Page 108 of The Lookback

After everyone oohs and awws over the blankets I know are great—she made them for me with both of my girls, and they were the best—it’s time for a few more silver-spoon gifts. But finally, the shower’s over, and it’s time to go home.

“I know most of you need to leave, but for anyone who isn’t done partying yet,” Abby says. “We have a special surprise.”

A. . . what? Somehow, in the past two hours, Steve and Ethan set up a whole host of decorations, including a beautifully made wooden backdrop made from a bunch of different colors of distressed wood plank. Adorable baby items have been attached at artful locations, and the words ‘Fisher-Park baby’ are spread across the top of the whole thing. It’s nice, this time of year, that Steve has a covered arena they can use. I can’t help wondering how much it cost to bring in a dance floor that’s covering the better part of it.

There’s even a live band that has just started playing songs at the far end.

“I invited your spouses and significant others to join us,” Abby says. “I hope you don’t mind.” She winks at Helen. “But I wanted to show my sister that once you have a baby, it’s okay to still do fun things. Adult things.” She shrugs. “So if you’re so inclined, let’s dance!”

The band is pretty decent, and maybe that’s why it takes me not one, buttwosongs before I realize who’s singing.

Maren.

Abby evades me for nearly five minutes, which is good. It gives me time to consider that if I kill her, there won’t be anyone who can defend me on the murder charges.

When I finally find her, I’m still pretty upset. “What could you possibly be thinking?”

She shrugs. “About what?”

“Maren?” My hiss comes out a little more deranged than I’d like. People around us are staring. “She does not need encouragement!”

“It was my idea, actually.” Eddy steps out from behind the arena support beam and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Traitor,” I say. “Don’t tell me you’ve switched to their side, too.”

Mandy, Abigail, and Steve have all approached us at different times to suggest that we should let Maren record her album. Thankfully, Abby has done exactly as promised, gotten the venue transferred to Utah, and she’s awfully close to having the whole thing dismissed.

She’s done all that while taking care of her own baby, her other children, keeping her husband happy, and handling all of Helen’s legal work. My hero-worship notwithstanding, I’m still royally ticked. “We’ve been over this and over it.”

“Have we?” Eddy asks. “I feel likethey’vebeen over it and over it, and we’ve just ignored them.”

“Our friends need to learn when to butt out.” I can’t help stomping my foot, but my heel hits the dance floor hard just as the song ends, and now everyone’s looking at me. Now’s the moment. I should order Maren to quit singing, and if it ruins Abigail and Helen’s party, well, they deserve it. They can’t tell me how to parent, and just because they disagree doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

The whole world can disagree with me, and I still won’t back down.

That’s what it means to be a mother.

And that’s when it hits me.

The whole world, or at least,mywhole world, does disagree. Mandy told me that holding Maren back would just make her resent me. Abigail told me that with our guidance and support, which Maren has been asking for, she would be safe. Much safer than Eddy ever was. And Steve even worked up a plan for how an adult from our family could go with her for every single event the label wants, from recording to marketing and social media.

The whole world thinks I’m wrong.

Am I?

For the first time since this madness started, I figuratively stand down. Instead of shouting and stopping my daughter from performing, which she’s clearly enjoying, I shut my mouth and I listen to her. I watch her.

Maren’s next song is about her dad.

Her dad was pretty lousy even when he was alive, so I’m shocked she’d write a song about him. . .until I realize it’snotabout him. It’s about Eddy. She’s singing about how her dad chose her. Her dad’s always there for her. Her dad supports and uplifts her. He never judges.

And he always forgives.

That’s definitely not Paul. She’s singing about Eddy, and it’s all the kind things she never says out loud.

Is it possible that she expresses the feelings and thoughts she can’t bring herself to say. . .in her music? Are these more than just inane pop songs? Could she, at not-quite-eighteen, be anartist?

I hate that I’ve missed it.

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