that, and yet it doesn’t feel the way I expected it to. I glance at Josh, who is here on sufferance and standing next to me looking as bored as ever. Football is not his sport, and I know he feels self-conscious because he’s clearly not a college student, and all these suddenly, seemingly mature freshmen are looking down on him laughingly, or so he thinks. I doubt they’re taking much notice of him at all, ensconced in their own happy bubbles.
I know I need to ask him about the money, but I don’t know how. Start serious or keep it light? Assume there’s a reasonable explanation, or prepare for the possibility that there isn’t? And, of course, I should tell Nick, but somehow I haven’t done that either.
I let out a heavy sigh without realizing it, and Nick gives me a sideways glance, a combination of concern and faint annoyance.
“Ally? Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I sound unconvincing even to myself.
“Are you worried about Emma?”
“A bit. She seemed so quiet. And didn’t you think she looked thin?”
Nick considers this for a moment. “Harvard is intense. We knew that.”
His matter-of-fact statement causes me to instinctively recoil with worry. “Do you think she’s stressed about it? The academics?”
“Probably, a little?” Nick shrugs. “I mean, Harvard.”
“I know, but…” I lapse into silence as I consider the possible causes of Emma’s stress. She worked hard all through high school, and yes, there was definitely some anxiety involved, but, stupidly, perhaps, I thought we’d be past all that now. Once you’ve been accepted to Harvard, you’ve made it, right? “I wish she could talk to us about it.” Emma used to talk to me about everything. Well, most things. And sometimes it took some patience and prying, but still. We’ve always had a good relationship. I really do believe that, which is why things feel so strange and uneasy now.
I shift where I stand, trying to get some feeling into my freezing feet. I can’t concentrate on the game, because even though it’s between Harvard and Dartmouth, it’s still football and I’ve never liked it. Vague fears keep swirling through me—Josh’s money, Emma’s quiet, Dylan. I purposely haven’t mentioned Dylan to Nick and yet somehow that is a worry, too. Why can’t we talk about him normally? Why do I always feel like mentioning him annoys Nick in some way? And how is he coping, in respite care?
When I dropped him off at the respite house yesterday afternoon, he clung to me and cried, the way he had with Beth the week before, and it took all my effort not to cry, too. The couple having him for the weekend seemed very nice—grandparent types with a calm and soothing manner. But it was still a change, and it made my heart ache to walk away from him as tears streaked down his cheeks. At least he wasn’t screaming. Nick didn’t even ask how it went.
I glance at him now, my handsome husband—light brown hair with distinguished salt-and-pepper sides, a still-strong jaw and friendly blue eyes. He’s forty-seven, but he looks good, keeps himself fit. He’s clapping now, his gloved hands making a muffled thump, as he shouts encouragement to Harvard’s side. He fits in here effortlessly, and I feel like I don’t. I think, on some level, I’ve always felt like an imposter as an adult. I have the right clothes, and mostly the right hair when it isn’t frizzy. I have the right house and the right husband and definitely the right kids, and yet somehow, at the heart of it all, I feel wrong.
The thought, coming to an almost empty-nester at aged forty-six, feels incredibly depressing. Am I having a midlife crisis? Is that what this is about? Or is it something more?
“There’s Emma!” Nick starts back, towards the crowd, and I follow, with Josh shuffling along behind me.
Emma looks beautiful, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, a rainbow-colored scarf thrown carelessly about her neck. She’s wearing a vintage corduroy coat and a long, patchwork skirt, the epitome of funky college artiness.
Last year, she was, like just about every other girl in her school, preppiness personified, but now she’s trying on clothes along with personalities, and it makes me both proud and anxious. I know this is part of growing up, but I just hope she finds herself in the end.
“Hey, sweetie.” Nick pulls her into a hug; somehow it’s easy for him, in a way that it isn’t for me right now,