Chapter 4: My Mother Calls at Seven in the Morning
She called at seven the next morning while I was making Noah's breakfast.
I almost didn't answer.
My thumb hovered over the screen for two full rings.
Then Noah looked up from his cereal and said, "Is that Grandma?" and I picked up.
"Emily." My mother's voice was careful.
Measured.
The voice she used when she was managing something.
"I'm glad you answered."
"Noah's here, Mom.
I have ten minutes."
"I know.
I'll be quick." A pause.
"Your father didn't sleep."
I stirred Noah's oatmeal.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"He feels terrible about what he said."
"Does he."
"Emily —"
"Does he feel terrible about the part where he told me not to come back for Thanksgiving?
Or the part where he said it in front of my five-year-old?"
Silence on the line.
Noah was watching me now.
I turned slightly toward the stove.
"He spoke out of frustration," my mother said.
"He speaks out of frustration every time, Mom.
And every time, you stare at your plate."
The words came out more quietly than I intended.
Not angry.
Just true.
She didn't answer right away.
"That's not fair," she said finally.
"Noah asked me in the car if Daddy was poor." I kept my voice low.
"He's five.
He was sitting right there.
And you said nothing."
"I didn't know what to say."
"You could have said his name.
You could have changed the subject.
You could have put your hand on his arm." I set the spoon down.
"You've had thirty years of practice at not knowing what to say, and it keeps costing people."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"Your father wants to have dinner," she said.
"Before Thanksgiving.
Just the two of you — you and him.
To talk."
"Just us."
"He thought it might be easier without —"
"Without Daniel."
"He didn't say that."
"He didn't have to." I looked at Noah, who had gone back to his cereal, carefully not listening in the way children carefully listen.
"Tell Dad that if he wants to talk, he can talk to both of us.
Daniel is my husband.
He was the subject of the conversation.
He should be in the room."
"Richard won't —"
"Then Richard doesn't want to talk.
He wants to manage." I picked up the spoon again.
"I have to get Noah to school, Mom."
"Emily, please don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything.
I'm making breakfast."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." I exhaled slowly.
"I'll call you this weekend.
Give me a few days."
I ended the call before she could answer.
Noah looked up.
"Was Grandma sad?"
"A little bit."
"Why?"
I sat down across from him.
He had oatmeal on his chin.
I reached over and wiped it with my thumb.
"Grown-ups sometimes say things they shouldn't," I said.
"And then they have to figure out how to fix it."
He thought about this seriously, the way he thought about most things.
"Like when I said Marcus's drawing was bad and it made him cry?"
"Exactly like that."
"I said sorry and we played trucks after."
"That's a very good way to fix it."
He nodded, satisfied, and went back to his breakfast.
I sat there for a moment longer.
Daniel came downstairs at seven-thirty, already dressed, coffee in hand.
He read my face the way he always did.
"Your mother?"
"She wants us to have dinner with my father.
Just me.
Without you."
He took a slow sip of coffee.
"What did you say?"
"I said both of us or nothing."
He nodded once.
Set his mug down.
"Good."
"He won't agree to it."
"Probably not." Daniel picked up his keys from the counter.
"But he'll think about why he won't.
And that's a start."
He kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye to Noah and walked out to his truck.
I watched him back out of the driveway.
Three property deeds.
Fourteen months of silence.
A man who read property law on his lunch break because he came from nothing and refused to stay there.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Vanessa.
*Mom told me you're being difficult.
Can you just let Dad apologize?
It's not that deep, Emily.*
I set the phone down.
It's not that deep.
I thought about Noah's face at that table.
The way his knee had pressed against mine.
The question he'd asked in the dark car on the way home.
I picked the phone back up and typed one line.
*Stay out of it, Vanessa.*
I sent it before I could reconsider.
Three minutes later, she replied.
*Wow.
Fine.
Don't come crying to us when Daniel's little secret falls apart.*
I read that line three times.
*When Daniel's little secret falls apart.*
She knew something.
Or she thought she did.
May you like
I put the phone in my pocket and stood very still in my kitchen.
What had my father told her?
