I'm Fine and Neither Are You(26)

“Hi, Penelope,” she said quietly. “Cecily’s having a rough time.”

“I can understand that. Cess?” I said, sitting at the end of the bed. “You there?”

She peeked out at me from under the covers.

“Today was hard, huh?” I said. Tomorrow would be hard, too. And next week, and next month, and two years from now. And while it would get easier at some point, Cecily might one day find herself wedding-dress shopping and suddenly burst into tears because several good friends could not take the place of the one woman who was not there.

Her blue eyes were glassy with tears. “I miss Mommy.”

“Oh, love, I know. I do, too,” I said. “So very much. I know I’m not your mommy, but I’ll be here for you anytime you need me—and I mean that. I’m going to be around so much that you’re going to get sick of me. You’re going to say, ‘Aunt Penny, please get out of my house, because I can’t stand to look at you anymore.’ But I’m going to come back anyway.”

The corners of her lips turned up, and I smiled at her. “Your mommy loved you so much, Cess,” I said. “And we all do, too. Your daddy, and Granny Kimber and Grandpa Paul and Nanna and Grandpa Joe and your aunts and uncles and Stevie and Miles and everyone else. This is going to be hard—I won’t tell you it won’t be. But we’re going to surround you with so much love.”

She sniffed.

I paused, considering what to say next. Yes, she could hear it, I decided. “Did I ever tell you my mommy went away when I was six?”

“Went away?” she said.

“She decided to leave my family,” I said. “I didn’t hear from her or see her after that.”

When Cecily was much older, maybe I would tell her the whole story. Shortly after I graduated from high school, my mother attempted to reinsert herself into my life after more than a decade of being a nonentity. She seemed genuinely remorseful—a wretched childhood had led her to make a terrible decision, she claimed. But she was ready to be the mother she should have been all those years.

I fell for it. I fell so hard that two months later, when she moved to Arizona with a man she had just met and stopped taking my calls, I considered—for the first and only time—whether it was worth it to continue living. Because if my own mother could not love me, then who would?

Yet Cecily’s situation was worse. Because she could never cling to the hope that Jenny would stride through the door one day. No, of the many possibilities in Cecily’s future, one thing was certain: she would never have a mother again.

“My mommy would never do that,” said Cecily indignantly.

“That’s for sure,” I agreed. “Your mother wanted to be with you more than anything else in the world.” I had been aiming to comfort Cecily, but found that these words consoled me, too.

In spite of my plan to flee, I stayed with Cecily for more than an hour—telling her stories about Jenny, reading her books, and rubbing her back until she fell asleep. Then I told Kimber, who would be staying in town for at least the next week, to call me if she needed anything at all.

Sanjay had parked across the street from the Sweets’. I got into the car and stared out the window as he started the engine. Their lawn was freshly mowed, and there were ceramic pots filled with blossoming flowers on the porch. The front door was open, revealing a home full of people, all of whom Jenny had loved. Anyone who didn’t know better would think she were throwing a celebration.

A familiar anger resurfaced in my gut. Intentional or not, Jenny had left Cecily, and that never should have happened. She was a highly intelligent person. Even if she had not known the danger of the medication she was taking, she had the resources to get help.

Why could she tell me to make a change, but not bring herself to admit she was due for one, too? Why couldn’t she confess she was struggling?

Everyone expected me to be perfect, I heard her say. I spun around toward the backseat, half assuming I would find her there. But there were only a couple of crumb-covered car seats and a candy-bar wrapper.

Maybe she was right, I conceded. Many of her readers scrutinized her every word and photo, and she was routinely raked over the coals for the most innocuous things, like posting a makeup-free selfie that apparently made her skin look too good. The year before, she’d come across an online forum dedicated to making fun of bloggers and so-called “social media influencers”—including her. “They call me Sweet’N Low,” she told me half-indignant, half-tearful. “They say I’m saccharine and artificial.”

And now, of course, I wished to God I had not blown off her comments about Matt’s high expectations for their home and life.

As Sanjay pulled away from the curb and the Sweets’ picturesque house disappeared behind me, I wondered for the first time if Jenny had believed that I, too, expected her to be perfect.

Then I had an even more alarming thought.

What if that were true?





ELEVEN

Sanjay groaned. “Penny, you’re hurting me.”

I loosened my grip on his shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” He squinted and glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s two a.m.”

“It’s important.”

“Can it wait? I can’t have a conversation in the middle of the night.”