Chapter 1 #2
“Ah, yes,” I say with a laugh. “My two hundred and fifty followers must be kept informed.”
Mom smiles and shakes her head, her light brown bob bouncing with the movement. She mustn’t have taken her contacts out yet, because her eyes are dry and red. “Taylor, honey, do you mind if I talk to Amity privately for a minute?”
“Whatever it is, Taylor can stay,” I insist. We’ve never had secrets. When we were in second grade, Mom had to call Mrs. Prescott to see if it was okay for Taylor to stay for her sex talk because I refused to hear it without my best friend.
“Not this time, sweetie. This really needs to be just us.”
“Is it about Dad?” Has Mom found out about the woman he’s seeing?
Not that he’s told me about her (Dad and I share only on a need-to-know basis, and clearly his new girlfriend is not something he thinks I need to know about), but I’ve picked up on the signs.
The way his car always smells like perfume when he gets me for Wednesday dinners.
The same woman’s voice in the background when he decides to answer my calls.
I’m like ninety percent sure it’s that new lady who started working at his real estate office a few years ago. You know, the one who’s half his age?
I hope they don’t think I’m going to be best buds with her or something. I am one hundred percent Team Mom.
She frowns at my question. “Sort of.”
I peer at her face like I’ll find the answer among the stress lines that now crease her forehead and the space beside her eyes. They’ve gotten so much deeper these last few months. Fault lines instead of cracks.
Taylor slips off the bed and wraps her arms around my neck from behind.
The smell of cherries from her shampoo fills my nose.
She likes to get scents that match whatever color she’s dyed her hair.
“I’ll pop home. Text me when you’re ready to finish the movie.
” With a boop to my messy top bun, she vanishes through the door.
My mother lowers herself into my pink desk chair like it’s made of papier-maché and lets out a deep sigh.
My heart hammers against my rib cage. “Mom, what? You’re freaking me out.” She seems less angry and more worried, so maybe it’s not the girlfriend thing. But then I have no idea what’s going on.
“This house,” she says carefully, like the words are sharp and might prick me, “it’s kind of big for us, right?”
“I guess.” It’s not like we live in a mansion, but we probably don’t need four bedrooms.
Her hands clench, and she presses them to the sides of her thighs.
Her black suit pants wrinkle against her knuckles from the pressure.
She looks as nervous as she did a year ago when she sat me down to tell me she and my father were separating for a while.
After a second, she clears her throat. “What do you think about changing things up?”
I glance around me. “Like switch rooms?”
“Maybe get new rooms.” She runs a hand through her bob. “Downsize a little.”
“Sell the house?” I wrap my arms around my stomach.
“But this is where we live.” It’s the only home I’ve ever had.
This is the only bedroom I’ve ever slept in.
The kitchen below us is the only one I’ve ever had breakfast in.
My eyes cut to the window that overlooks our backyard. “And Taylor’s here.”
“Honey, Taylor will be away at college anyway.”
Every muscle in my body feels like it’s clenched tight, but I try to take a deep breath. “So, what, then? You want to move closer to your school? I know you hate your commute.” That would actually put us closer to UC Santa Barbara and Taylor anyway.
Her brow creases. “Farther away than that.” She wheels the chair closer to me and takes my hand from where I’ve braced it on my knee. “I got a new job. Higher pay. A bigger department. And I’ll be directing the writing center.”
That’s Mom’s dream. She was a writing tutor throughout her undergraduate and graduate degrees, and there’s nothing she loves to do more. She’s been trying to get a writing center going at her current school, Enfield College, for years, but according to her, no one wants to spend the money.
Still, her words make my skin go cold.
“What about Enfield? I’m supposed to be starting classes with Professor Teagarden in the fall.
She has those connections at Simmons.” I would get my grad degrees there.
Find a university library with the best collection of colonial-era US manuscripts.
Be the history nerd I was born to be. I’ve had it all planned out for years.
“I can still go, right? You’ve worked there long enough that they’d take me? ”
Mom’s mouth presses into a thin line.
“I don’t care if the drive is longer.” I can make this work. If I have to, I’ll save all my summer money and pay to live on campus.
“Amity.” Her tone says what her mouth won’t.
I’m not going to Enfield. I stare at her blankly.
“You’ll still be able to get your degree for free at Rehoboth. It has a robust history department and a very rare four-plus-one history and archives program. You can get your master’s there in less time.”
I feel like a little kid being offered a lollipop at the doctor’s office so I’ll accept a shot. And I can’t help but take the bribe. “Rehoboth College?” I ask, reaching for my phone. I’ve never heard of it, but I didn’t really research anywhere beyond Enfield.
“Amity, wait—” Mom starts. But I’ve already put in the search. I’ve already opened the school’s web page. I’ve already seen the address.
“Massachusetts?!” I squawk. “That’s literally on the other side of the country.”
Mom inhales deeply, then lets out a slow, slow breath. “Harlow’s Rest is in one of those really old parts of Massachusetts. It was founded in the sixteen hundreds.” She rests a hand gently on my knee. “I’ve seen their archives. So much history.”
And my favorite era. I hate the way that my brain is already spinning, imagining me there. But I can’t just move away. That’s not a decision you make on a whim, like choosing an ice cream flavor. You can’t change your mind and simply get a different one. I’ll be stuck with whatever choice we make.
“What if I want to stay here? Go to Enfield like I planned?” I fold my arms over my chest. “I could live with Dad.”
My mother’s face falls. “Honey, if you want to go to school for free, you have to come with me. You know that.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I rub at my temples with the palms of my hands. I hate that she’s right. A mountain of debt or leave everything behind? They’re both shitty choices.
“When?” I ask softly.
“We leave next weekend.”
“What?” I jump to my feet and back away from my mother toward my dresser. I can barely hear my own thoughts through the slamming of my angry pulse. “What the hell, Mom? What about my plans with Taylor? The taco tastings?”
She sighs. “I know, but—”
I shake my head. “I’ll stay with Taylor.” I’m not blowing up my entire summer because my mother decided to have a midlife crisis or something.
“Amity.” She stands to hug me, stopping when I hold out a hand to ward her off.
“You can’t do that to Mrs. Prescott. That house is already too full with her sister and the babies living there now.
” Taylor’s aunt lost her house to wildfires last year, and they’re still struggling to get back on their feet, so they’ve basically moved in for good.
It’s one of the reasons Taylor doesn’t mind having to stay in the dorms this fall.
She’ll finally have a little space to herself again.
A sharp sigh cuts from my lips. Every time my mother says something I can’t counter, another hot spoonful of anger gets dumped on my already boiling insides.
All of this is so unfair.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “The house is already listed, and we need to get out to Massachusetts as soon as possible so we can settle in. That can take time.”
“But—”
Mom’s body pulls up straight like someone yanked a rope, and her voice finds a no-nonsense tone. “We’re done arguing about this. You’re not eighteen until August. Your father…” She stops and shakes her head. “I want you to come with me. I need my kid.”
I slide my spine down the dresser until I’m sitting on the floor. Then I tip my head back so it rests against the second drawer.
She must sense my resignation, because she moves to sit on the bed so we’re across from each other again. “We’ll fly Taylor and Nadya out for a long visit later this summer. You can do an East Coast taco tour.”
I roll my eyes. “Because New England is so well known for its tacos.”
“Lobster rolls, then.”
“Nadya’s allergic to shellfish.”
“Baked beans.”
I gag at her.
She throws up her hands. “Tea, then. That’s a big Boston thing if I remember my history right.”
“They threw it all in the ocean.” I dig my fingers into my messy bun.
A few strands fall into my face, reminding me that I’m due to have my blond highlights redone.
The brown roots are practically at my ears.
I guess I need to get on that if I want to be able to see my normal stylist one last time.
The thought makes heat prick behind my eyes.
Mom sighs and her whole being seems to deflate. “You know I wouldn’t uproot you like this if there was any other way.”
She tries to rest her hand on my head but I jerk away. “This sucks,” I mutter. “It fucking sucks.”
I cut my gaze to her face, daring her to tell me to watch my language. If there was ever a time a swear was appropriate, it’s when your mother destroys your whole summer.
No. Not just summer. Your whole life.
Mom backs away, giving me my space. She looks at me one last time as she lays a hand on the door. “I know it does” is all she says before she closes it behind her.
Left in the quiet of the only bedroom I’ve ever known, I tip my head back and finally let the tears spill out.