The Breakaway(82)

Thinking of Eileen’s daughter made her think of her own, and the pleasant sensations of lightness and bonelessness that had suffused her disappeared, replaced by a familiar weight that settled over her shoulders, the worry that her child was becoming a stranger.

“You have two daughters?” she asked Eileen.

“That’s right. Abby’s sister, Marni, is my oldest. Thirty-eight already!” Eileen shook her head. “I can’t understand how I got so old.”

Lily wanted to ask a million things: Did your daughters hate you when they were Morgan’s age? Did they talk to you about their lives? Were they moody, hard to know, aggravating? Did you ever feel like they hated you? Did you ever feel like you hated them; or like they were strangers who’d just shown up in your house one morning?

“And Morgan’s your only one, right?” Eileen asked. “She seems like a sweetheart.”

Lily knitted her fingers together in her lap. At home, if one of her friends had paid her this compliment, Lily would have been happy to take it. Yes, Morgan’s a good girl. But she was far from home, in the company of a woman who didn’t know her, who she’d probably never see again. Maybe this was a chance for her to get some answers. “She’s hard,” Lily finally said, her words rushed, her voice small. “She’s… confusing. Hot and cold. Like, this trip. The plan was for her to bike with her father, and for me to ride in the sag wagon, but when her dad couldn’t make it, she seemed okay about doing it with me. Not just okay, but insistent.” Lily could still remember Morgan telling her that it would be fine, even without her dad, that she didn’t want to reschedule or postpone, that she wanted to do the trip they’d planned on the days they’d planned it. You and I will have fun, she’d told Lily. “I thought she really wanted to spend time with me. And then, as soon as we got here…” Lily made a chopping gesture with her hand, one that, she hoped, communicated how thoroughly Morgan had ignored her.

“Well,” said Eileen. “That sounds pretty normal for teenagers. Sometimes, they don’t even know what they want or it changes from minute to minute. I’d love to tell you that it gets easier, but I’m not sure it’s true.” There was silence for a moment as the women bent over them and began painting their toenails in careful, precise strokes: pale pink for Lily, dark red for Eileen. “I don’t know if you know this, but I didn’t tell Abby I was coming. I just showed up.”

Lily hadn’t known. She looked at the other woman, who was staring down at her own feet.

“If I’d asked, I think she would have turned me down. I think she feels like I’m trespassing on her turf.” Eileen sipped from her own glass of cucumber water. “I’m telling myself, she may not want me here right now. But, someday, she’ll remember that I showed up for her. She’ll know that I tried.” Eileen took another sip. “I think that’s half of parenting, especially when they’re older. You just keep showing up.”

Was that true? Lily had shown up, after Morgan had begged her not to postpone the trip, after Morgan had promised she wanted them to spend time together. She’d shown up, she’d been present for her daughter, and now Morgan was ignoring her.

Lily did her best to inject good cheer into her voice, which came out sounding falsely hearty. “I should remember I’m lucky. Morgan’s a good girl,” she said, half to Eileen, half to herself.

Eileen just gave a quiet, “Hmm.” The aestheticians indicated that they were to prop their legs on foam blocks. Lily thought the warm rocks they were rubbing against her calves felt ticklish and too hot.

“Just make sure she knows you love her. No matter what,” Eileen said. Her expression was oddly intense, and she’d turned herself sideways in the pedicure chair so that she was looking right at Lily. Something was nagging at Lily, tugging at the edges of her consciousness—something Morgan had said? Something about the way she’d looked; some gesture she’d made? Lily tried but couldn’t bring it to the front of her mind. She smiled weakly and nodded, resolving to speak to her daughter as soon as she arrived, to ask what was going on and not give up until she’d gotten an answer.





Sebastian


2:45 p.m.


Be her friend, Lincoln had told him. And, Lord, he was trying. But he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to be more than a friend to Abby Stern.

This one is different, Sebastian imagined saying to his friend. I know it. She’s the one.

Those words should have scared him. But his heart felt like a single piece of confetti, held aloft by a sweet spring breeze. He was enamored, he realized, shaking his head in wonder. Infatuated. How long had it been since he’d let himself have feelings for a girl that were emotional, not just physical? Not for years. Maybe not ever.

“You’re all set,” the doctor told him, already on his way out the door. Sebastian got off the exam table, where his wet shorts had left a butt print on the paper drape. He wasn’t lying to Lincoln. He did want to be Abby’s friend, and more. He wanted to know everything about her; to hear her entire life story, to find out where she’d been and where she wanted to go next. He wanted to bring her bowls of pasta in bed, and tease her, and call her his lemon drop, and ride his bike with her, all over the world. Now that he’d found her, he never wanted to let her go.