“Okay, honey. I’ll call you again before we head out. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Sawyer clicked her phone shut and tossed it onto the couch, sinking down next to it. She rested her head on the stiff, new pillows Tara had picked out—some weird hemp weave stuffed with something hypoallergenic and renewable—and spied a mammoth spray of baby-pink roses on the kitchen counter.
Baby girl pink roses.
She groaned, snatched up her backpack and coat, and plodded to her bedroom. Sawyer had the water running in her attached bathroom (a plying perk of the new house), when she opened her laptop and dialed up her mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
The face that smiled back at Sawyer from her thirteen-inch screen mirrored her own: deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, a determined nose, but her mother’s face had a tiredness that tugged at Sawyer’s heart. Angela Dodd’s hair had always been a few shades darker than Sawyer’s, something that gave her a hard, no-nonsense edge in the courtroom; now Sawyer noticed the fringe of gray around the temples. It softened her.
“Sweetheart! I only have a minute to talk—I’m between clients—but I’m glad you called.”
Sawyer glanced at the clock on her screen. “Isn’t it almost time to knock off?”
Her mother smiled apologetically. “There is no quitting time around here. We’ve got a huge trial coming up.” Angela leaned toward the screen, studying her daughter. “You look good. Healthy. How are you?”
Sawyer cocked her head, rubbing small circles on her temples with her index fingers. “Seriously, Mom, please don’t fall into shrink mode.”
Her mother’s eyebrows went up, and Sawyer watched her pick up a carton of Chinese takeout and dig into it with a pair of chopsticks. “Shrink mode?”
“You know.” Sawyer dropped her voice into a high-pitched, saccharine-sweet tone that dripped with insincerity. “How are you doing? How does that make you feel?”
“Can’t a mother worry about her daughter?”
Not from 3,000 miles away. The thought bounced around Sawyer’s mind before she had a chance to stop it, and it left a pang of guilt—and pain—niggling at her heart.
The divorce hadn’t even been finalized when Angela Dodd packed up her closet and her office, and moved to Philadelphia. The offer—senior partner at one of the top law firms in the country—was epic; at least that was what she told Sawyer. It didn’t come as a complete surprise to Sawyer, nor did it seem all that different. Her entire childhood her mother would generally pepper her head with kisses as she walked out the door each morning, Sawyer with a bowl of cold cereal in hand and cartoons on the television. Angela usually had a cell phone pressed to her ear as she mouthed for Sawyer to “be good” and “listen to Daddy.” By the time she’d come home at night, hair mussed, briefcase groaning with unfinished briefs, Sawyer would be in bed.
It wasn’t that she was a bad mom. Angela Dodd taught her daughter to be strong and self-sufficient; she was nurturing and doted on Sawyer—when she was around—but Sawyer always got the distinct impression that her mother’s career, not her husband or her daughter, was her first love.
Sawyer swallowed hard, another memory of Kevin flashing in her mind.
They were stretched out on the living room floor, “studying.” Not a single book was cracked, but Sawyer’s lips were chapped and the feel of Kevin’s lips on hers, his fingers on her bare skin, made her whole body buzz. He pulled away, a sly smile on his face, and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip.
“I should probably get going. Your parents are going to be home soon.”
She looked into his eyes; the twilight breaking through the blinds seemed to make them glitter and shine. She shrugged. “No one will be home for hours.”
Kevin wagged his head, his eyes still locked on hers. “I don’t see how your parents could leave you alone for a minute, let alone whole days at a time.” His hand dipped to her collarbone, tracing the curve there until Sawyer’s whole body erupted in gooseflesh. “I can barely get through two periods without seeing you.”
She didn’t know why, but the idea that Kevin wanted her near him—that he needed to see her—was the most incredible feeling to Sawyer. Her parents had their jobs, their crumbled marriage, but to Kevin, Sawyer was all there was.
“I love you so much, Kevin.”
Sawyer shook off the memory, hammering down the disgusting need that sprang up. “I’m fine, Mom. Dad didn’t need to call you.”
Angela feigned innocence, and Sawyer shook her head. “Cut out the Meryl Streep. He told me he called you.”
“We talk, Sawyer. And we worry. Besides, Dad told me that one of your teachers passed away. I’m really sorry to hear that.”
Sawyer gripped her bedspread, pressing the puckered fabric between forefinger and thumb so hard her finger went numb. “It was an accident,” she said, her voice a hollow whisper. “He had an allergic reaction to something he ate.”
Or was fed.
Angela cocked her head, her eyebrows pressing together. “That’s terrible, sweetie. Is there going to be some sort of memorial? Did they cancel classes or anything?”
“Look, can you just tell Dad that you talked to me and I’m okay?”
Sawyer’s mother opened her mouth—to protest, Sawyer guessed—but Sawyer held up a hand. “I’m going to make an appointment to see Dr. Johnson, who will also tell you that I’m fine. But please, until then? I’m fine. I’m adjusting. I have friends and eat vegetables and don’t cut myself. And”—Sawyer pointed a silencing finger—“I’m not selling myself for drugs or sex or Beanie Babies.”
“Beanie Babies?” Sawyer’s mother shoveled some chow mein into her mouth and grinned, chewing steadily. “How do you even know what those old things are?”
“I pay attention in history class. Do we have a deal?”
There was a shrug on the other end of the line. “You certainly seem like the old Sawyer.”
Sawyer squinted at the screen. “What are you eating? Did you make your famous call to the Chinese restaurant tonight?”
Angela jabbed at her screen with her chopsticks. “Now I know you’re the old Sawyer. And the deal is you only have to eat vegetables until you’re eighteen. Then you’re a legal adult and can fill up on takeout and Red Bull like the rest of us.”
“Oh, the joys of adulthood. So, vegetables, yes, cutting, no, et cetera. Do we have a deal?”
“About vegetables? We made that deal when you were ten.”
“Mom.” Sawyer felt her nostrils flare, even though deep down her mother’s razzing felt familiar and comforting. Almost like things were normal.
“Okay, okay. But I want you to check in every day, and I want to hear how your appointment goes.”
Sawyer crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, prosecutor.”
Angela smiled. “That’s my smart kid. Oh.” There was an off-screen tone and Sawyer’s mom leaned toward it. “That’s my next client. Love you, baby, be good. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye.” Sawyer’s screen went blank and she sighed, closing her laptop. “Bye, Mom, love you too.”
Sawyer sunk chin deep in strawberry-kiwi-scented suds and blew bubbles, then rubbed her eyes. The house settled—even new houses did that, Sawyer assured herself—with a spine-tingling creak, then dropped into steady silence. Sawyer groaned, leaning her head against the cool marble slope of the tub.
“Note to self,” she said out loud, her voice reverberating through the sterile, tiled room, “unpack stereo ASAP.”