“That will never last,” my mother predicted, her attention on the TV.
“You’re such a romantic.”
My mother snorted. “Heard from Chris lately?”
“Wow. Are you actually asking about my love life?”
Because that wasn’t us. My mother had never invited girlish confidences while she braided my hair. She didn’t deliver the Sex Talk over tea and cookies or leave a box of condoms on my bed, the way Daanis said her mother did. (“It was so embarrassing,” Daanis had wailed while I shrieked with laughter.)
If my mother ever bragged about her only daughter dating a doctor, I never heard it. She never even told me she liked him, which, given the adoration he got from his patients’ parents, had to be on her. Or on me. Their first (and only) meeting, during a campus visit my senior year, did not go well. My parents didn’t understand why we had to drive downtown to a fancy restaurant near the hospital for dinner. They were uncomfortable with the setting, the servers, and the prices on the menu. I talked too much, to compensate. Even Chris’s polite bedside manner could not put them at ease. My gentle dad was quiet, my mother brusque.
Three years had passed, and we still sucked at mother-daughter communication. I hadn’t told her Chris and I were taking a break.
“Maybe I’m taking an interest in my grown-up daughter’s well-being,” my mother said, deadpan, turning my words around. Wow, a joke.
“Very funny, Mom.” But maybe she meant it. Maybe, now that I was home for the summer, we were finally growing closer. At least, I hoped so. “He texted me last night.” I hesitated and then added, “He graduates this weekend.”
“Are you going?”
The question cut right to my heart. “He invited me.” Sort of.
Big weekend. Wish you were here, he’d typed. Not asking. Hiding his hurt. Leaving the decision up to me. And wasn’t that what I wanted?
I could choose to do this, I thought, with a shiver of excitement. I’d spent more than two years believing Chris and I were going to move in together. I’d imagined marrying him. Sure, he’d committed to Emory without talking to me first. But this was in my hands.
I still hadn’t figured out who I could be without him. Didn’t know who I was supposed to be with him. But supporting him felt like the right thing to do.
“I know it’s short notice,” I said. “I can’t ask you for three days off at the beginning of the season.”
My mother raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t been home in six years, Annie. I think I can manage without you for one weekend.”
“You just said I was a help,” I reminded her.
I held my breath while the living room echoed with my father’s absence and the sound of the TV. Waiting for my mother to tell me she needed me.
“I’ve got Zoe and Hailey mornings and Della to help out in the evenings.” Della was her summer hire, a student from East Lansing. “You don’t have to stay on my account.” Her gaze met mine. “Or leave, either.”
Was she talking about this weekend? Or something more?
“I don’t know if I can get a flight. Not at the last minute.” Unless I could beg a ride with a private jet flying charter.
“Take the car,” my mother said.
My stomach dropped. Like most other residents of theisland, my parents rented a parking spot on the mainland. I used to ride the ferry with my father when he went over once a month to pump the brakes and check the air in the tires.
But I’d barely driven in six years. My mind skittered. I could hit a pothole or a deer or a tree. What if I got lost, got a ticket, got a flat? What if the Good Samaritan who stopped to help change my tire was a serial killer?
I swallowed. Sometimes you just had to drive the car. Be an adult. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to fill the tank when you get back.” Mom turned to the couples onLove Is Blind, signaling this conversation was over.
A rush of affection filled me. “I can do that,” I said to the back of her head.
But apparently she wasn’t done yet.
“If you need a hand,” she said, her gaze fixed on the television screen, “moving your old desk into the work shed, let me know.”
The offer tugged at me sweetly, like a brush drawn through my hair. “Thanks, Mom.”
