Cece’s never been more thankful for Morgan’s levity and seemingly endless ability to not take anything too seriously.
There’s more:But seriously. It’s no big deal. It’s not like I’ve got my shit together…can’t really expect the same from other people.
Cece starts typing and then deletes the message, bottom lip chewed raw between her teeth. What is she so afraid of? Things are already in motion; she’s made her decision. Telling Morgan about Jonathan won’t change anything. Except that it might. It most certainly will—of course it will! And Cece isn’t quite ready to let go of whatever is between her and Morgan. Whatever potential friendship they might be able to cultivate will evaporate with news of her reconciliation with Jonathan. Cece wants tokeep Morgan in her life—even if it’s selfish, even if it means withholding this bit of information. It isn’t really lying; she’s not leading him on. It’s not as if they’re planning a future together. That’s an impossibility, even without Jonathan in the picture. From where she stands, Morgan’s life seems nerve-wracking, filled with potential concerns of money and stability, the means to build a future, and that wasbeforeshe met Lacy. And even if she wants it, Cece can’t afford unpredictability and risk. She has enough of that in her own life at the moment.
Still, Cece finds herself imagining. Imagining what Morgan might do if she were to tell him about Jonathan: reads the message and tosses the phone across the room in anger, laughs uproariously at the craziest woman he’s ever slept with, scoffs with disdain, or the worst of all, turns off the lights and sleeps a dreamless sleep, content to be rid of a clingy woman he’d barely known.
Cece thinks about admitting to snooping through his medicine cabinet but stops herself.Thanks for being so understanding, she types, a twinge of guilt needling her.How long is Lacy staying with you?
Kind of up in the air. My ex and I are still working on a more regular visitation schedule. She isn’t exactly making things easy.
Maybe we can get together after she leaves.
I think she’d probably prefer another person to hang out with. All her friends are up in Providence. I took off a few days so we couldget some time together, but I’m worried we’ve already run out of things to do. Her phone seems infinitely more interesting than her old man.
You are very old. I don’t think she really liked me.
That’s just the way she is. All teenagers, really.
We’ll figure out something to do then.
Have you talked any sense into your landlord about the oyster farm? Last I heard she was knocking on doors collecting signatures for some kind of petition. I don’t think everyone in the neighborhood is taking kindly to it.
I’m afraid not. Lorraine is her own woman.
Oh well. It was worth a shot. Better get some shut eye. Text me when you’re back in town. I’ll tell Lacy to expect you.
The house iseerily quiet when Cece comes downstairs the next morning, a crick in her neck from the overly soft pillows. Like she needed more evidence she’s getting old. A few crumbs on thekitchen island serve as the only evidence of someone eating breakfast. From the window over the sink—no sign of Kim, her car gone from the shrub-lined driveway. Cece shouts her father’s name, then the dog’s, but there’s no answer, not so much as a bark. She moves from one room to another, a silly panic setting in, feeling like a kid who’s lost their parent in the grocery store. She’s about to go outside to do a loop when a thud sounds from the basement.
Stairs creak beneath her feet, fluorescent lights hum overhead, the smell of mildew and sawdust mingling into a strange brew. Barry is bent over in concentration at his workbench, a flat pencil behind his ear.
“You’re awake,” he says, spinning around on his stool.
“Where’s Mom?”
Barry stands, his head nearly touching the exposed beams. “She lit out of here pretty early after her run. She was in a bad mood…something about you blowing off an interview.”
“Shit.”
“You two had some sort of agreement?”
“She set up a job for me, but I blew the interview, partly on purpose…mostly on purpose, I guess.”
Cece’s expecting Barry to be upset with her or at least reprimand her for wasting her mother’s time and energy, but he seems preoccupied.
“Aren’t you angry?”
Barry rubs his stubbled chin. Crumbs dot his flannel shirt, and Cece wonders if he’s the culprit for the mess upstairs. “I just want you to be happy. Your mother does, too, of course. She just goes about showing it differently.”
Cece has never heard her father speak critically of her mother. Even when they’d fought terribly, he’d always presented a united front. “What’s going on with you two?”
“We’ve just hit a rough patch—that’s all.”
“What about the business? Things sound worse than usual.”
“Business could always be better, but it’ll turn around. I have faith.”
“Mom doesn’t operate on faith, Dad. You know that.”
