Chapter 34
“Mom, God, calm down!”
They were squared off in the parking lot, Morgan’s chest heaving in big breaths, her hands in tight fists at her sides. She’d stormed out after Celeste’s outburst, and Celeste had quickly followed. Em had slipped out the door right after that, and maybe some others. Celeste didn’t look back to see. Nothing mattered right now except understanding what the hell her daughter was up to.
“You didn’t tell your mom, Morgs?” Em passed a hand gently down Morgan’s spine before tangling their fingers with hers.
Celeste stared at the intimate gesture.
Em was going to UCLA. In Los Angeles.
“Are you two—” Morgan’s cagey behavior, her hours spent away from home, it all finally made sense. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Celeste and Morgan had always shared secrets, but apparently not all of them. Secrets like Morgan dating her best friend. And forgoing college for a move to—
“LA, Morgan? What was that about? You’re not going to LA, you’re going up to Flagstaff, to NAU.”
Her finger was pointed straight at her daughter. When had she become a finger-wagger? She lowered her hand but kept her gaze hard on Morgan. This was what she got for not pushing her these last weeks, not reviewing their plan and getting Morgan excited about college. She’d been so damn distracted, and now her daughter was talking nonsense.
“I’m not, Mom. I tried to tell you a million times, but you wouldn’t listen. I don’t want to go up there next year. It’s not right for me.”
“Of course it is, honey.” Celeste tried to modulate her voice, to cut out the angry edge, but it wasn’t working. “We talked about this. They have a great art department but you can still focus on other academics. Get in-state tuition. Keep your options open if your art doesn’t work out.”
“No, you talked about it, Mom. And talked and talked. It was never my plan. It was always yours. I want to go to LA. Em and I can stay in the basement apartment at their aunt’s house and—”
Celeste’s knees faltered for a moment. Living together? “Oh no. You are not skipping college to go live in a basement with someone you’re dating!” Celeste looked at Em, whom she’d known since they were ten. “No offense, Em. Under any other circumstances I would be thrilled about you and Morgan. You know I love you.”
Em kicked the ground. “I know, Ms. J. It’s cool.”
“It’s not cool!” Morgan was yelling now, her face gone red in the hazy parking lot lighting. “You should be thrilled now! I love Em and we’re going to California together!”
Celeste resisted an eye roll, but just barely. “Morgan, you can’t be serious.” She wiped a hand across her face, searching for calm. “Honey. Think about this. Em is going to be in college. Taking classes, meeting new people. What are you going to do?”
“I already called an art school there. I can take classes for trade if I help out.” Morgan raised her eyebrows triumphantly. “I have a plan, Mom. It’s just not your plan.”
A plan to follow Em to California and take out the trash at some art school? “Honey, if you want to take a gap year before you go to college, we can talk about that. But following someone just because you’re dating, giving your life over to that, is no way to make decisions.”
Morgan groaned, shaking her head. She looked at Em with a look like, You see this?
“This is why I didn’t tell you about Em!” Morgan let go of Em’s hand and stepped in front of them in a protective stance. “This is exactly why! Because you’re so fucking jaded! I know you’re on some pathetic self-imposed path of discovery, Mom, but some of us want to be in love, okay? I’m happy, doesn’t that matter to you?”
In love. Her daughter. Her little girl. What would happen to her? How could she risk so much—her future, the start of her own life after high school—for something so fragile?
“Moo, you’re too young for this, baby. When you’re in love, everything else falls to the side.” Celeste knew that all too well, and was still digging herself out of that hole. “Don’t you see yourself doing that already? Giving up your chance for college, following Em to California?”
“I’m not giving up anything!” Morgan shouted. “Just because that’s how love feels to you doesn’t mean that’s how it is for me!”
Celeste took a breath. “Is this about me? Is this your way of getting back at me? For divorcing your dad?”
Morgan groaned as she looked at the dark sky. “Oh my god, Mom. Not everything is about you. Jesus.” She let out a harsh, angry laugh. It wasn’t a sound Celeste had ever heard from her daughter, and the edges of it sliced at her. “What’s funny is, I thought you’d be proud of me. Seriously. What about all your little mantras? Be bold! Say yes!” She held her hands up in the air. “That’s what I’m doing! But I guess that only applies to you, huh? It’s the story you tell yourself to make it okay to split up your family, jump from hobby to hobby like a kid on a sugar high. You do whatever you want as long as it fits your stupid plan. But what about me? What about what I want?”
“You don’t know what you want!” Split up your family. You do whatever you want. Morgan knew just what to say to cut deeper. But Celeste pushed back, all fight. “You think you know, but you don’t know a thing, Morgan. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Fuck you, Mom!”
Morgan faltered, her face falling for just a second before her shield shot back up. “I’m leaving.” Morgan stepped back and tucked an arm protectively around Em’s waist. “I’m going to stay at Em’s tonight.”
Celeste shook her head. “No.”
Em cleared their throat and muttered something to Morgan, who rolled her eyes but nodded. “I’ll stay in the guest room, okay? Em’s mom will text you later.” She glared at Celeste, obviously furious to have made a small concession. “Okay?”
Celeste knew her hurt feelings were brewing into something terrible, and she didn’t want to see that come out directed at Morgan. They would talk about all of it. But not tonight.
So she nodded, jaw tight. “This conversation isn’t over.”
But Morgan was already walking away with Em.
Celeste was ready to collapse in a ball where she stood. It wasn’t the yelling so much as all the rest—the secrets, and the piles of resentments, with Celeste herself at the source. Some pathetic self-imposed path of discovery. If she hadn’t felt so broken, she would have laughed.
Woozy, Celeste swayed on her feet, but her back was steadied by a hand. Maria’s familiar voice said, “John’s going to take you home, okay? We don’t want you driving right now. I’ll bring you back over to get your car in the morning.”
Celeste looked at Maria, her friend’s face scrunched in concern as she pulled Celeste into a tight hug.
“Oh god.” Celeste melted into Maria. “Did you both see all of that?”
“We did.” Maria’s hand rubbed up and down Celeste’s back. “But that’s good. It means you don’t have to summarize it for anyone.” She pulled back, catching Celeste’s eyes with her own. “She’s a teenager, Celeste. This is what they do. I know it’s not usually what you and Morgan do, but it is normal.”
Celeste nodded, feeling like a zombie. “The things she said, Maria.”
“I know, honey. I know.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice. “You going to be okay with John? Can he handle this sort of thing? I could get home and pump some milk for Xavi and come over.”
She glanced behind her to John, his eyes heavy on her. He could build a bed, ID a bird from sound alone, pull Celeste out of the doldrums with a silly and sincere award he made by hand.
Comforting her after a public fight with her rash, emotional, judgment-impaired daughter wasn’t really in the birders-with-benefits job description. She’d invited him to the show because her body had been in a mixed-up state between sadness and excitement, and she hadn’t wanted to say goodbye like that.
But mostly, she’d wanted him there.
Just like she really wanted to let him take her home.
“Yeah, I think it’ll be okay. I’ll call you in the morning.”
A few blurry minutes later, she was in John’s car as he piloted them toward her house. The night’s events—the crash of losing the contest, the wood of the award beneath her fingers, John’s hand on her thighs, the way he’d greeted Morgan so naturally, and Morgan herself, her sweet baby, all anger and resentment—poured through Celeste in a jumble, leaving her surprisingly blank. But John simply drove as Celeste stared out the window, counting the streetlights as they blurred past. She hardly noticed when he went off course, and only looked over when they turned into an unfamiliar parking lot.
“What are we doing?” It was the first she’d spoken to him, and she was surprised at the raw, scratchy sound of her voice.
“We’re getting fries.”
He ordered, and soon she had a steaming bag of crunchy, greasy fries in her lap.
“I love fries,” she choked out, just above a whisper.
He gave her another weak smile before pulling back out onto the street, heading toward her house. “I know.”
She lifted a fry to her mouth. The salt hit her tongue first, then the heat of the steaming center, then the sweet comfort of grease. She closed her lips around it and, finally, she started to cry.