Yearning caught my heart and squeezed. “You really think so?”
“Nah, I bet he stalks all his kitchen staff online,” Ashmeeta scoffed. “Of course he wants you.”
I reached for my hair to tug it into a ponytail and encountered... curls. I was done with running away. And I wasn’t going back. “Actually, I was thinking of letting the apartment go. I mean, I can write anywhere.”
“So come to Boston. It’s cold, and I’m lonely.”
I felt the pull of old friendship. “Tempting, thanks.” But I wasn’t making another move without a clear direction.
“Come on. Clam chowder. Baked beans. Me, on the nights the boss from hell doesn’t make me work late. What more do you need?”
“I’m not sure.” I looked around at the bare bones of my attic room, the exposed beams of the roof, the hand-stitched quilt on the bed, the shining glimpse of water from the window. “But I’m in a good space for now. And my mother needs me.” Or the goats did.
I promised to visit soon.
The goats didn’t need much, just fresh water, clean bedding, and alfalfa hay. The pregnant does ambled around their enclosure, their bulging sides making them look like boats or balloons or basketballs, round and hard.
“God, I remember that stage,” Meg said when she dropped in that afternoon. She pressed a hand against her stomach. “I thought I’d never see my toes again.”
“I’ve seen your toes. You’re not missing much.” The curl of her fingers, the curve of her mouth... “You’re not, um...?” I glanced at Daisy and DJ, playing peekaboo in the hay.
“Oh no.” Meg laughed. “We just got a puppy. I don’t need another baby.”
Clover came up and rubbed against the fence. I scratched her forehead. “Speaking of babies, kidding season starts in a couple of weeks. I’m going to need some help.”
“Beth will come home from school on the weekends. And Momusually gets some kids from 4-H to help with the bottle-feeding and cuddling.”
“What about a vet? Does she still use Dr. Dunn?”
Meg’s brow creased. “I think so. I have to look at the bill.”
“I can just call his office.”
“Wait until I see how much we owe him, okay?”
“Why?” Her lips pressed together. I felt a tickle of apprehension. “Meg, how muchdowe owe him?”
She sighed. “You might as well know. Mom took out a loan on the farm. I made the payment for December from the farmers’ market deposit, but I want to see how the numbers look going into January before we take on any more debt.”
“And you’re just now telling me this?”
“We were sort of preoccupied with Mom.”
“Have you talked to her about this?” She nodded. “Dad?”
Meg looked away.
I felt sick. “And he left anyway?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Because I was Dad’s favorite. Because she wouldn’t criticize him to me, would never make me choose between my loyalty to our father and the rest of the family. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” she said. “I’m meeting with the buyer for All Seasons next month. Or if that doesn’t work, I’ll find a food broker. Getting into stores would make all the difference in the world. If we can make it through the kidding season, we’ll be fine.”
A rush of affection filled me, along with a familiar sense of inadequacy. Responsible Meg.
Except real people weren’t all one thing, Amy said. Maybe Meg was as mixed up—as full of different strengths and fears, impulses and dreams—as Amy. Maybe she was the responsible one because we didn’t give her a choice. Mini Mom by default.
I started to apologize. Squeezed her hand instead. “We’ll take care of it together.”
Amy took the news of our parents’ separation better than I expected. “It’s weird thinking of them apart,” she said when she got back from the hospital.
