Once we were outside, Andee’s pace picked up. “Gladly.”
When she reached the SUV, she threw her bag into the back seat and slammed the door behind her. By the time I’d crawled into the driver’s seat, she already had her headphones on and was scrolling through one of her playlists.
Starting the car, there were a dozen things I wanted to shout at her. Everything from how she was going to explain a suspension to her father and why she seemed intent on setting fire to every single facet of her life, but instinct or experience held me back.
Instead, I found myself staring at my child. The being I’d brought into this world, who used to bring me dandelions from the yard with a toothy, toddler grin, the girl who used to snuggle close when thunder rumbled in the distance, the person who, I reminded myself, I loved unconditionally.
She didn’t flinch away as I anticipated when I slid back her headphones. “Andee, what happened?”
Her arms folded over her chest. “Nothing.”
“You didn’t get suspended because ‘nothing’ happened.”
My phone rang; the office was calling.
More calls from the office had interrupted family events, milestones, talks, and moments than I cared to tally. This time, I hit Decline when I detected what appeared to be a clear globe forming at the outer corner of Andee’s eye.
“What did those boys say?” I let a few moments of silence pass before continuing. “Did they do anything to you?” My throat moved with the bloated suggestion, wondering how I could speak so skillfully in a courtroom and fail so grievously when speaking to my own child.
“What? Like assault me?” Andee snorted, gracing me with a look that announced I was as ineffective of a parent as I estimated I was. “If either of those assholes had tried, they would be in need of a surgeon skilled in appendage reattachment.” Shaking her head, she snapped her headphones back over her ears. “How much longer are you going to pretend to give a shit, Mom? Just so I can prepare myself for how many more minutes we’re going to play make-believe.”
My jaw locked, trapping the words or cries trying to escape. “Buckle up.” I sped out of the driveway.
“Careful. Your act’s starting to crumble,” Andee muttered, clicking her seatbelt into place.
When the phone rang—the office again—I hit Accept. “What?” I barked.
Andee clucked her tongue. “There she is.”
Two
My phone was my life—it was also a malignant tumor that would lead to my untimely death, I was convinced.
It hadn’t stopped ringing the rest of the day. I’d hung up with Connor less than a minute before it chimed again. My shoulders dropped when I saw who it was this time.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered in the liveliest voice I could conjure at seven thirty at night after waking up at five and squeezing in a month’s worth of items in fourteen odd hours.
“Did I catch you at a good time?” she asked.
“Actually I was just getting dinner set out—”
“Dinner at this hour?” I could see the look on her face based on her tone.
Fighting with the lighter, I finally managed to coax a flame from it to light the candles. “Noah isn’t home yet.”
“He works so many late nights. It’s got to be catching up with him.”
“Yeah, it’s exhausting working seventy hours a week.” After adjusting the wine glasses, I gave the table a satisfied nod. It was rare the three of us were under the same roof on any given week night, and sharing a dinner at the table was even rarer.
“I’m sure it is.” Mom paused, the sound of ice clinking against a glass following. At this time of day, it was iced tea with a twist of lemon and splash of rum. Some days it was less of a splash and more of a dump. “So what’s for dinner at nearly eight o’clock at night?”
I hadn’t realized I’d reached for the bottle of red wine I’d set out until I’d filled the wine glass in front of me. “Pot roast with scalloped potatoes and braised carrots.” Taking a drink of wine, I found myself adjusting the silverware at Noah’s setting, creeping the knife closer to the fork.
Mom made a sound of approval. “And what internal temperature did you make sure to get your pot roast to?”
My neck rolled.
“And you were sure to let it rest for how long before carving it?”
Back in the kitchen, I tossed the empty food containers from Luca’s Bistro into the garbage. Not that