Ally appears at the end of the aisle, her step faltering as she sees us, clearly not wanting to interrupt the moment, but then Dylan runs to her, waving his little Christmas tree.
“That’s a great choice, Dylan,” she says, ruffling his hair with an easy affection that feels beyond me now.
My hands clench into fists and I force myself to uncurl them and relax. This doesn’t have to be a competition, even if it feels like one I’m always losing.
Dylan is still my son.
Back at my apartment a couple of hours later, I drift around, unable to settle to anything. The Fieldings invited me for to stay for dinner, a Chinese takeout, but Dylan had already raced inside with Emma and Josh, and I’d felt left out and out of sorts, so I declined, telling Ally I’d see Dylan on Tuesday as usual.
It’s five o’clock on a Saturday evening and I have nowhere to go, no one to talk to. Mike is out with some high-school buddies, not that we spend every weekend together anyway. I thought about going up to see Angela, as I have a couple of times before to write letters, but her combination of sweetness and confusion feels too tiring to deal with right now. I want to be with someone who knows me.
Which is why I end up calling my mom. It’s not that unusual an occurrence, although it always feels as if it is. I talk to her maybe once every three or four months, short, stilted conversations that never really get anywhere. I don’t know why tonight will be any different, yet as my mother answers my call, I realize I want it to be. I need things to change—even this.
“Beth…” As usual, she sounds both happy and alarmed to hear from me. I imagine her checking her watch, a slight frown on her face.
“Hey, Mom.” I take a deep breath and will myself on. “Can we talk? I mean… really talk?”
28
ALLY
The week of Emma’s exams slides by with no one saying a word about them. Besides the one abbreviated conversation on top of Avon Mountain, we haven’t spoken to Emma about it, which feels wrong, but Nick said there were worse things than missing a semester of college, and I know that. Of course I know that. We’ve experienced several worse things in the last few weeks alone.
And yet… Harvard. Emma’s future. Everything she’s worked for all these years. Everything we’ve worked for. Is it wrong to feel that way? The trouble with owning my children’s successes, I realize, is I have to own their failures, as well.
As it turns out, I don’t have to talk to Emma about her exams, because she comes to me first. It’s the Wednesday after we went to cut down the Christmas tree, an outing I think went reasonably well, although Beth seemed to hurry off at the end, refusing to stay to eat with us while we decorated the tree. Still, I choose to call it a success.
Now I am in my office, trying to get several boutiques’ books done before the Christmas holidays, and Emma comes to stand in my doorway, her hair loose about her face, an oversized sweater dwarfing her petite frame. She looks both wan and gorgeous, and I turn to her with the approximation of a smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she returns quietly. The cuffs of her sweater hide her hands and she fidgets a bit as she watches me.
“What’s up?” I ask as lightly as I can. “Do you want to talk?” She hasn’t wanted to talk in the three weeks since Thanksgiving, but I keep trying.
“Actually, yeah,” she says, not looking at me. “If you don’t mind…?”
“Of course I don’t mind.” I close my laptop immediately, my heart starting to hammer. “Do you want to go in the family room?” I ask. “It’s more comfortable there.”
Emma shrugs, and then drifts out of my study, and I follow her to the family room, trying to act natural, as if this isn’t a big deal. I’m thrilled she’s talking to me, but I’m also scared. Terrified, in fact.
“So.” I perch on the edge of the sofa, just as I once did with Josh, and Emma is standing in the same place as Josh, next to the steps into the kitchen, as if she doesn’t want to commit to the conversation. I wait, eyebrows raised, a faint smile on my face, trying