The Truth About Forever(86)

Before I opened my door and hopped out, I eased my purse from under his elbow, careful not to wake him.

Wes got out too, stretching his arms over his head as he came to meet me in front of the van. Looking more closely, I could see the party was breaking up, people gathering their blankets and strollers and dogs, chatting with each other as they rounded up the children who weren't already sleeping in arms or over shoulders.

"So," Wes said, "what are you doing tomorrow?"

I smiled, shaking my head. "No idea. You?"

"Not much. Got a few errands to take care of in the afternoon. I'm thinking about running in the morning, maybe trying that loop in this neighborhood."

"Really," I said. "Are you going to ask me the question? Maybe shout it from the street?"

"Maybe," he said, smiling. "You never know. So you'd better be ready. I'll probably pass by around nine or so. I'll be the one moving really slowly."

"Okay," I said. "I'll keep an eye out."

He started back to the driver's side. "Have a good night."

"You too," I said. "And thanks."

Once he was gone, I took a deep breath, then started across the Commons to find my mother. There was so much I wanted to say to her, and for once I wouldn't overthink, instead just letting the words come. Delia had convinced me that my mother only wanted me to be happy. It was up to me to show her that I was now, and why.

After picking my way through the crowd, dodging little kids and various dogs, I spotted my mother talking to Mrs. Burcock, the president of the homeowner's association. I watched her as she listened, waving now and then at people passing by. The night had clearly been a success, and she seemed relaxed as I walked up to stand beside her. She turned and glanced at me, smiling, then redirected her attention back to what Mrs. Burcock was saying.

"… and bring it up at the meeting next week. I just really think a pooper-scoop rule would improve things for everyone, especially out here on the Commons."

"Absolutely," my mother replied. "Let's bring it to the table and see how everyone responds."

"Well, Macy," Mrs. Burcock said to me. She was an older woman with a prim haircut. "Did you have a good evening?"

"I did," I said. I could feel my mother watching me. "Did you?"

"Oh, it was just wonderful. We'll have to start planning next year, right Deborah?"

My mother laughed. "Starting tomorrow," she said. "First thing."

Mrs. Burcock smiled, then waved and started across the Commons toward her house. My mother and I stood there for a second, not talking, as more neighbors passed on either side of us.

"So," I said. "Did you get my message?"

She turned her head and looked at me, and I saw, in that one moment, that she was mad. Beyond mad. Furious. I couldn't believe I'd missed it before.

"Not now," she said, her lips hardly moving as she formed the words.

"What?"

"We are not," she said, and this time I could hear, clearly, the absolute rigidness in her voice, "going to discuss this now."

"Great event, Deborah!" A man in khakis and a golf shirt called out as he passed us, a couple of kids in tow.

"Thanks, Ron," my mother replied, smiling. "Glad you enjoyed it!"

"Mom, it wasn't my fault," I said. I took a breath: this wasn't how I wanted this to go. "Delia went into labor, and I couldn't—"

"Macy." Never before had I flinched at the sound of my own name. But I did now. Big time. "I want you to go home, get changed, and get into bed. We'll discuss this later."

"Mom," I said. "Just let me explain, you don't understand. Tonight was—"

"Go." When I didn't, she just stared at me, then said, "Now."

And then she turned her back and walked away. Just walked away from me, her posture straight, crossing over to where her employees were waiting for her. I watched her as she listened to them, giving her full attention, nodding, all the things she hadn't, for even one second, done for me.

I walked home, still in shock, and went up to my room. As I passed my mirror I stopped, seeing my shirt was untucked, my jeans had a barbeque sauce stain on them, my hair and face were all mussed and wild from crying. I looked different, absolutely: even if I hadn't been able to explain it, all that had happened showed on my face, where my mother had seen it, instantly. Get changed, she said, which was ironic, because all I'd wanted to tell her was that I already had.



I was so screwed.

It wasn't just that I hadn't showed up for the picnic. It was also the fact that Jason, arriving at the info desk to find I'd quit, had immediately called my cell phone, then my house. Not finding me available, he discussed the situation with my mother, who had been trying to reach me ever since. I'd forgotten to turn my phone back on, then left it in the van, never checking it afterwards. Until late that night, when I finally pulled it out of my bag. I had ten messages.

Put plainly, I was in big trouble. Luckily, I had someone around who knew that area, could recognize the landmarks, and knew the best road out.

"When you first get down there, just let her talk," Caroline said. She'd been unlucky enough to stop in that morning en route from the beach house, walking right into this maelstrom. Now we were in the bathroom, where I was devoting twice as much time as usual to brushing my teeth as I attempted to put off the inevitable. "Sit and listen. Don't nod. Oh, and don't smile. That really makes her mad."