She held up her hands. “I’m just saying! You went out of town with him last weekend. Not to mention, Toby told me last night that he saw you talking to Coach Malone a few weeks ago, after baseball practice. Was that when you started not dating him?” Her eyebrow went up, and I resented that she could do that. Something else she must have picked up from her father.
“Okay. I’ll tell you again. I’m not dating Coach Malone.” I drew in a deep breath. “But—and this is petty, so don’t ever do this—it’s possible that I pretended like I was today when I saw your father.”
Caitlin smirked. “Smart.”
I had no response for that, at least not one I wanted to share with my daughter. “Your teachers are great,” I said, desperate for a subject change. “I’m sorry I wasn’t like the other moms. You know, the ones that volunteered and did stuff like that.”
She waved it off. “It’s okay. It’s not your thing. I know that. Like with the Ren Faire, remember? When I first started, I needed a chaperone?”
“Yeah, but . . .” My SUV was in sight, and I pushed the remote on my keychain, unlocking the doors. “We’d just been in the accident. I couldn’t even walk. Emily handled that for me.”
“She did. But, Mom.” She dumped her stuff in the back seat and then climbed into the passenger seat. “Were you really going to volunteer?”
“Well, I’m sure I . . .” But it was my turn to trail off, because my kid knew me well. I didn’t volunteer. I didn’t get involved.
All these years I thought I’d been a good mom, had done a good job raising Caitlin on my own. But keeping to myself had meant missing a lot. And it was too late now.
“Yeah.” Caitlin’s voice was gentle, understanding even, and it was weird to be handled this way by my own kid. “But hey,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. Everything worked out, right? Emily did the Ren Faire with me, and she met Mr. G. So that’s a happy ending.”
“Good point.” I smiled as I clicked my seat belt. “Things work out the way they’re supposed to, I guess.” I didn’t want to follow that train of thought too far, because what other awful things in my life would turn out to be blessings in disguise? My car accident? My divorce? Everything in my life—good and bad—led to me being the person I was now. The life I had now.
And on days like this, that life didn’t seem so bad.
Fourteen
For years, I’d looked forward to Caitlin’s graduation day as an ending. The culmination of my job as a full-time mother, signaling the beginning of me regaining time for myself. With the date circled in red in the calendar of my mind, I thought that things would somehow be calmer, easier, once that day was behind us. After all, I’d successfully raised a daughter. She was poised to take her first steps out into the world, and I would be that proverbial empty nester.
It didn’t work out that way, though. Instead of being an ending, graduation was just the starting bell on the summer, and I watched that next Saturday morning as Caitlin’s friends picked her up and they headed down to Virginia for Beach Week. Recent high school graduates spending a few days unsupervised at the beach . . . what could go wrong?
“They’re gonna be fine,” I said to myself, not for the first time that morning. Hell, not for the first time in those five minutes. Kids went out of town for Beach Week all the time, and I was pretty sure none of them went with their mothers. Caitlin was responsible, and I was ninety-eight percent sure she wouldn’t get arrested. This was good. This was practice for her leaving for college and being on her own.
Besides, I should be relishing the quiet. I’d taken this next week off too, to focus on home renovation projects. My to-do list was prepped, takeout menus were ready to go for the nights I didn’t feel like cooking, I could even play as much bad hair metal as I wanted without my kid complaining. This was bliss.
That was what I told myself, anyway. But as I got ready that morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the house felt empty. No Caitlin running out the door to Ren Faire rehearsal, no movie night to plan when she got home. There really was too much space in this house for just me.
My phone chirped on the kitchen counter with a text. Caitlin had left early that morning—had she forgotten something? But to my surprise it was Mitch. Hey, where’s your kid? I don’t see her at rehearsal.
Beach Week, I typed back. Special dispensation from Simon to skip the next couple rehearsals.
Ahhhh he’s going soft. I call nepotism.
I snorted. But before I could respond he sent another text. So when are we painting your living room?
Oh my God. I’d forgotten all about that: the price I’d charged him for sharing that king-size bed in Virginia. Our weekend away seemed like so long ago now, and it wasn’t like sharing that bed with him had been much of a hardship. Mitch had certainly made the experience worth my while. My cheeks heated in memory and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I typed. What a coincidence! That’s what I’m starting on today. You’re off the hook, though. I’m not holding you to that.
No way. I don’t break a deal.
Don’t you have fight rehearsal right now?
Yep. These kids are hopeless. But we’re done at 1, and I’ll be over after that.
Well. I wasn’t going to say no. The vaulted ceilings in my living room made it a bitch to do all by myself.
I had just finished taping out the baseboards when my doorbell rang a little before two. “Thank God you’re here,” I said as I opened the front door. “I severely overestimated what I could get done myself.”
“So what color are we going with?” he asked. “Or do I even need to ask? It’s some boring beige, right?”
I nodded with a long sigh and hefted one of the cans of paint. “Eggshell. It’s . . .” I looked down at the little splotch of paint on the lid and tried to find a positive word to describe it. Something that would make me feel better about covering up these gorgeous blue walls. “Fine,” I finally said. “It’s fine.”
Mitch snorted. “I can see you’re stoked about it. Well, come on. Let’s get it done.”
“This first, though.” I put down the paint can and reached for the white primer. “God, this is going to take forever.”
“Well, it is if you’re gonna spend all day bitching about it.” But his grin took the sting out of the words. He took the primer out of my hand, opening the can and pouring the white paint out into a tray. As he loaded a roller with the primer he squinted up toward the ceiling. “I’m not going to be able to reach all the way up there, and I know you sure as hell aren’t. You have a ladder?”
I nodded. “In the garage. I’ll go get it.”
“No, you won’t.” He handed me the roller as he shook his head in mock disgust. “You get started and I’ll get it.”
I tsked as I moved to the front wall by the window. “You know, I got along just fine without you for the past forty years,” I called after him. “I can get my own ladder.”
“Yeah, but you got me now, and I’m like a foot taller than you. Let me help.”