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“Why’s that?”
“Because…she’s changed. I told you. She even took me to Disneyland last summer. And Hollywood. I finally got to see the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“She took you to Disneyland, and you were in San Francisco?”
She nods. “Yeah. I wanted to see you, but she said you wouldn’t like it.”
“Well, I’m happy for you, Emma. I’m really fucking happy for your braces and your new shoes and your trip to Disneyland.”
“You don’t…sound happy.”
“I'm sorry. I really am, though, Emma. I’m glad you get to have a different life than I had.”
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” she asks. “I remember you being happy. You smiled a lot. You’ve smiled since you got here, but it looks like the way Mom used to smile. It doesn’t look like you mean it.”
God, who is this kid?
“I’m broken,” I tell her. “I’m so fucking broken.”
“It looks like you’re doing okay to me,” she says. “I mean, you look great, you have a great job, and your fiancé seems nice. He called the house a few times, by the way.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, we talked for a while. I told him you were with your friend, Lisa.”
I smile a little thinking of James talking to my twelve-year-old sister on the phone. “Yeah. He is nice.”
“Were you? With Lisa? Or were you with someone else?”
There’s some accusation in her tone, too.
“I wasn’t with Ty,” I tell her. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Can I tell you something?”
I nod.
“On your birthday, he climbed in through the window and slept in your bed.”
I laugh a little and shake my head. “I’m sure Mom loved that.”
“In the morning, he just came downstairs, poured himself a cup of coffee, and left. Didn’t even say a word to either of us. I looked at Mom, and she just shrugged and said, ‘Not like it’s the first time.’”
That does it. I look at her, and the tears begin to fall again.
Maybe I really did smell him last night.
“I’m sorry,” she says. "I wasn’t trying to hurt you; I just didn’t want you to think he doesn’t care about you. You have an amazing future ahead of you. I can’t wait to see what you do. I want to be you when I grow up.”
“The future isn’t real, Emma. And it’s a stupid thing to live for.”
“I’m…going to go to bed now,” she says.
“Yeah, go ahead; you have a big day tomorrow. Try not to pay too much attention to me,” I say. “I’m just drunk. I probably won’t even remember half of this tomorrow.”
But I know that’s not true. I’m going to remember every agonizing minute. That’s how it always goes, isn’t it?
“Night, Mel,” she says. “I’m glad you came home.”
