Page 115 of Blitzing Emily

Emily’s voice teacher was on vacation. The only appointment she had today was with a treadmill. Maybe she should take a day off. She’d have to deal with more of Amy’s nagging, but she’d also get some time with her sister, always a treasured commodity.

“You know what? You’re on. Let me get my stuff.”

Emily hurried into her room to put on a pair of shoes and grab a jacket. She picked up Brandon’s engagement ring off the carpeting. She stared at it for a moment. She could have put the ring in a drawer or her jewelry box for safekeeping, but she didn’t. For some insane reason, she slid it into the front pocket of her jeans.

AFEW DAYSlater, Emily went to her parents’ house for Sunday dinner as usual. The Seattle skies were as gray and leaden as her mood.

She opened the front door, called out, “Mom, I’m home,” and walked inside. She smelled a roast cooking in the oven. Her dad wasn’t in his usual spot: the recliner in the family room. She hurried into the kitchen to find her mom polishing wine glasses with a soft towel.

“Hi, honey,” her mother said. “How are you doing?”

Emily kissed her cheek. “Dad must be running a little late.”

Her mother didn’t meet her eyes. She turned away from Emily instead. “Want a soda or some water?”

Her mother was hiding something. She and Amy had speculated on what was going on between their parents for a while now. Neither was brave enough to come right out and ask, however. Maybe Emily should bring up the subject before her dad arrived. If she grilled her mother about her love life, hopefully, it would distract her mom from doing the same to her.

“I’ll have one if you’re having one. Mom, what’s going on with you and Dad?”

Emily’s mother pulled two cold cans of Diet Coke from the fridge, grabbed glasses, and filled hers with ice from the ice maker. They sat down at the kitchen table. She still wouldn’t look at her daughter as she concentrated on pouring the soda into a glass. With knit brows and pursed lips, anyone would think she was performing a surgical procedure of some sort.

“Mom.”

Meg still didn’t look up.

Emily let out a gusty sigh and rolled her eyes. She was going to have to spell it out, it seemed. “He’s spending more time here. Amy said she saw some of his things in the bathroom when she went in there the other day,” she said.

“Last time he was here, he was tired, and he didn’t want to drive back home.” Margaret stared at the tabletop. A flush spread up her neck, staining her normally pale skin.

“Mom.”

Meg finally met Emily’s eyes.

“If you and Dad are trying to get back together, Amy and I—We just want you to be happy.”

“We probably shouldn’t discuss this ...”

Emily laid her hand on her mother’s forearm. “I’m not asking for details. I just want you to know that we’re both happy about this.”

Margaret Hamilton rubbed her face with housework-reddened hands. The long French braid she’d worn ever since her daughter could remember slipped over her shoulder. Margaret’s hair was gray now instead of the rich auburn it used to be. She moved a little more slowly than the woman who twirled her eldest daughter around the kitchen floor when Emily was younger, but she still had the graceful movements of a former ballerina. There were lines in her face, but her eyes were still a youthful cerulean blue.

Right now, those eyes were full of unshed tears.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Margaret said. “I was afraid the two of you wouldn’t understand.” She let out a sigh. “You’ll both marry someday and have families. I didn’t want to be alone, and I’m not good at dating. I thought your father would remarry. I know he dated a little right after we split up, but for some reason, it didn’t work.”

“He was still in love with you.”

“I don’t know. I was still in love with him. I thought I’d die when the neighbor saw him out to dinner with your classmate Christy’s mother. He met her at a PTA meeting. Maybe she had fewer bills than I did.”

Emily shook her head. Her parents couldn’t help bringing up the huge financial and emotional cost of her career preparation, and she couldn’t help the guilt she felt when she reflected how their lives would be different if she’d chosen another path instead.

“Honey,” her mother said, “I didn’t mean it that way. You know we would do it all again.”

“I feel badly that you both spent so much time focusing on what I needed. I worried about Amy.”

Margaret’s lips softened into a smile. “I think the fact that we didn’t fuss over her made her more independent. She wanted to succeed on her own terms, and she has.” She took a sip of her soda. “I worried about you girls when you were younger. Amy’s so assertive. I know you had to be as well, and I was afraid you’d end up hating each other.”

“You taught us to stand up for ourselves.”

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