LAINE
The roads were nearly empty when I left for work the next morning, making it feel less like early June and more like mid-August, when school was out and everyone rushed to the lakeshores for one last hurrah before the temperature dropped and the leaves began to turn. The Mahadiks lived in a wooded neighborhood near the arboretum, and I had to take a winding road that looped past the river to get to their house. I drove slowly, taking in the stately old homes and the canopy of trees over the road, trying to enjoy the view while I had the chance.
Because the longer I thought about it, the harder it was to deny that I would be heading back to New York sooner or later. Returning to Michigan had been a lovely, much-needed reprieve, but it would not, could not, last. My mother was fine for now—Josh had been updating me even as I continued to avoid her—but who was to say what three months from now, or six, or a year, would bring? The only certain thing was that she would be worse, and even if I couldn’t yet see past my disappointment over my mother’s selfishness, the rest of my family needed my help.
It was impossible, but I couldn’t help but wish I had a time machine so I could go back a year—though three to five would’ve been ideal—and make the choices I was now making, but at a different juncture in life. Then I’d be a younger potential parent whose mother had a sharper brain, and I wouldn’t find myself having to decide between the immediate issue of my parent’s care and the nebulous promise of motherhood, which might never actually materialize.
I’d just pulled up to the Mahadiks’ when my phone started buzzing in the cupholder. I expected it to be my mother; she hadn’t called once since I’d left, which made me think she was upset with me. I didn’t feel guilty about bringing up the affair with her, even if I was beginning to wonder if storming off had been the best move. But I didn’t want her to be angry with me, either.
It was Ben.
How’s things in the mitten state?
Really good, I wrote back. Working on a big organizing gig right now. There are some hiccups to work out, but I’ll get there
Want to talk?
I did, actually. Yes, I wrote.
A few seconds later, he was on the other end of the line. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.
“Tell me about this gig.”
I loved that he cut right to the chase. “It’s seven rooms—the biggest project I’ve ever worked on, and the pay is amazing.”
“But?” he said.
I looked through the windshield at the Mahadiks’ home. The facade was stucco, painted a buttery color, and the roof was covered with terra-cotta tiles. “But the woman I’m working for keeps changing her mind about what she wants me to do.”
“Don’t let her.”
I snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is. When clients do that to me, I don’t negotiate or explain. I just say, ‘I’m unable to do that. Here’s what I can do.’ Then tell her whatever it is that works for you and see what happens.”
“What if she fires me?” I asked, aghast.
“So?”
“You’re crazy, Ben. What do you mean, so? My reputation is at stake.”
“It’s really not, Laine. People respect a person who doesn’t let others walk all over them. And would you rather be liked or respected?”
I’d never considered that question before. “Both, please,” I said, only partially joking.
“Sometimes that’s doable, sure. But not always, so you have to know in advance what’s important to you. Either way, boundaries are your best friend, Laine.”
I didn’t have a best friend anymore. So technically that position was open. “Thanks, I think,” I said.
“Is that your way of telling me I pushed too far?” he said.
I smiled. “No, I actually mean it. I needed to hear that.”
“Then you’re welcome, I think. Anyway, you already knew it. Deep down, at least.”
Did I?
“Any thoughts on when you’re coming back?”
“Still not sure,” I said. Hadley, Piper, and I were going to have a call in a couple days about finding an aide for my mother. I knew they’d want an update on my plans, too, and I didn’t see how I could possibly tell them I didn’t want to return. If only hiring a full-time aide wasn’t so cost prohibitive. And who was to say my mother would even tolerate a stranger in her home? I remembered Diana, one of my longtime editors at the Free Press, telling me how her elderly mother, who’d been dealing with heart failure, had kicked out her aide. There’d been nothing Diana and her siblings could do about it. Unless they went to court to get her mother’s rights revoked—which they weren’t willing to do, and even if they had been, the process was expensive and complicated—she got to decide who was in her house. Her mother had died soon after.
“I hear that between Detroit and Ann Arbor, there’s a pretty good food scene,” said Ben. “Maybe if you end up staying put for a while, I can take a little road trip out to Michigan? If you’d be up for company, of course. I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
Before I could think about it, I blurted out, “I’d love that.”
Then neither of us said anything right away. I couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking, but I suspected it was not so dissimilar from what was running through my mind.
Which was that I wanted Ben to be my friend again. And he was, actually, even if our friendship felt different and somewhat tenuous. But I’d be lying if I said that part of me didn’t want something else—something more. Was that only because things with Josh hadn’t been going well, or was there more to the subtle but increasingly persistent feelings I’d been picking up on?
“I should probably get to work,” I said.
“Of course. Talk soon?”
“Definitely.”
“Great. Bye, Laine.”
“Bye, Ben.”
As I hung up and got out of the car, I suddenly felt very tired. So much time had passed; and now, once again, there were many miles and multiple states between me and Ben.
What was this all for?
I did my best to clear my thoughts and look chipper as I greeted Melinda. After some small talk, she directed me down a long hall, then up a set of stairs to her daughter’s bedroom. It was really a suite, with its own bathroom and a large study off of the bedroom. The walls, carpet, and furniture were all shades of lavender and violet.
“Rita’s really into purple right now,” explained Melinda.
Oh, I could tell. “I thought you said it was a disaster?” I said, taking in what was objectively a remarkably tidy room.
“Wait until you open her drawers and her closets. Total nightmare!” said Melinda, holding her hands up.
“Got it. Do you want to help me figure out what to keep and what to toss?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got a meeting for the children’s foundation. Rita’s an average-size eight-year-old. Get rid of anything that doesn’t seem like it’d fit her anymore.”
I didn’t actually know the dimensions of an “average-size” eight-year-old, which only served to remind me that I was childless. But surely, I could figure that out . . . couldn’t I?
“What about sentimental items?” I asked, thinking of the tiny yellow tutu that Kaia had continued to wear, even though it hadn’t actually fit her in at least a year. “How will I know what she wants to hang on to?”
“Oh. Hmm. Just do your best, I guess.”
I nodded, even as I pictured how Kaia would weep if she discovered her tutu was gone.
Then I thought of what Ben and I had just discussed and realized that “my best” was not acquiescing to something that I didn’t feel comfortable with and wouldn’t actually serve my client.
Melinda was already starting for the door when I called to her.
“What is it?” she said, spinning around.