“It isn’t true at all.” The words came out too defensive, reminding me of all the times I’d been on Team Mom during my arguments with Ben. “She’s been incredibly nice since she got here. Your sister loves her.”
Izzy set down her coffee cup and stared at me with her big brown eyes lined with heavy black makeup. “That’s what’s so creepy,” she said. “It’s like… like she’s trying too hard. She’s saying and doing all the right things. But it just seems… I dunno… fake. I think I liked her better when she was a grumpy old lady who hated kids.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. They didn’t come, I realized, because part of me believed Izzy was right. It did seem almost like my mother was putting on a show for all of us, and Olivia and Mark had totally fallen for it. And hadn’t I fallen for it too, there in the hospital when she first asked to come? When she said she had no right to ask, but what she wanted most was a chance to mend things between us before she died. Wasn’t it exactly what part of me had always longed to hear?
Was she manipulating us all?
But what a terrible thing to even think about an old woman who was at death’s door, and trying her hardest to be grateful to her daughter’s family for taking her in. I remembered how pitiful she’d seemed last night in the living room, how sorry I’d felt for her.
“I know this isn’t easy,” I said at last. “It’s not easy for us and it’s not easy for her. She’s sick and in a new place. She’s doing her best. That’s what we all need to do.”
Izzy shook her head, gave a disgusted, dismissive laugh. “Whatever, Mom.”
She grabbed her headphones and slipped them back on, stared down at her phone, her thumbs flying as she started texting or Snapchatting or whatever she was doing. No doubt complaining to Theo about me. I could almost see the words:
My mom is full of shit.
I yanked her headphones off.
“What?” she asked angrily.
“Your grandmother is trying,” I said. “Maybe she’s trying too hard, and that shows, but at least she’s trying. And I’m trying. We’re all trying. And I need you to try too.”
“Right,” she said, narrowing her eyes to slits. “And what is it you’d like me to do, Mom?”
“I don’t know, Iz. Just try to make an effort with all of this. With your grandmother being here. Be more engaged.”
“More engaged. Got it,” she said coolly. She slipped her headphones back on.
I turned away, finished packing Olivia’s lunch, checked my watch. “Five minutes till the bus gets here,” I said.
Izzy slid off her stool. “Believe it or not, I can tell time, Mom.”
Ignoring her, I went into the guest room with Moxie at my heels.
The dog stopped in the doorway, watching.
Olivia was up on the bed next to my mother, who was whispering something to her.
“Olivia, it’s almost time for the bus,” I said, forcing aneverything’s perfectly normal heresmile. “Come on out and grab your things and get your coat on. Your sister’s waiting.”
“Okay, Mom,” she said, slipping off the bed. Then she stopped, turned back, and kissed my mother on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
“Not if I see you first,” my mother said.
Olivia laughed.
Since when had my mother become the snappy comeback queen?
“Come on, Liv,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s get your things together.”
I led Olivia into the living room, helped her get her lunch bag into her backpack.
“Let’s go, slowpoke!” Izzy said.
“I’m not a slowpoke!” Olivia stamped her feet. I shot Izzy a look. Calling Olivia slow or telling her to hurry only slowed her down more.
“Whatever. I’m heading out. I don’t want to miss the bus.”
