this situation the best way we can, but neither of us knows what the hell we’re doing. Second, this isn’t your fault. Let’s make that clear right now.”
“I know.” But I’m not sure I do. And then there’s this overwhelming urge to crawl up into her lap like I’m a little girl again and have things be simple and easy, with monsters in the woods the only thing to fear.
“What did Addy say exactly?”
“Just that he has a girlfriend and she works with him.”
I wait for her to tell me this isn’t true after all, but her face confirms it.
“You knew.” I’m still hoping by some miracle she’ll say, No, I didn’t, I had no idea. Not that I want to be the one to break it to her, but I need her to not lie to me, not even by omission.
“I’ve known for a little while.”
My stomach drops. “You should have told me.”
“I know.” She doesn’t make excuses.
“It’s just another secret.”
“I know and I’m sorry.”
“I hate him.”
“Relationships are complicated, honey. It takes two to make one and two to break one. They aren’t black-and-white. And I know all of this seems sudden to you, like love can just go away or change in the blink of an eye. But at least in the case of your dad and me, I’m realizing it was a progression of little fractures. Even if I didn’t exactly understand that at the time.”
“I still hate him.”
“I get it. I kind of hate him too. But I also know your dad better than anyone knows him, and he gets in his own way. He always has. It’s like that book you love, the wallflower book.”
“The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”
“That line about how we accept the love we think we deserve? That’s your dad.”
“So who is she?”
“Michelle.”
“Is it serious?”
“I think so. He said something about moving in with her, so we’re talking about selling the house, me getting my own place. Whether that happens or not, this does not mean he loves you any less. Your dad loves you more than he loves anyone, including himself.”
“Okay.”
I can hear myself. I sound like Robot Claude, but I feel like a tornado or like something cornered and scared and angry. Is all this what you meant, Mr. Russo? Do you think now I’ll be able to write something real and true that will make people feel?
“Claude.”
“Yes.”
“I’m your mother. I’ve known you all your life. And you need to talk to me, no matter what. I’m saying this as a person who can also hide when she wants to.”
“Okay.”
“That includes talking about anything. Your dad. The house. Saz. College. Sex.”
“I really don’t want to talk to you about sex.”
“Fair enough. You know, my own mother has never said that word to me. Maybe that’s why I want to make sure you can talk to me, but I get it. Just tell me once that you’re being safe, because I’m a mom and moms need to know that.”
“I’m being safe.”
“And you’re okay?” She means about the sex and Miah, not about everything else.
“I’m okay.”
She sighs. She tilts her head toward mine and my forehead meets hers. We sit like this for a minute. Then she sits back. I sit back. I picture my house, which will soon be someone else’s house, and my green room, which will no longer be my green room but someone else’s green room.
She says, “I’m glad to see you cry. I’ve been worried about you. If the tears don’t come out as tears, they’re going to come out some other way. And hey, it’s okay to still be a child to your parents. No matter how grown-up you get. It’s okay to let me be the mom. Actually, it’s good for me, too. Especially right now. So let me be the mom.”
* * *
—
That afternoon the two of us, Lauren and Claude, Claude and Lauren, walk outside into the day. The sun and the heat envelop us, as if to say, You’re okay.
Mom stares up at the sky. “ ‘All is well. All will be well. All manner of things will be well.’ ” My mom and dad don’t do organized religion, but this is something she likes to quote from the Quakers. Then she looks at me, eyebrows arched. “Let’s play hooky.”
“We should take bikes and ride to Rosecroft.”
Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “When did you learn to ride a bike?”
But I’m already straddling the bicycle—bare legs, bare feet, bare