I take the job. I’m not stupid enough to think I don’t need some sort of job for the next year, and this is different from the tennis thing. Plus, this would be forty hours a week, and between my other job with Ernie and continuing to volunteer, almost every hour in my day will be accounted for.
The last day of camp is full of tearful goodbyes, full of hugs and colorful drawings offered as gifts from the kids. I’m sad the summer’s over, but I’m sad in general, so I barely feel anything.
On Sunday, two days after the end of camp, I stand in Willow’s driveway and hug her before her parents take her to the airport.
“Everyone remembers my best friend Jessi from the camping video, right?” she asks, pointing the camera at me. I try not to stiffen or act like a weirdo. “Well, she’s here saying goodbye now. She brought me these Red Vines and a gorgeous new camera bag that I can’t wait to start using.”
She puts her arm around me and pulls me into the frame with her. “I’m so sad, I don’t wanna leave anymore.”
“You’ll love Houston,” I say, a lump forming in my throat as I realize I am losing my last friend.
“Probably,” she says. “But it won’t have you or Brett.”
She’s sniffling suddenly, and then her camera goes down and we’re hugging.
“Ugh, I’m ruining my makeup,” she says.
“No, you’re fine,” I say, wiping some mascara off her cheek.
“Did Brett tell you he’s coming to visit me next weekend?”
I shake my head.
“That’s making me feel a little better. I’m also excited for us to no longer be under the watchful eye of the parental units,” she whispers. Her parents are puttering around inside, but they do not need to hear this.
“Aren’t you still recording?” I ask, and I laugh as Willow says an uncharacteristic curse word before turning the camera off.
“Promise to keep me up to date on any Luke developments,” she says. She is still hopeful that Luke and I will get back together, even though I’ve told her we haven’t spoken since the wake.
“There won’t be any, but okay.”
“Be nice to yourself,” she says now, throwing her arms around me one more time. A few minutes later I walk back to my car, wave one more time at Willow, and drive home.
25
Mom 2.0 callsa family meeting a couple of days after Willow leaves, and four days after Camp MORE ends. I’ve been part of several Cohen family meetings, where they discussed things like chores and the dog not being allowed on the furniture and other random things families argue over.
Naturally, my family has never had one of these. At least they’ve never had one involving me. For all I know, my parents have had dozens of them in the past.
I flop down on the couch after dinner, wary and unsure of what to expect. If I’m being honest, I’m also feeling slightly defensive. After all, we’ve never talked about the fight we had the day I came home from Luke’s at five in the morning. When Mel died, my parents acted as if I hadn’t said any of the things I’d said, and we all sort of went back to our version of normal.
Strangely, even though my mother called the meeting, she looks nervous, too. In the last couple of months I’ve started to notice that her eyes blink fast when she’s anxious about something. It’s such a tiny thing, a random detail anyone could miss, but all it does is remind me of how much I don’t know about her. How little time I’ve spent with my own mother.
Dad sits beside Mom on the loveseat and looks at her, letting her take the lead.
“I’m sure we all remember the incident from a couple of weeks ago,” she begins now, looking pointedly at me. I fold my arms across my chest, bracing myself. I know I should feel bad for going off on them like that, but to be honest, I don’t really regret anything I said. And I’m not sure I can offer a convincing apology, if that’s what this meeting is about.
Since Mel’s death, I’ve felt numb. Distant from everything and everyone. Like I’m on an island by myself. One without touch or sound or sensation of any kind. I feel ... mute.
“It was pretty ... unpleasant,” Mom says now. “Which is why I want to apologize.”
Her words draw me back to this moment, and I’m not entirely sure I heard right. “Apologize?” I repeat.
Mom nods. “I owe you an apology for the past eighteen years, but for that morning too. Jessi, I know how much it hurt you, my being so absent from your life for so many years.” She blinks hard now, and I see her eyes welling with tears. “It’s the thing I regret most in the world—the thing I’ll always regret, to have wasted so much time.”
“You were sick,” I say, feeling guilty. It’s true that she was clearly not well, and my words during that argument weren’t very understanding.
“I know I was,” Mom says, “but I was also so stubborn and hardheaded.” She looks at Dad, then back at me. “Honey, how much do you know about our lives before we had you?”
