Chapter 16
You had to admire the subversive enthusiasm of teenagers.
Alaric and I still stood on the porch where my niece had left us. At Sawyer’s bellowing announcement, Alaric chuckled, turned to me, and gestured with a little bow. “She’s great. After you.”
I wasn’t embarrassed, because Alaric was not my hot boyfriend. He wasn’t my hot anything. Also, Paul was cool and so was his new wife. They knew all about Sawyer and her antics.
The inside of the house was both familiar and uncanny, like walking into a childhood home that had been bought by a family of strangers.
The furniture was mostly the same as I remembered, but the wall colors had changed from the subtle, builder-beige Viv had chosen to a riot of eggplant, pale green, and deep blue.
The staircase banister was strung with felted pom-poms instead of the garland Viv had favored.
The smells were all wrong, no hint of the vanilla and cinnamon that had been Viv’s signature.
Instead, it was all savory, woodsy, something that suggested casseroles and high-quality butter.
I pulled off my scarf and wound it around my wrist. From the back of the house Paul appeared. He wore the same brand of understated, Midwest-dad sweater he’d worn since college. He still had the same air of a man who had never lost a single argument with a car salesman or a cable installer.
“Hi, Alison,” he said, smile genuine if a little wary. “Good to see you. Come in.”
We exchanged the required cheek kisses, a brief brush of faces, then he turned to Alaric and offered a handshake. “You must be Alaric. Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for having us last minute.” Alaric accepted the shake.
Paul waved off the politeness. “No, it’s good. We’re glad you’re here. I forgot to ask on the phone—any food allergies for you, Alaric? We’re having beef wellington and Yorkshire pudding for lunch. Diane wanted to make something special for the occasion.”
I’d met Diane only a handful of times. She was Paul’s new wife—new in the sense that they’d been married nine months, but in my mind, she would always be “new.” I hadn’t gone to the wedding, but Renee had sent a nice Le Creuset set on my behalf, complete with a card that said “All Our Best,” which Diane had replied to with a handwritten thank-you note and a recipe for lemon bars.
“I eat everything,” Alaric took off his coat and gently unwound the scarf from my wrist, hanging both on hooks by the door. “No food allergies.”
From the hallway behind Paul, a voice called out, “Welcome! Come to the kitchen. I have eggnog!”
Paul led the way, and as we walked, I did a quick assessment of the house’s new decorations.
It was mostly Christmas, but not in the way Viv would have done it.
No vintage glass or Scandinavian minimalism.
Instead, there were felt stockings with names in glitter glue, and an LED Santa that waved when you walked by.
In the kitchen, Diane was already holding court, her hands moving in quick, competent flourishes as she ladled from a giant glass punch bowl into three glasses.
She wore a green sweater dress and, on her feet, a pair of fuzzy red slippers shaped like reindeer.
The kitchen itself was as I’d left it: quartz countertops, high-end appliances, every cabinet perfectly aligned.
I’d upgraded the appliances myself just last year, as a kind of penance for not visiting more often.
Diane spotted us and smiled wide, “Hi, Alison! So glad you could make it. Hi, Alaric. I’m Diane.”
Alaric introduced himself, and Diane’s eyes did the thing that all women’s eyes do when presented with someone who’s both handsome and unusually polite.
Sawyer hovered behind Diane, already peeking into the bag of presents. Also in the room were Diane’s children, twin boys about twelve, both in matching Marvel T-shirts, and a little girl, ten.
After the requisite introductions, the kids vanished to another room, leaving the adults to stand in a loose semicircle around the kitchen island.
I noticed, tucked into a corner, three moving boxes labeled “Cookbooks,” “Board Games,” and “Photos.” They were the expensive kind of moving boxes, the ones with handles and printed instructions.
Diane saw me looking. “Oh. Pardon the mess.”
I lifted my chin toward the stack. “What’s with all the boxes?”
Paul and Diane shared a look, the kind that can only be achieved through several hours of marital negotiation.
Paul said, “We’re moving.”
I stared at him. “You’re moving? Where?”
“Not too far away, just a few blocks over.”
“Is this house too small?” I heard my voice go sharp around the edges.
“No, not at all. But, Alison, as you know, this house doesn’t belong to me.”
He didn’t say it with any accusation, just matter-of-fact. But I felt my neck get hot anyway.
After Viv died, the house technically belonged to Sawyer. It was held in trust until she turned twenty-five. Paul could live in it rent-free while Sawyer was under eighteen, as long as he handled maintenance and didn’t rent out any of the rooms.
I frowned at Paul. “So what? Is there a problem with the house? Is the maintenance cost too much?”
He leaned his hands against the island. “Alison, we’ve decided to move. We believe it’s what’s best for us and all the kids.”
I felt a spike of something cold and mean. “All the kids? Even Sawyer?”
“Yes. Even Sawyer.”
He wasn’t surprised by my challenge; if anything, he seemed to have expected it.
Diane handed each of us a glass of eggnog. “Here you go.”
I sniffed it, then asked, “Does this have alcohol in it?”
Diane nodded, lifting her own glass for a sip.
I drained mine in gulps. Paul rolled his eyes, but not unkindly.
Alaric, eyes wide, said, “Thank you. This is delicious,” after taking a single polite sip.
I leaned against the counter, the weight of the morning starting to catch up with me. “When were you going to tell me about the move?”
Picked up a glass of water and took a gulp. “This week. Sawyer said last Friday that she was going to ask you to come down for Christmas, I planned to tell you when you came. You’re here now, so I told you. There.”
I looked at Sawyer, who stood at the end of the island, her face unreadable.
“I think we need to talk about this,” I said. “How can you say this is what’s best for Sawyer? This is the only house she’s ever known. This is where she grew up with her mom. And now you’re taking it away from her.”
Paul exhaled, then set his glass down. “I’m trying to blend a family, ensure all four kids are feeling valued and supported. And then, of course, I need to think about Diane.”
I turned to Diane. “Diane, do you not like living here?”
Diane lifted both her hands, palms out. “This is between you and Paul.”
“Coward,” I said, but there was no heat in it.
Diane winked at me and sipped her eggnog.
“Look, I know you have opinions about this, but I’m Sawyer’s dad. I’m here with her every day. And I’ve been her only parent now for going on five years. I think I know what’s best for my daughter.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Paul spoke over me, “If you wanted to have a say about this, then you should’ve been here, present, a part of Sawyer’s life more than just sending presents during birthdays. But you haven’t been, not since Viv died.”
The words landed with perfect, clinical precision. I felt every one of them, sharp as glass.
Paul waved a hand through the air as if this was the end of the matter. “We’re moving and that’s that. Now, go wash your hands. I’m about to put out appetizers.”
I gave Paul one more glare for good measure, then turned to Diane and said, “Please refill my eggnog. It’s delicious.”
She nodded, voice perfectly maternal. “Sure thing, sweetie.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. I was pretty sure we were the same age and, as a rule, I didn’t like being called “sweetie,” but I let it go. Diane didn’t mean anything by it, and besides, it would have been pointless to pick a fight with her. She’d already won.
I left the kitchen, found the guest bathroom, and locked the door behind me. I stared at myself in the mirror, hands braced on the sink, and replayed the conversation with Paul over again in my head.
If you wanted to have a say about this, then you should’ve been here, present, a part of Sawyer’s life. . .
Paul was right. I didn’t deserve a say. But Sawyer did. And I wasn’t going to let this go until I felt certain moving houses was what she wanted.
* * *
The hallway was empty when I left the bathroom, but I could hear the domestic hum of conversation and kid noise drifting in from the kitchen, a bright counterpoint to the slow, gluey silence that had filled my head for the last few minutes. I let my feet carry me toward the noise.
The kitchen was a crowded scene. Diane sat at the table with her three kids, all of them laser-focused on transforming colored popsicle sticks into picture frames.
Diane orchestrated their efforts. Every so often, she’d sneak a look sideways at Sawyer, who was slouched on a barstool at the far end of the island, eyes locked on her phone.
Alaric and Paul stood off to the side, near the coffee machine. Alaric still held his eggnog and listened while Paul monologued about something—I caught the words “turducken” and “last-minute grocery run,” but lost the thread after that.
I hovered in the kitchen’s threshold, weighing the merits of reengaging with the men or with Diane. In the end, the gravitational pull of unfinished business dragged me toward Sawyer.
She didn’t look up as I approached, but her right thumb paused for a millisecond. I pulled out the barstool beside her and sat. “Hey.”
She didn’t answer, just kept scrolling. I noticed she was wearing earbuds.
Diane, watching the exchange from across the kitchen, called over, “Sawyer, are you sure you don’t want to make one? I have a kit for you.” She lifted a Ziploc bag, heavy with unused popsicle sticks, and waggled it in Sawyer’s direction.