fever and a red throat, where you’d peek with a flashlight and say, hmm, and then say that you’d be spitballing, that you’re no expert, but it sure looked like strep to you.
That’s sort of emotionally abusive.
“Yeah,” Evvie finally said. “I keep saying I’m going to get into therapy one of these days.”
“I’m in favor of all that stuff,” Monica said. “One of my doctors said, ‘Your head is the house you live in, so you have to do the maintenance.’ ”
“That’s…weird.”
“Yes. Mental health metaphors are sort of hit or miss in my experience. But I’ve been on antidepressants since I was seventeen, so I can give you a name if you need somebody.”
I need somebody all right, Evvie thought to herself.
* * *
—
Two days later, Evvie lay on the floor of the apartment again with her phone in her hand and her heart pounding. It won’t get easier. You might as well just do it. Then you’ll be done. She couldn’t say quite why she’d taken out her black and pink baseball glove and had it resting against her hip.
She went into her history and found the call she was looking for. She highlighted it and hit the button.
“Hello?” Her mom’s voice was always eager and never completely believable. She was probably sitting on her patio, her cat on her lap, her sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.
Evvie could feel her hand shaking. “Hi, Mom.”
“Evvie! I’m so glad you called! I was starting to be afraid you hadn’t gotten my messages. How are you, sweetie?”
“I’m fine.” She scratched the carpet with the fingers of her free hand. “How are you?”
“Busy. All over the place. I had a craft fair, and that went very well. And I saw a very good play, you know, it was on Broadway last year, it’s touring now. It’s about an affair, do you know the one I mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s wonderful. You should see it. It’s so moving.”
Evvie closed her eyes. “Listen, Mom, I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to get back to you about what you said about being in town.”
“Yes! Yes, I’m going to be around at the end of September. What would be a good day for you to come down to Portland for lunch? It’s been ages. I know we’ve both dropped the ball a little on staying in touch.”
Evvie clenched and unclenched her fist and played with the pink laces on the glove. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to get together this time.”
There was a pause. “Oh? You’re not in town then?”
For a second, she thought that maybe for once, her mom had thrown her a rope. She opened her mouth with such gratitude, she was about to say yes, yes, she was traveling, that was it exactly. But she remembered being in Dean’s truck with him on the way back from Thanksgiving, and she remembered him saying she had to start telling somebody the truth.
“No, I’m not traveling. I just don’t want to, Mom. I’m not saying forever, but not right now.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I don’t want to get together right now.”
“Don’t be silly. I haven’t seen you in ages. We’ll check in.”
“No. No, not right now.”
Now Eileen’s voice got tighter. “Well, now I really don’t understand. What’s all the drama about?”
She kept her eyes closed. “It’s not drama. I don’t have the energy to bring you up to speed on everything that’s happened to me in the last two years in two hours just because you think it sounds interesting. I just broke up with somebody, I might be selling the house—I have a lot going on, and I’m not going to add to it.”
“I’ll make time whenever it’s convenient for you,” Eileen said, as if Evvie had said none of it.
“Mom, you’re not listening. I don’t want to. I’m—” Take a class in not apologizing all the time, she heard Andy’s voice say. “I don’t want to.”
“Honey, I know it’s been hard for you. But I’m not asking for much; it’s lunch. If there’s something we need to talk out, we’ll talk it out. I want to help. And I want to hear all about your boyfriend.”
“I understand that, but I don’t want to talk about it with you.”
“Eveleth,” Eileen said. “You only have one mom, and I only have one daughter. And I don’t want either of us to have any regrets.” There it was. The crescendo of Eileen Ashton’s symphony for telephone