She inhales sharply. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me you’re in love with that boy.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything, because you haven’t asked. You haven’t asked how I feel, or what I’m going through. It’s always how could you do this to me? Or think of Audrey. Or, we’re moving and you have no say-so.” My voice is so loud, so harsh, I suspect Ryan and Iris can hear me next door. But I don’t care. I’ve needed to say these things for a long time, and now that I’ve let loose, criticisms and accusations and anger are blasting out of me like water from a geyser. I smack my palms against the table. “What about me, Mom?”
Bambi low-crawls from her hiding space, creeping out of the room. My mom shakes her head, like she’s trying to jiggle the last twelve hours out of her conscience. “You’re proving you’re not sensible enough for a mature discussion. And besides, you could have come to me. If you’re so desperate for conversation, you could have approached me. Instead, you slink around with someone I’ve asked you to avoid. First, your trip in Sacramento, and now this. Who knows what else you’re keeping from me where he’s concerned.”
A lot, if we’re getting technical—which we aren’t. She hasn’t earned the right to details, a fact that’s overwhelmingly disappointing. “I shouldn’t have to come to you. You’re the adult. You’re the mother. You should be present for more than coffee brewing and takeout dinners.”
She stares at me, mournful, as if I’ve wounded her deeply. Then her expression closes off, like invisible shutters have swung over her face, blocking out all signs of emotion. Coolly, she says, “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m taking it. That’s what present mothers do—invoke consequences when their children screw up.” She holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“You cannot be serious.” My phone is my link to Mati. We talk every night, and text during the day. Our time together is already limited; surely she won’t sever this tie, too.
“Oh, I’m serious,” she says evenly.
I yank my phone from my pocket and slam it down on her palm. “Happy?”
“Not in the least.”
I push my chair back so hard its feet screech across the hardwood. It topples over, landing with a clatter. I trace Bambi’s escape route but, just before I stalk out of the kitchen, I spin around, look my mother square in the face, and say, “You’ll never keep me away from him.”
elise
After too many hours spent tolerating Mom’s cold shoulder, lamenting the loss of my phone, and scattering hundreds more silver stars across my ceiling, I leave the house with Bambi, headed for Audrey’s. Upset as I still am, I want to make a gesture that might earn me her understanding.
I knock. She opens the door. She frowns. But she lets my dog and me in, which is a start.
Preschool’s out for the day and the TV is on, tuned to the Disney Channel. The cottage smells of pancakes and maple syrup. My stomach gives a hungry grumble.
“Breakfast for lunch?” I ask, overcompensating in the chipper department.
Audrey shrugs. “It was easy.”
“Got any leftovers?”
“Knock yourself out.”
She leaves me standing in the entryway and goes to sweep Janie up and carry her to the couch. They snuggle up under a knit throw to watch Mickey and his clubhouse friends attempt to crack another case. Bambi makes herself comfortable at their feet, a panting traitor.
I slap a stack of pancakes on a plate, douse them in syrup, and inhale them while standing at the counter. I pilfer a mug of cold, leftover coffee, too, dumping in a couple of heaping spoonfuls of sugar before effectively pounding it. Thanks to my night at the park, I’m nearing zombie status. After rinsing my plate and refilling my mug, I shuffle into the living room and say, “Aud, can I talk to you?”
She doesn’t look away from the television. “Go ahead.”
“Yeah, Auntie,” Janie says. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat. “In the kitchen, maybe?”
Audrey groans and digs out from under the blanket. She plants a kiss on Janie’s head before following me to the kitchen, where she crosses her arms and says, “What?”
I fold my arms, too, but while her stance is contentious, mine’s about self-preservation. “I came by to tell you … I feel bad about last night.”
“You feel bad? You’re only standing in my kitchen because you’re Nick’s sister and I owe it to him to hear you out, but shit, Elise. I feel bad is not going to cut it.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Uh, you could tell me you were wrong, and that you understand why I’m upset, and that you’ll never betray me like that again.”
“See, I would say those things if I thought you were mad because I had a guy here while you were out. But you’re pissed because of who you think the guy is.”
“You’re right. And guess what? That’s my prerogative because this is my house and Janie’s my daughter. What if something had happened to her? What if something happens to her tomorrow, or next week, because your friend knows where I live?”
“It won’t,” I say.
“It could,” Audrey retorts. “The only thing about Nick’s passing that’s brought me any peace is knowing that he died doing something noble and good. He was out there because he chose to be, aware of the risks but willing to face them. Bringing that boy here … You took away my autonomy, my right to choose who comes into my house, and who meets my daughter.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice trembling. She’s got a point—right or wrong, she gets to decide who spends time within the walls of her cottage. “I get it. I swear I do. And I’m sorry I didn’t check with you before inviting him here. If I had it to do over, I would.”
“And I’d say no. I will never be okay with him.”
“But he’s the gentlest person I know. He’s not a threat to Janie, or you, or anyone.”
She lifts her chin. “Yeah? Prove it.”
I can’t, of course. I know Mati is thoughtful and benevolent—I’m confident in the same way I know the sun’s outside, hanging behind the thick cloud cover—but Audrey doesn’t. She never will. Not if she refuses to give him a chance.
When the silence has stretched thin and it’s clear I’ve got no verifiable proof, she says haughtily, “That’s what I thought. Elise, it kills me to say this, but if you can’t stay away from him, then you have to stay away from us.”
My eyes go wide. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs, like her assertion was clear and I’m an idiot for not comprehending. “If you’re going to keep seeing him, you’re not welcome here. I’m sure you’ve seen the news by now: Military dependents have become a target. I can’t risk Janie’s safety.”
“But what about your job? Who will watch her?”
“Your mom, I hope, and if not her, I’ll hire a nanny. I’ll quit if I can’t find one. Anything’s better than leaving you here with my daughter, knowing I can’t trust you to keep your Taliban boyfriend from dropping by.”
“He’s not—” But I can’t. I can’t fight this same fight again, not when she’s threatening me with Janie. I’m short of breath; I’m desperate. “She’s my niece, Audrey—she’s Nicky’s! How could you keep her from me?”
“It’s not my decision. You want to make your own choices? Make them. But you’d better be prepared to face the consequences.”
“You’re being so unfair. He’s nothing like you think. He’s sweet to me, and he was so good with Janie. She liked him. If only you could have seen—”
Her eyes flare with anger. “I don’t want to see! I don’t want to hear another word about him! I don’t want to think about him, or his country, or what his people did to my husband. And you shouldn’t, either!”
“Mama?” Janie, from the living room.
Audrey appears momentarily startled, like she forgot Janie was in the cottage. She sucks in a breath and calmly calls, “I’ll be right there, baby.” And then she levels me with a look so formidable, so full of revulsion, I have to shift my gaze.
“It’s time for you to go,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for discussion.