Gripping the sides of the small table, I drop a big hint about what I want from him. “I don’t want to leave my friends and school.”
“I know that’s hard, but try to focus on the positive, like living near a beach. Your mom loves it there, so you probably will, too.” His weak smile proves he doesn’t believe that. I’m more like him than her. Why is he acting like his leaving Mom and me is no big deal?
“Seriously, Dad? She keeps talking about how we can go draw by the bay.” Two years ago I overheard him arguing with Mom when I thought about taking a line-drawing class. “Anne, you know as well as anyone how impossible it is to make a living in art. Katy can be anything she wants—except a starving artist.” If he cares so much about my future, then he shouldn’t let Mom take me to public school. “Nobody takes their kids out of Whitman Prep. You guys are ruining my life.”
A notification ping snags my attention, but I don’t look. Jen or Mom, probably. Neither matters as much as this conversation right now. Dad’s focused on folding the paper napkin like an accordion, as if he hasn’t spent the past sixteen years priming me for valedictorian glory.
The waitress brings our drinks, so Dad puts me off longer by ordering lunch. We’re down to sixty-seven minutes.
“I’ll have the Chirashi.” He gestures to me.
I glance at the waitress. “May I please have the Temaki Special—salmon and avocado, spicy tuna, and crunchy shrimp?”
She nods, takes our menus, and disappears. It takes a beat or two before I accept the fact that he’s going to ignore my hints. I’m used to my mom skirting around things, but not so much my dad.
My history as the result of an unplanned pregnancy isn’t a secret. Mom says that it was the happiest of accidents, but if that were true, Dad wouldn’t be leaving me. My arms and legs buzz with heat and electricity, but I blurt, “Can’t I stay with you?”
I hold my breath until I’m dizzy.
He tugs at his shirtsleeve cuffs. “Honey, Lauren and I have just moved in to a new house with her children. It’s not the best time for another change.”
I absorb that blow like a prizefighter. It’s almost verbatim what my mom said when I begged her to let me stay in Arlington with Dad. That conversation probably gutted her as much as his answer just did me, which means I made her even sadder than she already is. Sometimes I really suck, but I never see it until it’s too late.
Another reason why my own dad would rather live with Lauren and her little brats, Zoe and Brody, than with me.
“So you don’t care that I’ll be shipped off to Podunk Point.” I slump back against my seat.
He twists his lips and raises an index finger. “Come on, Katy. That’s not a fair characterization. I’m not thrilled about the school stuff, but at the end of the day, your mother’s in a better position to take care of you. Lauren and I work full-time. You’ve got two big years ahead. SATs, college applications—your mom’s the best person to get you through all of that.” Then he makes this sympathetic face. “Besides, neither of us wants to see her living alone right now, do we?”
Holy shit. He’s giving me a guilt trip? I check my phone. Less than an hour remaining.
“Katy,” he says, but I keep staring at my iced tea. “Be honest. You don’t really want to live with Lauren.”
I snap my head up. “You’re right. And I still don’t know why you do. What did Mom and I do so wrong that made you want to leave?” I cross my arms to keep from knocking over my water glass.
Dad’s face pales. He leans forward to answer, but then the waitress returns and sets our food down. It takes forever—or so it seems.
Once she leaves us, Dad says, “What’s happened has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do, Katy. I’ve told you that.”
“Why don’t you love Mom anymore?” My nose tingles. She’s a worrywart, but she’s always there for us, doing little things like making meals I like or putting fresh flowers from the yard in vases around the house. She’s nice—nicer than my dad or me.
He rubs his face with both hands. “Your mom and I aren’t the same people we were when you were born. Lots has changed, and we grew apart. That’s all. There’s no one to blame.”
“Except Lauren.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t cause this.”
She took advantage, though.
My leg is bouncing out of control beneath the table while my head clogs with ugly thoughts. The kind of things I could shout at my mom if she made me this mad, because she’d never stop loving me or leave me. But my dad might, just like he’s done with my mom.
I dig the heel of my sandal into the big toe of my other foot while I drink some of my soup. Dad’s already eating, obviously finished discussing my living arrangements. Does he think he’s made me believe he actually cares about my mom’s feelings or what’s best for me? ’Cause if he really cared, he wouldn’t have moved on with Lauren already.
He looks up and smiles. “We forgot to have Gretchen validate your parking stub.”
“I did it before you came out of your office.” The lie doesn’t even bother me now.
I left my car at Jen’s because I wasn’t sober. Would Dad trust Mom to take care of me if he knew that?
He winks and stuffs another bite of yellowtail in his mouth.
Last time I got high, I ate a whole box of cereal, but my stomach is like a stone today. I peek over at Dad again while picking up one of my hand rolls. I’m invisible while sitting right across the table. So much for him actually learning anything from the book he gave me. I think I’ll burn it rather than read it.
I love him, but right now I sort of hate him.
CHAPTER THREE
ANNE
Before driving across town to check out the remodeling progress on my new house, I drop my luggage at the Kentwood Inn, where Katy and I will spend the weekend. After years of letting Richard be in charge, making decisions on my own—let alone tough ones—is much harder than it should be. But the invisible baggage that has followed me to Potomac Point temporarily disappears when I pull down Autumn Lane and into the driveway of the first home I’ve ever owned by myself.
The town has developed a lot since my teens. Our house sits in the original residential section. The old-growth sycamores, red maples, and Eastern redbud trees crowd the landscape and lend charm to the spaghetti streets on this old side of town. It’s a more pleasing aesthetic than that of the newer planned developments on the west side.
Happy tears—a welcome change today—form upon seeing the sloped roof and dormers of Gram’s old Cape Cod. The home dates back to the midthirties. When Gram’s father, Dr. Lewis Robson, built it, it was one of the grander homes in the hamlet. The vivid peacock-blue paint I chose for the front door and shutters contrasts nicely against the newly whitewashed brick exterior. Words like “cute,” “cozy,” and “homey” spring to mind. Pretty phlox, ornamental grasses, and pink oxalis soften the lines of the home and improve its curb appeal.
It’d be perfect if not for the silver Foley Construction pickup truck parked in the driveway. A quick glance at the clock in my car confirms it’s after five o’clock. At this hour I should’ve been in the clear.