Seven Days in June(58)

Her daughter sat in stony silence. Eventually, she plucked the burgundy feather off her cheek and started slowly shredding it on the table.

“Audre. Say something.”

Finally, she glanced up, meeting her mom’s eyes.

“Are you sorry you had me? Do I make your life harder?”

“No! Where is this coming from?”

“You said I was a burden, Mom. You said you don’t have any space for a real life, because I soak up all your time and energy.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Audre’s brows rose to the ceiling.

“Yes, I said that,” admitted Eva. “And it’s true. It’s hard for me to date and do spontaneous stuff other single women do. But I’m also not interested in dating. I love my life the way it is! Just me and you, kid.”

“Just me and you, huh?”

Eva cocked her head. “Yeah. Who else?”

Audre shrugged insolently. She was acting strange. This was more than just the fight. She was holding something back.

“By the way,” Eva continued, grasping at straws, “when you called me perfect? I’m far from it. And when I was around your age, I had a really tough time.”

“You went to an Ivy League school! And wrote a bestseller when you were barely legal.”

“Honey, I was also sick. Even sicker than I am now. Wanna know how I got to Princeton? My grades dropped so dramatically my senior year that they rescinded their offer. I had to write an essay from a hospital bed”—psych ward, just tell her—“begging the university to take me back. Explaining that I had a debilitating illness.”

“Really? Can I read it?” Audre asked shyly, her mood shifting a bit. She was always hungry to hear more about her mom’s childhood. When Audre was little, she’d ask Eva relentless questions. What’s your funniest memory? Did you ever have a crush that liked you back? What was the scariest movie you saw in the theater? Eva could always answer those. The deeper questions, she couldn’t.

“Yes, baby, you can read it,” said Eva, getting up to move to Audre’s side of the bench, scooting in next to her. Audre hooked her arm through Eva’s and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“So, you fought to get back into Princeton.”

“I did,” said Eva.

“You fought to keep me in school, too,” started Audre. “How? I mean, what did you say to Mrs. O’Brien to change her mind?”

Audre peered up at her, with her massive doe eyes, and Eva froze a little. She wasn’t prepared to explain Shane.

“I did her a favor. I found an English teacher to replace Mr. Galbraith. Shane Hall. Heard of him?”

“Ohhh, I’ve heard of him,” responded Audre cryptically. “How do you know him?”

“Well, he’s a Black author,” said Eva, kissing Audre’s forehead. “We more or less all know each other.”

“Huh. How well do you know him?”

“I mean…”

“Do you, like, like him?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because I saw pics of you two. Outside, yesterday. And it was clearly a date.”

Eva disentangled herself from Audre and stared at her—mouth agape, heart pounding, temples exploding.

“Audre,” she started, forcing a casual little laugh. “I don’t know what you saw. But if I was seeing someone, you’d know it. Honestly, does Shane Hall even seem like my type?”

“You don’t date, Mommy. What even is your type, the Invisible Man?”

This was too much. In seconds, her migraine went from annoying to obliterating. Vision starting to blur, she grabbed her purse off the table and fished for her bottle of pain pills. She swallowed two dry and reminded herself to breathe. The numbing effect rolled across the pain like the tide, sweeping it away, where it was unreachable—at least until three hours from now, when the effect would wear off and the pain would come crashing back to shore.

Eva would take any respite, however meager. It wasn’t until her midtwenties that she found a doctor to prescribe effective pain treatment, and she was eternally grateful. Especially today. She had to be in fighting shape for this conversation.

“I met with Shane to ask for his help. That’s all! So not a date! In fact, it was low-key humiliating to ask a favor of someone I hadn’t spoken to in ages. But I’d do anything for you.”

Audre thought about the pics of her mom with that dude. They looked like the poster for a syrupy rom-com. And her mom looked flirty—in a way that Audre had never seen. She was literally throwing herself at that guy.

Eva claimed that she had no time for men. And then, out of nowhere, she was caught canoodling with an actual man? Sharing ice cream on a romantic day date? Audre had done a deep dive into Cursed Twitter and uncovered more fan pics of them looking googly-eyed all over the West Village. Eva had been with Shane for hours. Either her mom was whipped as hell, or she was an A-plus actress.

Audre yelped. Suddenly, it all made sense. Audre flung her arms around her mom’s shoulders and started to weep and wail.

“Noooooooo, Mommy! Tell me you didn’t! Oh, I feel terrible! You’re right, I’m the worst daughter.”

“What are you talking about?” Eva was flabbergasted by Audre’s sudden hysteria.