Chapter 7
“How are you feeling?”
I zipped my dad’s oversized windbreaker all the way up to my chin and lifted my gaze from the wet pavement to my mom.
We crossed the street into the cul-de-sac neighborhood across from ours before I responded, “A lot better, honestly. I’m sorry that pretty much all I’ve done is sleep for two weeks. ”
It was the truth. Despite the fact that I was still grappling with my decision and had to self-soothe with breathing exercises almost every day, the four-mile walks with my mom, using the little home gym in the basement, eating healthy soups and high protein meals, and sleeping eight to ten hours a night had all had an irrefutably positive effect on my body.
I didn’t feel like I was constantly on the brink of tears either, which felt like a huge win somehow.
Even the scale was a few pounds lighter this morning.
It was small progress given I’d gained thirty since starting at Peters & Dowling, but I was happy about it, nonetheless. Mostly because I felt better.
“You know we don’t mind. You haven’t been able to sleep like that for six years, so you have a lot of catching up to do!”
I smiled at her as gratitude washed through me.
We spent the rest of the walk talking about the book she’d just finished for her book club. She always gave everything away, but I didn’t mind. I’d probably read it anyway.
Drew drove home from Boston for dinner that night. At my mother’s insistence, I suspected. Unfortunately, his wife couldn’t join us—she was out of town for a medical conference.
It was the first time I’d seen Drew in person since my career imploded, and I was nervous to tell him.
He didn’t know how much his opinion of my success meant to me.
Probably because I’d spent my entire life pretending I didn’t care what he thought.
But deep down, I did. Deep down, I still felt like the little girl who couldn’t figure out the math problem at the kitchen table, waiting for her genius older brother to tell her she was smart, too.
Drew and I lingered in the dining room after eating, my parents busy in the kitchen assembling some kind of dessert.
My hand ghosted over the smooth surface of the new table my parents bought a few years ago.
They didn’t have that kitchen table where Drew and I did our homework anymore. I couldn’t decide if I missed it.
“Do you think you’ll go back?” Drew asked me. “To your firm, I mean?”
A line formed between my eyebrows. “Of course I’m going back.”
Ever since Mallory threw me the lifeline of taking a medical leave instead of quitting, I hadn’t considered leaving my job altogether. I didn’t need to anymore, now that I had this long break.
And then, defensiveness set in. Did he think I’d just quit?
I almost did, but he doesn’t know that. I don’t think.
I wasn’t in the mood for his thinly veiled judgment. But when I looked at him, it wasn’t judgment emanating from his facial expression—it was concern. Somehow that felt worse. Like I’d already tanked my career anyway, and he felt bad for me.
My eyes narrowed in on him. “Why wouldn’t I go back?”
I waited for him to say something off-putting, like how I might be better off with a clean slate somewhere else, instead of going back and having to prove to them that I could handle the workload without having another mental breakdown.
Before my brother could answer my question, my parents returned with a tray of Drew’s favorite cookies.
He grabbed four, said, “Thank you,” shoved a full one into his mouth, and walked toward the front door.
I rolled my eyes, and a smirk broke through my irritation.
The thirty-four-year-old professor still ate like a thirteen-year-old boy that just got home from track practice.
He squeezed my shoulder on his way past my chair. “You’ll figure it out, Sis.”
My parents walked him out. When I heard him zip up his coat I called, “Drive safe!” A moment later, the front door closed.
My parents had artfully avoided talking to me about work for the last two weeks. Now that blissful, avoidant bubble had burst. Should I go back?
What would it be like when I did?
I reached for the cookie tray but pulled my hand back. My stomach was chock full of dread now, thanks to the images of me walking back into Peters & Dowling’s NYC offices in a few months flickering through my mind. I didn’t have room for anything else.
Later that night, my mom and I lounged in the dining room with glasses of red wine. My dad was watching a college hockey game in the other room that wasn’t quite close enough to draw me in there with him.
“I have an idea for you to think about,” Mom said. “You know your father and I love having you here, and you can stay as long as you want. But I was thinking, maybe you should spend the rest of the spring and summer in one of your other favorite places.” Mom raised her eyebrows at me.
“The Vineyard?” Enthusiasm crept into my voice.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” I adored Martha’s Vineyard. My grandmother had had a house on the island off the coast of Cape Cod since before I was born, and Mom used to take me and Drew there every single summer growing up.
I have so many fond memories of going to the beach, walking into town for ice creams and candy, riding our bikes everywhere.
“And not to pressure you, but it would be a huge help to me and your father to have someone there with Mimi. Since your grandfather died, I think the house has been a lot for her to manage on her own. As you know, your father and I have run ourselves into the ground every summer going back and forth to take care of her and the house.”
“I don’t hate the idea.” The last few years, I’d only managed to squeeze in a quick weekend on Martha’s Vineyard each summer because of work. I missed it.
“Think about it. You don’t have to decide right now. We’ll visit in July and periodically throughout the summer, like we always do.”
I didn’t need to think about it for long.
I closed my eyes and transported myself to the top of the fisherman’s pier in downtown Edgartown.
I pictured the white and wooden boats moored in the harbor, little Opti sailboats crossing in between the Chappaquiddick ferries, the sun reflecting off the blue waves.
When I imagined the steady wind that always blew through your hair up there, my decision was made.
A summer on Martha’s Vineyard, without a crushing amount of corporate legal work hanging over me like a black cloud, was exactly what I needed.
“Hey, Dad!” I called into the other room. “Wanna go buy a car with me tomorrow?”
I’d need one on the island.