Page 29 of And Now, Back to You

“Fine. Camille called,” I say, reluctant. The smiles slip from their faces, and I almost wish I could snatch the words out from the space between us. I sigh, committed now. Annoyed with myself as much as the situation. “She wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Adeline’s face settles into a stony mask. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You know there’s rarely a rhyme or a reason.” Just vibes and planetary alignments. Hastily scribbled horoscopes and prescriptions left unfilled.

I flip my suitcase closed, then sit down on the edge of the bed. I choose my words carefully, trying to hedge the delicate balance that comes with all their interactions with Camille. Honesty, with a touch of protective caution. “She was interested in how school is going for you both.”

Adeline rolls her eyes. “Interested,” she repeats. She plucks at the top of my comforter. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

Penelope and I exchange a loaded look.

“What word would you use?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze goes somewhere behind me. Penelope and I wait. Adeline’s nosedive into a sullen attitude is unusual for her. She’s my sunshine girl. The one who used Crayola markers to doodle seventy-three rainbows on my bedroom wall when she was five.

She hides her face behind a curtain of hair. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she mumbles.

I nod. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Fine.”

Silence blankets the room. The ancient heater cranks on downstairs and the floorboards groan. Adeline makes a small sound under her breath then rolls off the bed, the shirt that was tied around her neck fluttering to the floor. She shuffles out of the room. A second later, a door clicks shut quietly down the hallway.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I sigh.

“No, it’s good to know when Mom is sniffing around. Remember when she showed up at Easter that one year? With the skateboards?”

“Yeah, I remember.” She said she wanted to take the girls to the skate park and teach them how to shred. The girls had been eleven with approximately no interest in shredding. Camille left two hours later, despite promising the girls she’d make a new ravioli recipe for dinner. She left to get ricotta, and we didn’t see her again for close to a year.

Another time, she stayed in town for two weeks, only to disappear the night of the girls’ dance recital with a hastily written note left on the kitchen counter.

Opportunity came up, it said. I’ll catch the next one.

She didn’t make the next one. Or the one after that. Or . . . any of the recitals before the girls decided they didn’t want to dance anymore.

“It’s hard for Addie,” Penelope continues, “when Mom pretends that she’s interested in knowing us, only to vanish for another eleven-month stretch.” She sits up on the bed and tucks her long legs under her. “There’s this luncheon coming up at school. I think Addie is more sensitive than usual.”

We have a calendar taped to the middle of the fridge downstairs. I try to remember what I’ve penciled in recently. “What luncheon?”

“There’s a brunch thing coming up for the sophomores. Our school is great about making it inclusive, but most of the other girls are bringing their moms. Addie has been having a tough time.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“Duh.” Penelope gives me a bemused look. “You haven’t exactly made it a secret you’re not Mom’s biggest fan. Adeline doesn’t want to disappoint you by wanting her there.”

Guilt loops around my heart. “Shit.”

“I mean, totally warranted given the history of behavior. But I think between the three of us, Addie is the hopeful one. She wants things to be different.”

I make a mental note to check in with her over cereal tomorrow morning. To be better at this too. “What about you? Are you having a hard time?”

“No.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “Like I said, Addie is the hopeful one.”

They should both be the hopeful ones, but Camille has a bad habit of taking good things and twisting them until they’re broken. I study Penelope, looking for the lie. She keeps her face impassive, letting me look.

“All right.” Satisfied she’s not suppressing any major emotions, I zip my suitcase shut. “You should have said something.”

“I’m saying something now, aren’t I?”