Chapter 40
Jess
“Listen, this does not define you. Whether you’re admitted to this school has no bearing on your worth in this world.”
Kit stared blankly ahead as I brushed her hair, her posture rigid with nerves.
I’d been second-guessing my decision to allow her to audition for the past two weeks.
She’d been practicing harder than ever, so focused and serious and determined.
While it made me proud, it also worried me.
I couldn’t help but dwell on the potential for devastation if she wasn’t accepted.
I wanted her to be a kid on summer vacation, yet I loved her dedication, and I wanted her to set goals and work toward them.
This was the torment that came with parenting.
Always being torn in two, wanting to wrap my child in a warm, supportive blanket and shield her from failure or disappointment, then flip-flopping and pondering whether I should let her take risks, even while knowing that the end result could be painful.
“I’ve heard it all before, Mom,” she said, her voice monotone. “Auditioning is an honor. Blah, blah, blah.”
I tugged gently on the French braid I was working on. “It’s the truth. We’re going for the experience. Most kids spend years preparing, and you got a couple of weeks. That’s my fault, not yours. You’ve worked hard and improved. This is just one day of your long, beautiful, successful life.”
Her lips wobbled, but she kept her head high. “But I just want to get in.”
“Of course you do. But someday, when you’re an adult and have a little more perspective, you will realize that it doesn’t actually matter if you get in.
What matters is that you took this opportunity and worked your butt off.
That you went in there with your head held high and a smile on your face. ”
I kept braiding, my chest aching, knowing that my words hadn’t penetrated as deeply as I’d hoped. She was twelve, and after the changes and disappointments she’d been through, she wanted to hold on to hope.
Though the audition had consumed us for days and days, Vermont was still there, beckoning to me. The cottage was ready, and I’d met with the school principal during our trip. I hadn’t made any solid plans regarding work, but I could help out on the farm until I found a social work position.
But since the moment I’d returned from visiting my siblings, none of it had felt urgent. Because all the positives that came along with moving were now being weighed against all the possibilities here. We still had a lot to explore. Like this audition and our new friendships. And Brian.
When I’d agreed to today and had told Kit, the girls and I had talked and decided we would take a little more time before making a final decision about moving. Given that it was mid-July, the clock was ticking, yet the pressure lessened every day.
“I just want to get in,” she repeated, this time with a sigh.
I squeezed her shoulders and spun the chair around so we were eye to eye. “There are other schools, and there’s always next year. Remember what Grandpa used to tell me when I was a kid? What are the only two things we can control in this life?”
“Our attitude and effort,” she grumbled.
I dipped my chin. “Correct. We can’t control what the committee decides, but you can control your attitude and your effort and be proud of yourself.”
She looked up at me, her big brown eyes welling with tears. “Can we snuggle for a minute?”
With a smile, I pulled her in close, and as I tucked her beneath my chin, I closed my eyes and inhaled. God, this age was so hard. Some days she was a tiny adult, and on others she was my sweet chubby baby again.
“I love you,” I said into her hair. “And I’m so proud of you.” I held her tighter, savoring this moment and sending a silent prayer to the universe that today would go well.
My phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence, and as Kit stepped away to find Greta, I held it up and found a message from Brian.
Brian: Work emergency. I’ll meet you in the city.
Annoyance flashed through me. Work emergency? What could be more important than Kit’s audition?
I closed my eyes. The apprehension and concern that had been gnawing at my stomach had now been joined by a familiar pang of disappointment. Kenneth had done this all the time. He’d promise he’d show up, tell me it was on his calendar and everything, and then bail at the last minute.
Because work had always been more important.
I forced myself to breathe. Brian wasn’t Kenneth. And we still hadn’t officially defined what we were doing. He wasn’t Kit’s dad. He didn’t owe us anything.
By the time I reminded myself of that, it was too late. The doubts had started to pile up. Had I jumped in too quickly? Was I falling back into old patterns? Being too positive, too sunny? Had I not been cautious enough? Had I set my children up for heartbreak?
Groaning, I tossed my phone into my purse, then focused on getting out the door. I’d deal with these concerns later. I couldn’t let my baggage muck up Kit’s special day. Lately, compartmentalization had become difficult, but I slapped a smile on my face and tossed a handful of snacks into my purse.
As the girls and I headed to the train, my gut churned, but I forced myself to smile and stay positive.
My confusion about Brian only amplified the sick feeling. Had I been so lust-drunk that I’d failed to see the bigger picture? Had I let my guard down and exposed my kids to more pain?
My mind continued to spin as we walked from the train to the school.
What had I been thinking? Brian had been honest about being a workaholic. In the last few months, I’d often found him in the office when I stopped by to get the girls, and sometimes, when he walked us out, he headed right back in to get more work done.
My mother had always said, “When people show you who they really are, listen.”
And here I was, disappointed and overwhelmed, with no one but myself to blame. It wasn’t his fault. This was who he was. I’d been the one wearing rose-colored glasses.
But for now, I had to put that out of my mind and focus on Kit.
This was her big day. My only job was to make sure she felt supported and loved no matter the outcome.
We stood outside the impressive brick building, all three of us taking it in. It was almost as wide as the block, with corbeled cornices and arches around the massive windows. It was beautiful.
Beside me, Kit suddenly radiated excitement rather than anxiety. This was her place. I could feel it. And I thought she could too.
I squeezed her hand, and she looked up at me with a smile.
“I can do this,” she said as we walked toward the entrance.
“I know you can.”