Page 3 of Holly Jolly Rebel

“Landon.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Grinning, he nudged his twin. “That’s what you get for insisting you play the game as Dad.”

Conor growled. “You played him the last three times.”

“All’s fair in war and hockey.”

“I think the expression is ‘love and hockey’, dude.”

On they babbled, finishing each other’s sentences like they’d done since their time in the womb. All of what? Seventeen years ago?

Sometimes my kids forgot I existed, which was fine when I was trying to work or take a candlelit bath with a glass of Merlot and my e-reader. But not now.

I tried again. “Your sister?”

Landon frowned. “She went to visit with Rosie, I think.”

I considered that for a second. “So, did she say anything before she left?”

“About what?” Conor stabbed at the controller, then because he was the politest of my children, he put it down and looked at me directly. “About flunking her exams and dropping out?”

Conor was also possessed of the same no-filter brain/mouth divergence as his dad.

Landon turned to his twin and stared. “Dude! She never said she was dropping out.”

“Yeah. Well, no.” Quick glance of embarrassment at me. “Just conjecture based on the exam thing. That part is fact.”

“Conjecture?” Landon shook his head. “Big word, little man.”

“Who you calling ‘little,’ ass—uh, dingus?” Both my sons added in semi-creepy unison “Sorry, Mom.”

Dropping out? That was what I was afraid of. Adeline had not enjoyed her first semester at college, but we’d hoped she’d adapt after those early months. On every call home she sounded like she was shrinking in on herself.

Hatch, my eldest, was like his father, a joiner, the kind of kid who made friends everywhere he went. Our youngest, Conor and Landon, had each other yet still managed to lead relatively independent lives. Both were outgoing to a fault and were headed to the University of Michigan this fall, like their brother before them.

But Adeline wasn’t like her brothers. She was shy, introverted, more like me—which meant I worried about her, especially when she became a freshman a few months ago in Vermont. A small, liberal arts college had sounded like it wouldsuit her so well, and her dad’s alma mater to boot, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Failing exams was one thing but to drop out entirely?

Stepping outside the den—the twins had already gone back to their game—I shot off a text to my daughter.

Hey, sweetie, want to have lunch with your old mom?

The dots of doom started up, faded, then started up again.

Said I’d hang with Rosie!!!! Catch you later?

Hmm, three exclamation points too many.

Of course!!!

Two could play at that game.

Feeling a little blue, I sent a text to Jordan.

My daughter hates me.

The phone rang immediately, and I answered with, “Hello, Sad Sacks Not So Anonymous.”

“Of course she hates you! It’s about time.”

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