Gramps scratched Tartan behind his ears. “Flattery appreciated but not necessary. Because for you, my angel, I’ll do my best. Now go ask, and I’ll provide backup.”
Angeline frowned, but it was entirely fake, and they both knew it. He had a pass for life for stepping in to help her mom—his daughter-in-law—raise her and Cat. Especially since all her own father had managed to raise was a spoiled cockapoo with his new wife. He’d been remarried for four years, but she would always be new thanks to the Botox she infused by IV.
Botox Wife subscribed to her channel. Seriously? She was into barre and hashtagged half her spoken words and wore headbands with daisies on them to match her purse-sized pup. It was like having a unicorn for a stepmom. Not that Angeline saw her much. Or her dad. They’d moved to Los Angeles not long after the wedding to pursue his lifelong dream of being a famous musician and hers of being a famous musician’s wife.
“Okay. Let’s do this,” Angeline said, and her heart sank at channeling Leo. It was natural that they’d pick up a thing or two from each other after three years.
Three years, gone in one night.
All she had now was her future.
She squared her shoulders and headed down the hall toward her mom’s bedroom.
Bedroom slash law library slash PTA headquarters slash booster club mission control. Which, right now, was buried in glitter.
Her mom had thrown herself into two things after Angeline’s dad left: her paralegal job by day, and everything and anything associated with Angeline and Cat by night. She’d hand-sewn their Toy Story Halloween costumes even though they’d preferred something store-bought like everyone else. She’d belted out off-key “sun’ll come out tomorrow”s with Angeline to help her rehearse Annie Jr. And she still sat beside Cat, reading all three Sunday papers her sister had delivered every week.
It was as endearing as it was suffocating.
Angeline watched her mom glue a photo of last year’s casino night onto a piece of cardboard. Her bedroom door was always open—literally, her mom wanting to be available at a moment’s holler. Not that anyone needed to shout to be heard, what with the thin walls of this apartment they’d downsized to after her dad left.
Angeline prepared herself and said breezily, “Hey, hey, Mom.”
Her mom’s head popped up. “Well, hey there, yourself.” She propped the cardboard on its end. “How’s it looking? Brag board for back-to-school night.” The center photo was of Angeline and Leo, both modeling the new uniforms—her cheer, him lacrosse—that her mom’s fundraising had secured the previous year. Her mom followed Angeline’s gaze and smiled softly. “You know . . . it’s okay to admit you miss him, Ang.”
Her mom thought this would help. Getting Angeline to open up about Leo.
It wouldn’t.
As her mom tucked the board under one arm, Angeline considered the best strategy for asking about Evelyn’s Epic Everyday. The previous conversations, though hypothetical, had all ended in a real no.
“So,” Angeline started. “Want to grab dinner? Just the two of us?”
“Sorry, honey, but I can’t. Booster meeting.” She shouldered her grubby canvas messenger bag and made her way through the combination living room–dining room and into the galley kitchen, where she grabbed a protein bar. “This is all I have time for. I’ll split it with you, if you want.”
“I’m good,” Angeline said. “Actually . . . I’m great. You know that boot camp I was talking about?”
“No.”
“The one with Evelyn’s Epic—”
“That’s not what my ‘no’ means.”
“But it’s over winter break and—”
“No.”
Angeline laced her long fingers together in front of her stomach and regrouped. “It’s totally safe. Lots of kids my age.”
“Well, lucky for them I’m not their mom.”
“But it’ll make me skyrocket!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“But . . . wait, what?”
“Angeline, is this really what you want your life to be?”
Angeline eyed the sequin border of the brag board and the gray streaking her mom’s dark brown bob.
Is this yours?
“Look, sweetheart,” her mom said, “you’re smart. Talented, obviously. But you need a real future. Not one you define by how many people click a thumbs-up symbol next to your picture.”
“This is a real future, Mom. Do you have any idea how much I could be earning?”
“And what do you have to give of yourself for it?”
“Don’t.” Angeline shook her head.
“I’m just saying . . . Leo—”
“No, Mom, just, no.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay then I can go?”
“No.”
Gramps cleared his throat from behind Angeline. “Might an ole fella have a say?”
Her mom sighed. “And he trots out the Irish accent. Why do I feel a gang-up coming on?”
Gramps winked. “I prefer ‘mediation.’ Now, Marie, is there something you’d like from Angeline in exchange?”
Her mom eyed the two of them and finally said, “In all the ways you’ve talked about this boot camp—”
“So, so, so many ways.” Cat slunk past Angeline and Gramps and entered the kitchen.
Her mom flattened one of Cat’s persistent cowlicks and said to Angeline, “One thing’s been missing. How much?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Angeline said. “I’ve been saving.”
“You’ve got enough?”
Angeline nodded. “I told you I was doing well. I could be doing better. For all of us.”
Cat snorted, and Angeline bugged her eyes at her sister. How does she think she’ll pay for her precious Northwestern, exactly? Not Dad and Botox Wife, that’s for damn sure.
Conflicting feelings of pride and embarrassment shone in her mom’s eyes even though she worked her ass off at that law firm. It wasn’t her fault money was tight. Her dad should have helped more, but why would he now when he barely did then?
“And you won’t miss any classes?” her mom asked.
“Holiday break. She knows a lot of us are still in school.”
“Uh-huh. So preying on the young?”