We caught the last of the fireworks, the biggest and best, as we walked to the Wish van in the hospital parking deck. As they burst overhead, Wes and Bert and I all stopped to look up at them, the whiz and pop as they shot upwards, and the trailing, winding sparks that fell afterwards. Avery was lucky, I thought. She'd always have a party on her birthday.
After everything that had happened, I'd thought that maybe things would be weird between Wes and me when I finally emerged from the ladies room, having splashed my face with cold water in an attempt to compose myself somehow. But as usual, he surprised me, walking me back to Delia's room to say our good-byes as if nothing really out of the ordinary had happened. And maybe it hadn't.
When we turned into Wildflower Ridge, he pulled up at the far edge of the Commons, a decent distance from the picnic and fireworks area, as if he knew I'd need a little bit of a walk to get my head together and prepare myself for the next challenge. In the backseat, Bert was asleep, snoring with his mouth open.
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."