After I ended the call, I drove past Steph and Lisa’s building on the way out of the neighborhood. I glanced into the building’s courtyard, but it was deserted. They were probably inside. I wondered if they were arguing or if they were making up, and what making up looked like.

Chapter 24

The Fairmont Hotel was a giant white palace on Nob Hill bristling with international flags, and as I pulled the Honda Civic beneath the front awning, I felt as if I should have searched for the service entrance somewhere out back. But the valet took my key and handed over a ticket with a smile, so I forced myself to pretend that I belonged and entered the hotel.

I was early for lunch with my mom. I thought about calling her to say I was downstairs, but then I saw a sign for the ladies’ room across the lobby. I could check my appearance first. I headed across the marble floor and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, it smelled like flowers.

I studied myself critically in the gold-framed mirror over the sinks. I was wearing the one dress I’d brought to California—a black-and-white floral print with spaghetti straps—which now reminded me of that lunch with Steph and Joan. I’d pulled my hair back in a ponytail and put in small silver hoop earrings. I smoothed back some flyaway strands of my hair and retouched my lip gloss. I told myself I looked fine.

The last time I saw my mom was in April, when she came to Boston before heading to Vienna. I had met her at the Fairmont Copley Plaza, where she’d taken me to dinner in the hotel’s plush restaurant. I remembered sitting in a leather armchair so deep it felt like it was swallowing me. After our food came, she told me she’d been offered the opportunity to perform at the Munich Opera Festival in some kind of groundbreaking role in July. I wasn’t paying close attention until she said, “I won’t be able to come to your graduation because we’ll be in rehearsals. Is that all right with you?”

I hadn’t known until that instant that I had long imagined her at graduation standing beside my dad. She would be beautiful, impressive. Without her there—

When I didn’t respond, she said, “If it means a lot to you, I can change my schedule for you. People tell me American high school graduation is a big deal, but you’ve never given me the impression that you care that much about it. College graduation, yes, but high school . . . Do you want me to come?”

This wasn’t the first time she had missed something important to me because of her career. The disappointment was familiar. “No, it’s fine,” I said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that pulled at me. “It’s just high school.”