Good for You: A Novel (56)

Aly’s friend Jennifer’s mother, Lisa, was the object of her longest-running infatuation. There was nothing particularly notable about Lisa; she was most often found in a faded sweat suit, nose in a bodice-ripper. She served snacks of the prepackaged variety, and unlike many of the other girls, Jennifer got the hot lunch every day because Lisa couldn’t be bothered to make a sandwich. Lisa seemed to like Jennifer, but she didn’t fawn over her or act like she was anything special.

And maybe that was the draw—how utterly unremarkable Lisa was. Aly would’ve given almost anything to have a parent who didn’t vacillate between forgetting she had a child and screaming bloody murder at her in front of an entire parking lot full of students. Aly longed for a mother who blended in, whose flaws were garden-variety and whose love and affection were no more notable than the clouds in the sky.

Perhaps that was why, even all these years later, Aly had the same sinking feeling when she spotted her mother’s car pulling into the driveway at the beach house. No one was around to witness Cindy’s humiliating behavior, and of course, as an adult, Aly had agency. But her early programming went deep. And unlike the last time Cindy had appeared, Aly couldn’t hide behind Wyatt, who’d gone out for the afternoon. She considered waiting inside the bathroom until Cindy stopped knocking and went away, but she knew it would only delay the inevitable . . . whatever that was.

“I did call,” said Cindy by way of a greeting. “If you’d picked up for a change, this wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“And you could’ve waited for me to call back,” retorted Aly. It occurred to her that she and Wyatt had this, too, in common—always hitting the red button on their phones when the word Mom appeared on the screen.

“Right—from New York?” said Cindy. Aly could tell by the sharpness of her tone that she was definitely sober today.

“I’m not leaving just yet,” Aly volleyed back.

Cindy glanced around. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Aly realized what she’d said too late.

“Oh no?” said Cindy, eyeing her. “Last time I was here, you two were singing a different song. Did he move out?”

“No. And it’s complicated.”

“Only if you make it so.”

Aly shook her head. A minute and a half in her mother’s presence and her blood pressure had already shot up to unhealthy levels. “Why are you here, Mom? And if it’s about the house, we’re—I’m—not selling,” she said, correcting herself.

“I figured that. You and Wyatt look too cozy here. Is he staying?”

“Through the summer.”

“And you’re leaving?”

Aly crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes.”

“And here you criticized me for letting Billy crash at my place,” said Cindy, sitting on an arm of the sofa.

Aly wasn’t about to tell Cindy that the house belonged to Wyatt as much as her. “Would you like to try a chair, Mom?”

“No. I’m not staying.” Cindy sighed deeply. “I was just thinking about Luke this morning. And when I think about Luke, I think about this house.”

“He wasn’t even here two whole years,” pointed out Aly.

Cindy glanced around. “Doesn’t feel that way, does it? I never could make a place cozy like this.”

Aly wasn’t going to argue with her on this count.

“So . . . you were thinking about Luke.”

Cindy gnawed on a cuticle, seeming reticent to discuss it. “I’d love a glass of water if you don’t mind.”

“You know where the cupboards are, Mom. And the faucet.” Aly never talked to her mother this sharply, but today felt different. She felt . . . not unhinged, exactly, but not inhibited, either. And she was tired of pretending, tired of tiptoeing around the reality of her past to make her mother more comfortable. “While we’re making demands, I’d love an apology.”

“For what.”

“For letting Dad hurt me.”

“You’re not the only one who had a bad childhood, Allegra. Your father’s was way worse. You’re lucky he didn’t treat you the way his father treated him.”

“Lucky?” spat Aly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t call getting smacked upside the head whenever I looked at him the wrong way ‘lucky.’”

Cindy slid off her perch. At least now she had the decency to look guilty. “Your father did the best he could.”

“Let me guess: and so did you.” Aly shook her head with disgust, but mostly she felt sad. Normally she’d call Luke after having a heated conversation with Cindy, because he was the one person on the whole earth who understood. And before she knew it, he’d have talked her down, and they’d both laugh about how screwed up the whole situation was. “You should have protected me, Mom. I was just a child.”

“It’s obvious you don’t want me here, so I’m going to go, Allegra,” said Cindy, starting for the door.

Aly didn’t respond.

Cindy spun around. “I only came over to ask you if we’re going to do anything about your brother.”

“What do you mean?” asked Aly suspiciously. Was this her mother’s way of asking for money?