s or Rain’s parents.
She still had that lightness, that youthful bounce to her step as she bustled about, offering Rain coffee, getting Lily settled.
With Lily on a blanket on the floor, a pile of blocks in front of her (Tess’s old toys), Rain and Sandy sat on her couch, chatting about Sandy’s work at the hospital, how Rain was doing at home full-time.
“It’s been a little over a year,” said Rain. “It’s been good—for all of us.”
“I didn’t think you were the stay-at-home-mom type,” said Sandy, giving her a long look.
“What type is that, exactly?” asked Rain, really wanting to know.
It was a thing she heard over and over and wasn’t sure she understood. Was there a type that could stay home, a type that couldn’t?
Sandy shrugged, pulled at the length of her still-blond hair. Again, for a second Sandy was Tess. It would have been like this, wouldn’t it? Maybe Tess would have had children of her own. Maybe they’d be at the park together with their kids, out to lunch. She pressed down a wave of helpless sadness. All the things that could not be changed.
All around them there were pictures—Tess on horseback, Tess and Rain on the swings, Tess as a baby. Printed photos, fading with age. She remembered how they used to take photos, bring the roll to the photo shop, go back a week later to see what they’d captured. Everything was instant now, digital, forever floating in the cloud. Weren’t all those images less real somehow?
“Some women take joy in it, some don’t,” Sandy answered her question. “That’s all. No judgments. I am a fan of being true to who we are. Not everyone can do it, the full-time mom thing. It’s more demanding than most other things, the stakes very high.”
“I do take joy in it,” said Rain quickly, almost defensive. She did. Why did she always have to prove it? Nothing in life was perfect, no choice ever exactly the right one. Wasn’t that true of everything? Even if she’d chosen to stay at work, wouldn’t that be fraught, too?
“But is it enough for you?”
Now it was Rain’s turn to shrug; she glanced over at Lily, who was happily banging and cooing. It was a question you didn’t dare ask, wasn’t it? “It’s not really about me. It’s about Lily.”
Lily agreed with a bang of a big red block, and a happy laugh.
Sandy got down on the floor and helped her stack.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Me? I never wanted anything else. I went back to work because I had to support us. I would have been happy with a bunch of kids, making cupcakes and shuttling them all over. Even as a little girl that’s all I wanted.”
Rain believed it. Her own mother had said the same thing. Sandy handed Lily a green block.
“You said you wanted to talk,” Sandy said, leaning back and letting Lily stack. “About this?”
She shook her head. The coffee was strong and rich. Rain was grateful, as always, for the rush of caffeine.
“I wanted to talk about Kreskey,” she said, his name sticking in her mouth. She hated the way it sounded on the air. “About what happened to us, to him. Do you mind if I record?”