Chapter Three
My mother was late.
Not just late. A half hour late. And not answering her phone. Two things that never happened. Clearly, she was dead.
“What?” Marisol, horrified, said as she spooned mashed bananas into Leo’s open mouth.
In the adjacent living room, Will and Piper were in their morning trance, cereal bowls balanced on their laps as some cartoon blared from the TV.
My dad was still in bed, as sleep was a commodity, always.
“Finley. No. I’m sure she just got held up somehow. Try her again.”
Marisol’s extended family—parents, an older brother, three younger sisters—was loud and tightly interconnected, their exchanges over the phone and at gatherings a whizzing mix of laughter, Spanish, and English. My mom’s quiet, and the ripple effect it tended to cause, had always mystified her.
I turned back to my phone and saw the last text I’d sent to Colin, who was leaving for the airport shortly.
Miss you already, it read, followed by a heart.
No response, but that wasn’t much of a surprise.
When traveling, the Frisbee Fam moved with military precision as well as a strict phone use policy, which his mom maintained “preserved the experience.” I’d hear from him eventually.
Just then, a shiny silver Lexus pulled up in front of our house. My mom was behind the wheel. I didn’t even know she could drive.
“She’s here,” I reported, watching as she cut the engine. Usually she was in work attire, which as far as I knew was also her life attire: black-suit wear in the form of a jacket, sleeveless dress, and tailored pants in one combo or another. Now she was in a simple black T-shirt. Another first.
“Oh, good,” Marisol said, sounding so relieved, it was clear she’d been worried too. She padded down the hallway, poking her head into their bedroom. “Jason. Finley’s car is here.”
My mother did not move from her seat. Instead, she just sat there, studying her rearview mirror like it was her job. Finally, she emerged, starting slowly up the walk. I opened the door just as she was climbing the steps.
“Hey,” I said, as I heard my dad and Marisol come into the kitchen, Leo squawking a greeting. “Everything okay?”
“Not exactly,” she said. Her always-sleek hair was pulled back into a bun, a few waves hanging loose. She had dark circles under her eyes I knew I would have noticed the day before.
“Catherine?” I turned to see my dad behind me, his face still sleepy, in a T-shirt and gym shorts that constituted his pajamas. “What’s going on?”
Instead of answering, my mom looked at me. As if something in my face would decide what happened next. Then she said, “I have to go to the woods.”
Camping? I couldn’t even picture my mom in a tent. It was like trying to imagine her on the moon.
“Your parents’ house?” my dad said. “Now?”
She nodded, looking down at the key fob clutched in her hand. “We’re finally selling.”
I looked at Marisol, who seemed as clueless as I was.
All I knew about my mom’s family was that she was from a small city in the southeastern part of the state.
I’d been there twice: once in second grade to visit my grandmother in her rest home, and then again a couple of years later for her funeral.
Both were a blur, tinged with formality, as all activities involving my mom tended to be.
My dad said, “Liz and Kasey actually want to do that?”
“So it seems.” She swallowed, and I had a bolt of panic, thinking she might cry. For some reason, I was not sure I could handle that. Instead, she took a breath. “The bottom line is, I’ve been needing to go, and I haven’t. Now I’m out of time.” She turned, looking at me. “I’m so sorry, Finley.”
“So New York isn’t happening?” I asked, still confused. Then a realization. “I could have gone on the cruise?”
A beat as she looked at me, and I swear—strange as it sounded—she seemed hurt. But then, just as quickly, her face changed. Cold and distant, familiar yet again.
“No,” she said. She took a breath, steeling herself. “We’re going to the lake.”
The worst part was passing the airport exit.
If it had been the final moments of a rom-com, I could have booked myself on Colin’s flight immediately, while his grandparents somehow discovered one extra cruise ticket.
Cue us waving from the ship’s deck as it left port, everything perfect and solved.
But this was real life, so I watched a plane taking off in my rearview, swallowing over the lump in my throat.
It had been over fifteen minutes since we’d gotten into the car at my house, and my mother had still not uttered a word.
Instead, she just kept taking breaths, like she was about to speak, and then exhaling, saying nothing.
She was also driving fast, changing lanes often.
For a place she clearly didn’t want to go, she sure was in a hurry to get there.
Finally, after about thirty minutes, she took an exit, pulling into a Chicks right off the ramp. When I looked at her, she said, “Bathroom. You should go here so we don’t have to stop again.”
Then she opened her door, getting out, and I followed her inside.
I’d never been to any eatery with my mom that did not have a bar and a hostess stand.
Now she headed for this fast-food joint restroom like she’d been there a million times, passing a few seniors having breakfast in the booths.
I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Colin again, hoping I might catch him before he boarded.
Change of plans. Going to the lake?
“I’m getting coffee,” my mom announced as she returned. She’d put on her sunglasses. “You want anything?”
I shook my head, and she turned, studying the lit-up menu over the registers.
After using the bathroom as she’d directed (what was I, two?), I splashed some water on my face, drying it with a rough paper towel.
Back at the car, my mother was behind the wheel, engine already running.
She said nothing as I got in and was pulling away before I’d even gotten my seat belt on, back into the flow of semis and commuters headed east.
As she moved into the left lane, I texted Nalini and Hannah, filling them in. I felt us switch lanes again before my mom observed, “Is that Colin? I thought he was leaving this morning.”
“He is,” I said. I was sensing a bit of judgment. “This is someone else.”
“Oh.” She glanced over at me: I could see myself reflected, small, in her sunglasses. “Well, it’s nice to know you have other friends.”
Forget a sense: Now her point was obvious. “Of course I do. We have a whole group.”
It wasn’t until after I said this that I realized the collective might not have been the ideal choice. “Right,” she said, in such a way I was pretty sure she’d noticed it as well. “I just haven’t gotten to know any of them, I suppose.”
You don’t live here, I wanted to say. Or: You barely know me. Why would you expect to be hanging out with my friends? Instead, I went with, “They’re usually with their own families holidays and summers.”
“Of course. That makes sense.” She glanced at the rearview: a beat later a tow truck whizzed past us, lights flashing. “I guess what I’m saying is, it’s important not to build your entire life around just one person. Especially since you and Colin are attending the same school in the fall.”
“The U is a big place,” I countered. “I doubt we’ll just hang out with each other.”
Before she could answer, my phone chirped.
It was Hannah, sending a bunch of shocked faces in reply to my update.
She and Nalini were headed to a beach week with a bunch of other seniors later that day, the first of two our friend group planned for the summer.
Colin and I would be on the next one, right before we all headed off our separate ways in late August.
Thinking this, I remembered that I had to make a spreadsheet about everyone’s share of the week’s rent, as well as a meal list. Might as well get the jump. I bent down, taking out my laptop, then set my phone beside me and put on my earbuds: I had two podcasts I’d been meaning to listen to.
I’d just cued up an episode when I felt us move off the highway and up an off-ramp.
I adjusted the volume, then started typing as the host began murmuring in my ear.
I was so absorbed, it took me a minute to realize we were no longer moving.
Just sitting, in fact, at a stop sign on the exit to a random highway, nothing else around. Also, something was buzzing.
It was coming from behind us. I turned, seeing my mom’s phone in a leather tote on the backseat. ELIZABETH, said the screen. I waited for her to turn and grab it, but she just stared straight ahead, deep in thought, as if there were more than two options for us to take: right or left.
More buzzing. This was going to make me crazy.
“Are you going to get that?” I asked her.
“What?”
Of course, right then the phone stopped. A school bus puttered past, handprints on the back window. Then the buzzing began again.
My mom sighed, then reached behind her, picking it up. “Hel—”
“Cat?” A voice, female, was suddenly blasting loud enough for me to hear, even with earbuds in. “What is this message I just got? You’re coming now? With the wedding less than a month away?”
My mother opened her mouth to reply. Who was Cat? The woman kept talking.
“You realize how incredibly selfish this is, don’t you?
To completely ignore us for ages and then decide oh, hey, I do want to sell the house, at the worst possible time?
” Another pause. This time my mom didn’t even try.
“Although I guess I’m supposed to be grateful I heard from you at all. Considering.”
“I—” my mom began.
Click. It wasn’t easy to noisily end a cell call. My mom seemed equally surprised, looking at her phone for a second before putting it in the console, hitting her signal, and turning right. “Your aunt Liz,” she told me.