“The point is that you don’t get to plan out her life like it’s some kind of surprise getaway to France,” she says. “You’re planning for her life—her daughter’s life—without her.”
“I’m not trying to plan her life,” I snap. “I’m trying to give her options. A way we could be together.”
“Then here’s a swell idea that might not have occurred to you,” she fires back. “What if youaskher what she wants? Treat her like a partner in the planning—not a passenger in your grand romantic rescue.”
I exhale hard, leaning forward, pressing my palms into my eyes. The silence stretches.
“Quit trying to save her,” she adds, softer now. “Start trying to see her.”
Then, for extra measure, she quietly adds, “Dumbass.”
And as much as I want to be mad at Gina—her tone, her timing, or the thousand things she always says too bluntly—I can’t.
Because I know there’s truth tucked inside every one of her words.
FORTY-FIVE
RHEA
It’s late.
Esme is finally asleep, her breaths slow and even in the room down the hall.
I’ve just stepped out of the shower, hair damp, skin pink from the heat. I pull on a pair of clean sweats and one of my oversized college sweatshirts, the sleeves hanging past my wrists.
The house is quiet—settled, like it’s as tired as I am.
I sit on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, rereading my last attempt at a text to Spencer. Then deleting it. Typing again. Stopping halfway through.
I miss you.
Delete.
I’m sorry for what I said in the car.
Delete.
Laney’s voice echoes in my head. “Maybe you’re scared of depending on someone. Of being seen. Really seen.”
I sigh. Thumb hovers over the keyboard. Then?—
Ding-dong.
I jump.
It’s nearly nine. Too late for deliveries. My first thought is Laney—maybe she couldn’t resist finishing her lecture in person. But when I open the door, no one is there. Just a small box, square and neat, sitting on the welcome mat.
I bring it inside.
It’s lighter than I expect. Inside, nestled in tissue, is a sparkly pink gift bag—glittery and over-the-top. A get-well gift for Esme, maybe?
I peek inside.
The yellow cap catches my eye first. Then the crisp navy coat.
Madeline.
A perfect Madeline doll, straight from the story Esme and I read together the night before everything went sideways. I smile, tears already starting to form.
