Chapter 2
Two
Elle
I popped my head around the door to the den where my youngest sons were currently duking it out on a video game. Looked like Hockey All Stars 2057, or whatever it was up to now.
“Any sign of your sister?”
Conor peered up, distracted just long enough for Landon to score.
“Fuck, yeah!”
“Landon.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Grinning, he nudged his twin. “That’s what you get for insisting you play the game as Dad.”
Conor growled. “You played him the last three times.”
“All’s fair in war and hockey.”
“I think the expression is ‘love and hockey’, dude.”
On they babbled, finishing each other’s sentences like they’d done since their time in the womb. All of what? Seventeen years ago?
Sometimes my kids forgot I existed, which was fine when I was trying to work or take a candlelit bath with a glass of Merlot and my e-reader. But not now.
I tried again. “Your sister?”
Landon frowned. “She went to visit with Rosie, I think.”
I considered that for a second. “So, did she say anything before she left?”
“About what?” Conor stabbed at the controller, then because he was the politest of my children, he put it down and looked at me directly. “About flunking her exams and dropping out?”
Conor was also possessed of the same no-filter brain/mouth divergence as his dad.
Landon turned to his twin and stared. “Dude! She never said she was dropping out.”
“Yeah. Well, no.” Quick glance of embarrassment at me. “Just conjecture based on the exam thing. That part is fact.”
“Conjecture?” Landon shook his head. “Big word, little man.”
“Who you calling ‘little,’ ass—uh, dingus?” Both my sons added in semi-creepy unison “Sorry, Mom.”
Dropping out? That was what I was afraid of. Adeline had not enjoyed her first semester at college, but we’d hoped she’d adapt after those early months. On every call home she sounded like she was shrinking in on herself.
Hatch, my eldest, was like his father, a joiner, the kind of kid who made friends everywhere he went. Our youngest, Conor and Landon, had each other yet still managed to lead relatively independent lives. Both were outgoing to a fault and were headed to the University of Michigan this fall, like their brother before them.
But Adeline wasn’t like her brothers. She was shy, introverted, more like me—which meant I worried about her, especially when she became a freshman a few months ago in Vermont. A small, liberal arts college had sounded like it would suit her so well, and her dad’s alma mater to boot, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Failing exams was one thing but to drop out entirely?
Stepping outside the den—the twins had already gone back to their game—I shot off a text to my daughter.
Hey, sweetie, want to have lunch with your old mom?
The dots of doom started up, faded, then started up again.
Said I’d hang with Rosie!!!! Catch you later?
Hmm, three exclamation points too many.
Of course!!!
Two could play at that game.
Feeling a little blue, I sent a text to Jordan.
My daughter hates me.
The phone rang immediately, and I answered with, “Hello, Sad Sacks Not So Anonymous.”
“Of course she hates you! It’s about time.”
I laughed, glad to hear from my friend, who had three kids of her own and understood exactly what was happening.
“She’s not happy at college and now there’s a rumor that she wants out, but she hasn’t talked to me about it yet.”
“Well, that kid has always been the rule follower, not a rebellious bone in her body. Maybe she’s catching some of those revolutionary feelings at last.”
“During her first year in college? I don’t need that! I need her to embrace her newfound freedom and independence in a safe and non-threatening way. And talk to me. Mostly, talk to me.” A sudden wave of nausea hit me, the third one today, only this time I was unable to suppress it. “Gotta go. Call you late?—”
I made it to the bathroom just in time to hurl.
Three days to Christmas, on the day of the Rebels holiday party, and with my daughter’s life in disarray, was not the time to come down with a stomach bug. I was also on deadline with one of my information consulting clients, so I really didn’t have the time to be sick. I’d felt so tired over the last couple of weeks, too.
My phone rang. Jordan again, who was already speaking when I picked up.
“… you okay? What’s going on?”
“Just threw up. Good times.”
“Oh no! Are you getting sick?”
“I didn’t think so? But I’ve been feeling a bit off for a while, kind of like I felt when—” I broke off. “But that’s not possible. Theo got the snip.”
Jordan paused, and I hoped she didn’t question it further like the scoop-hungry journalist she was. “So just a bug then. Maybe you should stay home tonight?”
“Yeah, probably. Adeline probably won’t want to hit the party so it would be a good time to talk to her.”
Jordan hummed her approval. “Tell my goddaughter she can always talk to me if Mama Bear scares her.”
I snorted. “Sure thing, Soft Touch.”