Chapter 15 Esme
ESME
Iwoke up Saturday morning with Trevor’s nose pressed against my cheek. He’d scratched at the door in the middle of the night to be let into the bedroom. I’d stumbled through the dark to let him in, and he had immediately jumped into bed with me. Now, he whined softly. He knew something was wrong.
“I’m okay, boy,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears.
But that was beyond stretching the truth. I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Grady’s face when I’d told him to leave. The confusion and hurt on his face had seared into my memory. I doubted I’d ever erase it from my mind.
I pushed back the covers and got up. Madison was still asleep in her alcove, one arm thrown over her head, her cast resting on the pillow beside her.
I stood there for a moment, watching her breathe.
So small and trusting and precious. I was all she had, and I could not mess this up.
Nurturing them emotionally was something that had come naturally to me.
I’d never doubted my instincts about that.
If only I’d had a way to keep them clothed and fed.
Because the truth was—without that it didn’t really matter if I had the right method of discipline or nurturing. I was not fulfilling their basic needs.
And I hated myself for it.
In the kitchen, I made coffee on autopilot, measuring the grounds and pouring water into the machine. I pressed the button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again. Still nothing.
“Come on,” I muttered, unplugging it and plugging it back in, then pressing the button a third time.
Dead. Of course. One more thing I couldn’t afford to replace. I’d bought it at a yard sale three years ago for fifteen dollars. It had lasted longer than I’d expected. But now, like me, it was done.
I filled the kettle instead, set it on the stove. Today would be tea instead of coffee.
Trevor sat at my feet, tail thumping against the floor.
“Breakfast in a minute,” I said.
While the water heated, I opened my laptop and did a search for “apartments for rent Seattle.” I stared at the results without really seeing them.
Two bedroom: $2,700/month.
Too small.
Three bedroom: $3,800/month.
Even with my parents’ help, how would I afford that?
Three bedroom in the suburbs: $3,200/month. Plus first, last, and deposit. At least nine thousand just to move in.
My stomach twisted as the kettle whistled. I got up from the table and poured hot water over a teabag. I hunched over the counter, trying to breathe, and waited for it to brew.
“Mommy?”
I looked up. Madison stood near the kitchen table in her pajamas, cast-arm held carefully against her chest, hair sticking up in every direction.
“Hey, baby. You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep anymore.” She padded over, looking up at me. “Can I have cereal?”
“Sure.” I got the box down, poured it into a bowl, added milk and then set it at her place at the table.
She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, then sat. “Is Grady coming over today?” She brought a spoonful of bran flakes to her mouth.
My chest now had a vice squeezing it painfully. “No, honey. Not today.”
“But he said he’d take me shoe shopping.”
“He shouldn’t have promised that without asking me first.” I stopped, thinking about her bandaged toe. “We’ll get you new shoes soon. I promise.”
“But I want Grady to come.”
“I’m sorry, but not today.”
“He’s fun. And he knows which shoes are the cool ones.” She kicked her feet under the table. “When’s he coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he mad at us?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why isn’t he coming over?”
Because I told him to leave. Because I pushed him away. Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to accept help without feeling like a failure.
“He’s just busy,” I said. “Eat your cereal.”
“But he’s not busy. He told me himself he would take me to get new shoes.”
“Madison,” I said more sharply than I should. “Just eat your breakfast.”
She stared at me, clearly shocked by my tone. But she didn’t say anything further.
Robbie’s door opened. He emerged in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair rumpled, eyes sharp despite the early hour. He looked at me, then at the laptop still open on the table, then back at me.
“Morning,” he said carefully.
“Morning. Want breakfast?”
“I can get it.” He walked to the kitchen, poured himself cereal and brought it back to the table, eating in silence for a few minutes.
My tea was ready, so I added a scoop of sweetener and then joined the kids at the table.
“Mother, what are you looking at?” Robbie gestured at the laptop with his spoon.
I glanced at the laptop screen. Seattle apartment listings were still open. I should have known better.
“Nothing. Just browsing.”
“Those are Seattle apartments.”
Madison looked up from her cereal. “Seattle? That’s where Grandma and Grandpa live.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are we going to visit them?” Madison asked.
Robbie watched me with wary eyes.
“Maybe,” I said quietly.
“For how long?” Robbie asked.
I took a sip of tea. “I don’t know yet.”
“Mother.” His voice had an edge now. “How long are we visiting Seattle?”
I set down my tea cup and looked properly at my son. “We’re not visiting. We’re moving.”
The spoon slipped from Robbie’s hand, clattering against the bowl. “Moving to Seattle? But you don’t like it there, and your parents have not been supportive of your choices. Or us.”
“We’re moving to Seattle. I’m going to sell the shop and—”
“No.” He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Absolutely not.”
Madison’s eyes went wide. “We’re moving? To Seattle? Forever?”
“Honey—”
“But what about my friends?” Madison’s voice rose. “And my school? And Grady?”
“You’ll make new friends,” I said, swallowing the bitter bile in my throat. “And there are good schools in Seattle.”
“But I don’t want to go to a new school.” Tears filled her eyes. “I want to stay here.”
“Madison, sweetie—”
“I don’t understand what you’re doing, other than making a terrible decision.” Robbie’s voice was cold and controlled. “And that’s saying something, considering you married Dad.”
“Robbie, that’s enough.”
“Why are you doing this?” He crossed his arms. “Give me one logical reason why we should move to Seattle.”
“Because I can’t afford to stay here.”
“What about Grady?”
“What about him?”
“He cares about you. About us.” Robbie’s jaw tightened. “You could talk to him. Figure something out together.”
“It’s not his problem to solve.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” How did I explain this to a fourteen-year-old? “Because we’re not his family. I need to do this on my own. You’re my responsibility, and right now we’re drowning in debt. My parents said they would help, but only if we moved back up to Seattle.”
“Mother, Grady is family, and you know it.” He was staring at me, his eyes glittering. “More so than your parents are.”
“Be that as it may, I can’t keep us afloat here. That’s just a fact. You love facts.”
“Here’s another fact,” Robbie said. “Grady loves you. You love him. What happened between you last night that I’m waking up to find you looking at apartments in Seattle?”
My throat burned. I avoided my son’s gaze.
“He has twenty million dollars now,” Madison blurted out. “I heard him tell you.”
I turned to her. “You what?”
“His father left him money,” Madison said. “And he offered to pay for Robbie to go to the college thing and for new shoes for me, and you got mad.”
“First of all, you were supposed to be asleep, not eavesdropping on adult conversations. And second of all, neither one of you are old enough to understand what’s going on here.”
“His father left him twenty million dollars?” Robbie asked, shaking his head. “Why in the world would that make you mad? It’s what you both need.”
I pressed my hands to my face. “I will not be someone’s charity case. I don’t want him helping us out of pity.”
“Pity?” Robbie stared at me. “Mother, he’s in love with you. He’s been in love with you for years. That’s not pity. He wants to be with you.”
Madison started crying. Quiet, hiccuping sobs. “I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave Trevor and Grady and my friends.”
“Trevor’s coming with us,” I said weakly.
“But not Grady.” Madison looked at me with those big blue eyes. “Why can’t Grady come?”
“Because we’re not his family,” I said. “What are you not understanding?”
“Mother, it’s simply untrue,” Robbie said. “He wants to take care of us. You won’t let him because you think you should do everything on your own. Accepting help doesn’t mean you’re weak. Voltaire wrote that pride is the mask of one’s own faults.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“It means pride lets you pretend this is about dignity,” Robbie said. “When it’s actually about fear.”
“Listen, guys, I know it’s hard to understand my decision, but everything’s changing.” My tone was harsher than I liked, but they’d pushed me too far. “We’re no longer in the same world as Grady. Just like Lila and Gillian. They’re rich. And we’re not.”
“I understand,” Madison said. “I’m the only girl in my class who has only one pair of shoes. And they’re too small. It makes me feel like I’m not as good as everyone else.”
I stared at her. “I had no idea you felt that way.”
“But it’s okay, Mommy.” She held up her cast. “Because look how many friends signed my cast.”
Shame flooded through me. She was right. Friends were worth all the money in the world. However, it didn’t change the fact that my daughter needed new shoes. Or that Robbie couldn’t go to the STEM program.
“Did he offer to pay for USC this summer?” Robbie asked.
“He did. But I told him no.”
“I see,” Robbie said.
“Do you?” I asked.
“Mother, might I suggest you have one of your heart to heart talks with your girlfriends?” Robbie asked. “Perhaps they’ll have insight into all of this. In addition, I’ll not be going to Seattle with you.”
“You go where I go,” I said.