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“I introduce you like that?”

“If you like.” He nods and I roll my eyes.

“Hello, everyone—” I gesture to him “—this is mine.”

“Exactly. And this—” He holds my face and I lean into his touch “—is mine.”

I totally am.

* * *

There are three large PODS and one is partially filled with furniture from our living room. The door is open because my mother trusts everyone. Funny, I trust no one. He did that to both of us.

“Mom, I’m here.” I step into the house and the smell knocks me over. I haven’t been here in four years. I meet her at my aunt’s beach house on the Washington coast usually.

My mom comes rushing around the corner. Her new honey blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders, more lines around her deep green eyes, and her figure stick straight a touch frailer. She looks almost hungry, but maybe it’s just an underlining desire for more of everything in life.

I don’t know how to help her, but I want to. She throws her arms around me and begins to cry. I hold her. Somehow, I know these tears aren’t for Phil the boring cheater, but for everything that’s happened in this house. The tears are for remorse over the things done to me and the moments I had to witness. He was cruel to us, kind to others, but complicated. And now I want to know the depth of all he did.

I kiss my mom on the cheek and she wipes her eyes. “Do I have mascara running?”

“No. But why do you have mascara on to clean out the house?”

“There are movers coming back later to move the big stuff into those PODS for storage. And they’re kind of attractive.”

“MOM.”

“I am on the market. Come with me. I have iced tea and you have tea to spill.”

“How do you know that phrase?”

“I’m not that old. And Andy Cohen uses it a lot on Watch What Happens Live.”

“Fair enough.”

I drop my stuff in my old room. There’s a certain light that only exists in California. It’s brighter but also laced with almost a sepia tone. It’s like nostalgia is built in. A constant wanting of things to have been better or seem better than they are. I’m a California girl and nowhere on earth makes me more relaxed or myself, but the memories of it always seem better than the reality. Perhaps that’s anyone’s childhood. I’m here at the house they bought after the rift. But it’s all my stuff in this room I almost never used. Like a memorial to a girl he created and I never really was. But then again, you grow beyond, but never really move past your beginning.

I follow her into the dated dark-cabinet kitchen with the beige countertops and white appliances. It’s a study in contrasts and I hope the new owners gut it. Gut the whole house, light some sage, and start over. This house deserves joy.

“Mom, why don’t you move to Hawaii or someplace super different?”

“OOOH. I love that idea. I rented a condo on the far side of town that will be ready for me in about a month. I’m staying with Aunt Ida in the meantime.”

“You’ll kill each other.”

“Most likely, but what are my choices,” she says resolutely. She slices lemons in perfectly pretty wedges and places them on the rim of the glass. She’s always made things better. Always added a little something special. I forget to notice sometimes.

“Stay at my place in Chicago. I’m in New York now and probably staying if I get the job.”

“When you get the job. I know this Danny/Hayden person is special to you, but you still deserve that job.”

“I do. And we’re both dealing with possibly being unemployed or elated. But we’ll figure out the aftermath of it all together.”

“That serious?”

“Yes.”

“Careful giving away everything too soon.” I get her warning. I’m sitting in her warning. She sold a house to move in with a man who was cheating.