She pushes a hand through her hair, a tired look in her eyes. “Look, Zach. I’m not going to try to tell you that you shouldn’t be angry. I know it was a breach of trust on her end. But please keep in mind that that girl—she’s been through hell. I hope you remember that. I hope you can see it. I saw the video of the speech she gave, and it sounds like she blames herself for everything—even though she doesn’t have any reason to. The weight of that can do strange things to a person.”
I shrug. “Still.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Still?” She leans toward me again. “Look, I’m the person who took this case. She wasn’t trying to hurt you—she was trying to hurt me. I’m not saying what she did was right, but I’m also not saying that it was unforgivable. At least, not in my mind. That said, I hope you’re careful with her. She has a lot of healing to do yet.”
“I’m not talking to her.” I cross my arms tight against my body.
“I know you might not want advice from me, but I think you should reconsider. I bet she could use a friend right now.” She pauses. “As could you, I think.”
I shrug.
We’re both quiet for a moment. I lie back on my pillows, look up at the ceiling, trace constellations in the stars above my bed with my eyes. My dad put them up years ago. They used to give me comfort as I fell asleep at night—the light from them, the familiar patterns.
My mother breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better mother.”
“Mom—” As usual, my first instinct is to protect.
She puts up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I haven’t been an ideal mom. I hope you can understand it when you get older—the things that pull you in different directions. Especially as a woman and a mother…it’s not easy to find a balance.” She shakes her head. “I’ll try to be better, to do better, to be present for you and Gwen more often. As for your father…maybe give him a break sometimes, okay? Watch some basketball with him. He’s had a hard few years. And he desperately wants to be your friend.”
I hold back my initial response, which is to make a shitty comment about everything she just said, and nod instead. I don’t know if anything has really changed between us, but this is the longest conversation we’ve had in years, and even through my stubbornness, I can tell she’s trying.
* * *
—
When Conor gets back an hour later, I’m ready and waiting to go to the show.
It’s weird. Since the other night, my mom and I have been talking. Like, actually talking in a way we never have before. The morning after we woke up in Jordan’s bed, something shifted between us, and it was like she saw me for the first time in years. She told me she had spent the better part of the last year holed up in her office, trying to hide from the world because she felt so guilty. She knew that all the expectations she and my dad heaped on Jordan had started to drive a wedge between him and me, and she feels responsible for the fact that the two of us had drifted so far apart toward the end. She wishes she had stopped pushing Jordan, only thinking of the future and his potential, and instead seen who he was as a person and appreciated the present. I guess my dad hasn’t come to the same conclusion, because apparently he’s moving out. Moving out—officially. I can’t say I’m surprised.
And then my mom told me it’s about time I tried to live again. Just like Lucy said. I told her I would consider it, as long as she did too.
My mom and I are eating dinner together, which hasn’t happened in forever, when Lucy texts.
Come to my show tonight.
My mom looks at my buzzing phone and raises her eyebrows.