Page 148 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

The woman extends a hand. “Miss Waterman.”

I’m utterly shocked. I had filled in Dylan’s backstory with a mom that lookedcompletelydifferent.

I take her hand and grasp it warmly. “Yes! Dylan’s mom.”

“Margaret,” she says. Her curt smile is hard to read.

“Margaret. It’s a pleasure.” I pull my hand back and look at Dylan. “You have an incredible daughter. She’s basically the glue that held this whole show together.”

I can see the visible shock on her face as she slowly turns to Dylan, who responds by shrinking a bit and looking at the floor.

“She... was?” Margaret doesn’t hide her surprise.

“Yes,” I gush. “I’ve worked with stage managers in New York, and I can safely say that she’s as good, if not better. Detailed, patient, caring—”

“Caring?” She cuts me off. “Are we sure we’re talking about the same girl?”

I pick up a bit on the dynamic here.

“I’m not sure what she was like before I met her, but we could not have done this show without her. She was utterly amazing.”

Three of the cast members pass by us, wave at me, and give Dylan huge hugs from behind, pulling her close, messing her hair. She looks uncomfortable—classic Dylan—and she turns bright red. The women leave, waving to others and making their way across the room.

“I’m...” Margaret clears her throat and straightens her blazer. “Well. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

Dylan, still wearing her embarrassment in the form of red cheeks, says, “Uh... yeah. I think I know what I might want to do, for my, like, life.”

Margaret looks at me, dumbfounded, and I wink at Dylan.

She rolls her eyes.

“Mom? Is it cool if I talk to a few people before we go?”

Margaret shakes her head, still in disbelief. “Yes. Go.”

Margaret and I watch as Dylan mingles, congratulating and joking with cast members, clearly part of this team.

Her mom looks back at me. “What have you done with my daughter? She’s a completely different person.”

I smile, putting a hand on her arm. “I take no credit. She did it all herself.”

I turn toward the crowd, and my eyes fall on someone I instantly recognize.

My mom.

She’s standing next to John and my friends, all chatting and smiling, and she looks over and catches my eye.

We share a moment across a crowded room, and she gives a tearful slight nod.

I don’t think she knows what an impact a few words, spoken in a desperate time, had on my entire path. She tried to protect me from the pain of heartbreak, not realizing it’s not possible. Life has good and bad. And I really do believe the bad makes the good sweeter, just like Arthur said.

Maybe I was always supposed to learn that lesson this way.

John reaches over and takes my mother’s hand, and I see that her heartbreak is long gone. She moved on. She dared to love someone again.

She changed. And so have I.

There was a point this summer when I considered talking to her about all of this, but now it seems unnecessary. I understand why she said what she said back then—but I also understand that my promise to her was never meant to last forever. It was never meant to hold me hostage.

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