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But hearing my dad mention how Teddy took a job at Brookfield High, teaching, during one of our infrequent calls a couple of years ago, felt nothing like my father asking about Teddy, the guy I had sex with a few hours ago.
“He, um, he’s good,” I reply.
If my father was expecting a more verbose response, he doesn’t indicate it. Instead, he moves on to what I quickly realize is the reason he called.
“I sold the farm.”
“You—you sold the farm?”
“I told you I was going to.” His response is almost defensive, as if the offhand mention was the equivalent of a bill of sale.
“I figured it might take a while. Not weeks.”
“Yeah, well, me too. But this couple from Cincinnati put in an offer right away. They’ve got a couple of kids, and they’re all excited about the place.”
“That—that’s great, Dad.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Feels strange, but this was only ever supposed to be temporary, remember?”
I suddenly hate the wordtemporary. It’s attached to too many things I want to hang on to. “Yeah, I remember.”
He clears his throat. “Lily and I were in Chicago last week, looking at places.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Yeah. We signed a twelve-month lease on a new condo.”
“Wow. Congrats. That’s exciting.”
“Yeah, it sure is.” But his voice is the furthest thing from excited. There’s an uncomfortable edge to it that makes me reconsider whether selling the farm is the reason he called. “I called Nina Smith to show us places. You remember her?”
I tense at the mention of my mother’s best friend, an uncomfortable trickle of awareness—like the drip of ice water—about where this is heading appearing. “Of course I do.”
“I guess she’s kept up with Carley.”
“Kept up? What does that even mean? Is Mom living in Chicago?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t…Nina took me totally off guard. She—I have her number. Nina gave it to me.”
“Mom’s number?”
“Yes. I can send it to you…if you want.”
I didn’t anticipate a way to contact my mother ever being offered to me. But if I had given any consideration to it, I would have expected my response to be an immediate and resoluteno.
“Sheleftus, Dad.”
“I know. But it was complicated, Sutton. And…she’s still your mother.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending her!”
“I’m not defending—”
There’s a loud knock on the door.
“Hang on.” I lower the phone from my ear.
Hannah’s sweet voice drifts through the door separating the living quarters from the main section of the plane. “Sutton, Suzan wanted me to let you know we’re about to land in Madrid. We’re about ten minutes behind schedule, so you’ll need to head straight to the Hotel Francisco for the interview and then to Vértice before sound check.”
