“The problem is, I keep making new ones.”
Mom huffed. “You do. But you don’t let that stop you. Everything you’ve ever wanted, you’ve fought for. Going to college, getting that scholarship, finding a job in the middle of a pandemic.”
“I didn’t fight for Chris. I didn’t fight for my old job.”
“Guess you didn’t really want them, then.”
My mouth dropped open. Was that true?
“You want to be with Joe, do something about it.” Mom reached for the remote. “In the meantime, you can have the car. A couple days away will be good for both of you.”
“When did you get so smart?”
My mother’s lips twitched. “I’ve always been smart. Where do you think you got your brains from?”
I tossed the cushion from my lap and leaned over, resting my head on her shoulder. After a moment, her other arm wrapped around me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the familiar smell of chocolate.
It felt like all my life, I’d wanted my mother to understand me, to accept me, to love me. But Mom had loved me all along. Maybe what I really needed was to understand her, to love her, a little better.
“Beverly invited me to go with her and Zoe to the Mustang tonight,” I said. “To celebrate my new job.”
Mom sniffed. “Waste of good money, if you ask me.”
I pulled back to look in her face. “Do you want to come with us?”
She smiled slowly. “All right.”
29
Anne
“You can sleep here tonightif you want,” Paige said when I finally arrived at my apartment, shaky and triumphant after the six-and-a-half-hour drive from St. Ignace.
“I don’t want to put you out. But…” I pressed my knees together, doing a jiggle dance. “I really need to use the bathroom?”
“Right down the hall.”
I knew the way.
I’d made the solo trip fueled by mocha lattes and Taylor Swift’sRedalbum. No breakdowns, no blowouts, no locking myself out of the car when I stopped for gas. No farm stand stops.
No Joe.
I sat on the toilet, taking stock. A new flowered shower curtain hung over the tub, matching the fluffy new bath mat. The clutter of bottles and hair clips on the sink had been replaced by a makeup mirror.
I washed my hands and returned to the living area. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” Paige assured me. “It’s your apartment.”
I smiled, my throat tight. “Not anymore.”
“Until I sign the new lease,” Paige said. “Honestly, you’rewelcome to stay. You did me a favor, renting me this place. I love it here.”
I looked around at the lumpy couch with brand-new throw pillows, the mismatched table and chairs cleared of my piles of paper.
“It looks very…”Clean. Orderly. Not mine.“Nice,” I said.
My formerly dying rescue plants in the window were healthy and green. They were thriving here. I had, too, for a while. This apartment had been a refuge when I’d needed one. But it wasn’t home anymore.
