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Cynthia closes her eyes, as if she’s trying to garner the courage she needs for this conversation. “He wants to travel. We’re in our fifties, Cat. We no longer have our whole lives ahead of us. We’re in the middle of them.”
All I can do is gape at her.
She puts the cigarette out before leaning across the table and tugging on my arm. I stand my ground for a moment, processing the implications of her retirement, but eventually, I relax and let her pull my hand from where I have it tucked against my chest.
She sits silently until I look at her. “I’m sorry. I know…I know this isn’t easy, Cat, but you’re ready.”
“Ready?” I huff. “I can’t run the magazine without you. Who’ll be editor in chief? We have the new acquisition to deal with, and now you want me to deal with a new boss too? And what about Chloe? She can’t just quit school to go gallivanting around the world with you. This isselfish,Cyn.”
Giving up Chloe was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but knowing she would always be part of my life took a fraction of the sting out of it. For almost twelve years, I’ve been the cool older sister, the aunt figure, Chloe’s person. And Cynthia has been so much more than my boss for all these years. She’s been like a mom to me too. It was hard enough being left behind when they moved to Paris last year, but at least we still speak daily. And she visits Boston for work often and brings Chloe with her.
Now when will I see them?
I wish I could cry. I wish I could feel anything other than rage and fear, but those are the only emotions left inside me. Sadness, defeat, and heartbreak all left me when I gave birth to my daughter by myself. After that night, I swore I would never shed another tear. And I haven’t.
Right now, I’m regretting that oath. Because honestly, who couldn’t use a good fucking cry? But try as I might, the tears won’t come. That promise has been etched on my heart, the scars permanent.
Cynthia peeks over her shoulder, then in a hushed tone, says, “Chloe’s not happy.” Her entire being deflates, and she blows out a breath as she pulls her hand back from mine. “I’m trying here, Cat, but since we moved to Paris, she’s been miserable.”
Frowning, I try to wrap my brain around this comment. My daughter isn’t happy. That can’t be right. Obviously, she misses Boston and me, but…not happy?She hasn’t mentioned a word about it to me.
“She’s eleven.” I sit straighter, not giving into this idea. Cynthia and Peter may not want to parent her right now, but it isn’t right for them to put this on her. She shouldn’t be made to feel like a burden.
“And she misses her mother,” Cynthia says, cocking her head to the side and studying me. “You can’t be this obtuse.”
I roll my eyes. “How am I being obtuse?”
“Cat, she wants us both. But if she can’t have us both…” She presses her lips together, probably fighting back the tears welling in her eyes. “If she can’t have both of us, she wants you. She wantsher mother.”
I shake my head. “That’s not fair. You made me promise I would never ask you to give her up.”
“I know I did, sweetheart. But she’s not happy,” she says softly. “And I love her enough to recognize that.”
At a loss, I turn to the window. I can’t look at her while I process what she’s saying. The air in the room is suffocating. My daughter isn’t happy.
That…that just won’t do.
I blow out a long breath, then shift in my chair, finding Cynthia still watching me closely. “What can I do?”
“Chloe will finish out the school year here…and then…if you’re willing, she’ll move back to Boston with you.”
I shake my head, but not in rejection of her suggestion. No, my reaction is more along the lines ofwhat the fuck is going on in this conversation? It’s everything I’ve wanted for months—since the moment they moved to Paris—and nothing I ever thought I could have. But that doesn’t solve the one problem that has been staring us all in the face. “I need to get the test done, then.”
Cynthia nods. “You need to get the test done.”
“And if it comes back positive?” I choke out, nervous about the future. Or the lack thereof.
My mother was thirty-four when she was diagnosed with cancer. She was dead by thirty-six. When I hit thirty, Cynthia started pushing me to get the test to find out if I carry the gene responsible for my mother’s death.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Cynthia is on her feet and by my side in two strides. She lowers herself to the chair beside me and takes my face in her hands. “We will handle it once we know what the results are. But you need to get the tests. You need answers. Chloe needs you.Weneed you.”
I suck in a breath and nod. “Why does it feel like I’m walking through quicksand?” I whisper.
Cynthia gives a dry laugh. “Welcome to life, darling. Just know that I’ll always be here to pull you out.”
* * *
