Somehow, Zoe managed to smile. “Hey.”
“Come in,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Zoe heard herself say. She felt surprisingly awkward standing there, like she was talking to a stranger and not her mom. She stepped forward and gave her a brusque kiss.
“I had no idea they were going to put you into foster care,” her mom said. “If I had known I—”
“Why did you tell me it was gallstones?”
Zoe hadn’t known she was going to blurt it out until the moment she did. But the betrayal stung. Her mom had always been the one person who told her the truth, no matter how difficult.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I should have told you the truth.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I … I wanted to find out exactly what we were dealing with before I worried you with it.”
Zoe heard what she wasn’t saying. I didn’t think you could handle it.
Zoe was aware of the nurse in the room and Sonja was close behind her, and she knew she was dangerously close to crying. But she had to ask. “What are we dealing with?”
“Ovarian cancer,” her mom said. “But the doctor has removed most of the tumors and we’re going to start chemo soon. He knows what he’s doing. We have the best team possible working on me. I’m going to survive, hon.”
Zoe watched her mom, wondering if she was telling her the whole truth now.
“So what was it like?” her mom asked eventually. “The foster home.”
Zoe shrugged. “It was all right.”
“Well, I’ve arranged something else, if it’s okay with you.”
“What?” Zoe asked, suspicious.
“There’s a nurse here, her name is Kate. She offered to have you stay with her tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll make them discharge me. It’s not ideal, but … it’s just for one night. You’ll like Kate. She’s young and pretty. She’s a lot like … well, you.”
Zoe fought to hold in the tears. Another night in a strange house. Her nerves had been stretched taut all day. She’d been just hanging on until she saw her mom and she took care of everything. But her mom wasn’t taking care of everything. Which meant she needed to keep it together.
Her mom reached for her. “Honey, I know how hard this is for you. If there was anything else I could do—”
“Will I … will I have my own room?” she managed.
“You’ll definitely have your own room. Kate told me. She’s very nice.”
Zoe didn’t care if she was nice. She wanted to go home with her mom. Her normal mom, not this strange, puffy, sick version. She wanted to go back to her apartment and for everything to go back to normal. She wanted to be alone so she could cry, really cry. Instead she managed to say, “Okay.”
“Kate will be here soon so you can meet her. And honey, tomorrow, everything will be back to normal, okay? I promise.”
Her mom looked at her, smiling, desperate to instill a sense of calm in Zoe. But all Zoe could see was her mom’s puffy face, her stomach wound, and the dried blood. And that look in her eyes that said she’d just lied to her. Again.
28
As they pulled through the wrought-iron double gates and into Kate’s driveway, Zoe’s eyes bulged. Kate’s house was gigantic. The driveway was wide and tree-lined and her whole apartment block would have fit on the front lawn. It was entirely different from Judy’s house it still terrified her. Would she have to eat dinner with Kate’s family? What if they wanted to ask her lots of questions about her life? What if they wanted to talk about her mom? They were being kind, having her to stay, and Zoe didn’t want to be rude—but sometimes, for Zoe, being rude was inevitable.
She and Kate hadn’t made much conversation on the way home, but it was okay. Like her mom said, Kate was nice. The kind of nice where she only had to look at you and you felt warm—that kind of nice. She asked closed-ended questions (Zoe’s favorite) like “You okay?” and “Ready?” and then nodded with a smile as though they were on the same page. She was pretty too. Her hair was a dark brown long bob, her eyes were blue, and Zoe couldn’t see a single pore or blemish on her skin. Also, she was cool. She wore Converse with her uniform and her nails were painted a purplish red.
She wanted to ask Kate who she lived with—a husband, she assumed, but who else? Toddlers? A baby? She didn’t seem old enough to have kids any older than that. In a way Zoe hoped she would have a kid. Kids and old people (with the exception of Dulcie) were among the few members of society that Zoe felt comfortable conversing with. They didn’t judge or look too closely. If you talked to them and made them feel special, you were theirs for life.
“Okay,” Kate said. “Here we are.”
They’d stopped off at Zoe’s apartment to pick up a few things, and now Kate picked up her bag and carried it toward the house.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” Zoe said.
“Oh, sure. Here you go.”
Zoe meant to be helpful, but it just came out rude. Why was she so awkward? Why couldn’t she be normal, charming, conversational? For some reason she wanted Kate to like her. Unfortunately, the more Zoe wanted to impress someone, the less impressive she generally was.
Kate handed her the bag. The foyer was the size of Zoe’s apartment.
“Yeah,” Kate said, seeing Zoe’s face. “I can’t get used to it either. What’s the point of all this space for a foyer?”
Kate smiled and Zoe relaxed a little. Until a voice called out from somewhere in another room. “Kate? Is that you?”
“Yes,” she called. Then to Zoe she said, “Come on, come and meet everyone.”
Instantly Zoe’s palms became slick. “Everyone?”
“It’s just my husband, David, and my stepson, Jake. And maybe a couple of Jake’s friends.”
Kate started to walk but Zoe remained bolted to the floor. Kate paused in the doorway and looked back at her uncertainly.
“Hey!” a man said, appearing beside Kate. He kissed her cheek, then held out his hand to Zoe. He grinned. “You must be Zoe.”
Zoe took his hand, cringing about the dampness of her own.
“I’m David,” he continued. “Don’t mind us, watching the game. I don’t suppose you’re a 49ers fan?”
She shook her head.
“Damn, I could have used the support. Hey you’re not a Raiders fan, are you? If you are, you’re about to get your ass whupped.” He chuckled.
Zoe stared at him. He was the dad Zoe had seen so many times on films and on TV. The dad who wore sweatpants with reading glasses. The dad who tossed burgers at school sports day, and who, on vacation, sent the family into the hotel while he went out into the rain to get the bags.
“I don’t really follow sports,” she admitted.
“Do you eat nachos?” he said. “’Cause we’ve got plenty of those. Come on, come on.” He took her bag and draped his arm lightly on her shoulder, guiding her in the direction from which he’d come. A cheer came from a room nearby, reminding Zoe of the proximity of other people.