“So, when will you see her again?”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Mom. Not for a while, I’m guessing. We don’t … we don’t really keep in close touch.”
“Because …”
I reach for a napkin, dabbing at the sauce that’s dribbled on my hand. “Because that’s just how it is with us. What’s with the twenty questions tonight?”
“I’m proud of you, Sawyer. I was proud when you left to try out and play in that minor league. I was proud how you handled getting injured. I’m proud you applied to college. I know it wasn’t easy to return to, then lose baseball or to ask for those recommendations. I’ve never worried you wouldn’t be successful. You’re one of the smartest, most driven people I know, and I know a lot of smart, driven people.
“But when it comes to emotions? To honesty and to relationships and to love? I know I set a terrible example for you. Navigating all ofthat can be confusing for anyone, but it might be especially confusing for you. You can talk to me about any of it, or if you want to talk to someone else, we can set that up too. I just—I would hate to see you give up someone important to you because of choices I made.”
“It was Dad’s fault, Mom, not yours.”
“Not all of it,” she replies. “I overlooked things I shouldn’t have. I made excuses when I shouldn’t have. I put you and-and Skylar in situations that could have been much worse. I can’t change any of that. You’re an adult; you can—do—make your own decisions. But the two times I’ve seen you happiest lately were when Wren was here. Don’t assume that’s a coincidence. Your generation probably thinks it’s not cool to get attached or that commitment is?—”
“Mom,” I groan, “that’s not?—”
“Let me finish, Sawyer. Letting someone know you care is important. I care about all the parts of your life, and I want you to know that. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
I nod. “I’m glad you’re home, Mom.”
“Me too.” She picks up a taco. “Your cooking has really improved.”
“Oh. Uh, I didn’t—Wren made these.”
My mom displays no surprise. “Do we need to have a conversation about responsibility when you have girls over to an unsupervised house?”
“Nope,” I say quickly.
“I assume health class covered the basics, but if you have questions?—”
“No questions here,” I interject.
She gives me a fond, slightly exasperated smile. “If that changes …”
“Mom, no offense, but that is one part of my life you cannot care about.”
“As long as you’re being safe.”
“Iam.” I exhale. “Also, there aren’tgirls. There’s—I’ve only had one over, okay?”
“Okay.” She picks up her taco again. “Now, tell me about the marina. How is being manager going?”
After we’ve caught up on everything that didn’t make it into our phone calls over the past few weeks, Gus drops by to pick up the truck keys. Mom is all impressed by Gus’s date plan, especially when Gus informs her the drive-in movie was Wren’s idea. I almost pull out my phone to text her, telling her so, but something stops me. My pride maybe.
Wren hasn’t texted me. She hasn’t texted me in two years. How hard would it have been for her to send a short message, letting me know she was going to Cambridge? Or saying she’d be back in the Hamptons this week? Aside from the letters she sent senior year, Wren has never reached out to me when we weren’t in the same place.
It fuels all my insecurities about how huge her world is—how small mine must seem by comparison. Aside from trips to see my grandparents in New Hampshire, the only traveling I’ve done was with the minors team I played with for a partial season until my elbow crapped out. And that was mainly smelly buses and budget motels, hardly the glamour I’m sure is part of the Kensington lifestyle. Wren only seems to want me when it’s convenient—when I’m convenient—and that feels like a perilous position to be in.
After Gus leaves on his date, I head into my room. I’ve started sorting through the years of junk, organizing it into Keep, Bring, or Get Rid of It categories before I move to Lancaster’s campus.
Mom pokes her head in my room as I’m flipping through the binder full of old baseball cards. They’re probably worth something, but Dad helped me collect most of them. I toss the binder into the box that’s headed to the local thrift store.
“I’m headed over to the Griffins’ for a glass of wine with Clara.”
“Have fun.”
“If you fill any donation boxes, stack them in Skylar’s room. I’ll do a run later this week.”
