Mom lowers her voice. “Your dad’s been worried about you. Keeps saying that Blake girl must have the patience of a saint.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”
“She always was a determined little thing,” Mom says, fondly. “Sounds like you’re in good hands.”
There’s a pause, and I hear my dad cough in the background. It’s rough, the kind that makes my gut clench.
“Is Dad okay?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s fine,” she says, but her tone softens. “Just his usual morning struggle. The cardiologist just adjusted his meds again. You know your father. He thinks following instructions is optional.”
“Tell him to take it easy,” I murmur.
“I do, every day. He listens about half the time.”
I can picture her smile through the sigh. Then she says gently, “We’re proud of you, you know. Tell Sophie we’ll be watching the livestream of that musical if we can’t make it up. Your dad’s hoping the doctor will approve him for travel before then.”
“That’ll make her day,” I say quietly.
After a beat, she asks, “You okay, honey?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just a long week.”
“I know,” she says. “Hang in there. Things have a way of working themselves out, even when it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.”
The call ends, and the kitchen feels a little less empty. But thinking about Sophie’s musical makes something tighten in my chest.
She deserves that night to be special, uncomplicated.
Which means I need to remind Vanessa.
I open a new message and type.
Sophie’s musical is May 29th at 7 PM.
I wait.
A few seconds tick by.
Then the three dots pop up.
And vanish.
Then finally, Vanessa’s response:
??
One emoji.
That’s it.
My stomach knots.
I set the phone down, a little harder than necessary, and drag a hand over my jaw.
