Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Praise for Abbi Waxman and her novels
- Berkley Titles by Abbi Waxman
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Summer
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Fall
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Readers Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Laura sighed. “Mom, there were fifteen apartments in that building, the message could have been for anyone. And yes, Mom. I’m already enrolled, I’m going to grad school here.” She paused. “Nothing’s going to change.”
Her mother became fractious. “Everything already changed! You had your whole career mapped out, you showed such promise, there were so many fields open to you.”
Laura didn’t say anything because she was tired of repeating herself. Besides, she knew her mom wasn’t finished. The first line of attack was always the originally planned future, the road not taken. If that didn’t work, her mom would zig and bring up the recent past, still hoping this change of direction was a blip and Laura would return to her previously scheduled programming.
As predicted, her mom changed her tone, doing her best to sound gentle and caring. “Maybe you need to take more time? After all, it hasn’t been very long since the accident. You’re still, you know . . . unstable.” Laura’s mom was not a bad person, but she wasn’t naturally gentle or caring, and her tone wasn’t convincing. A couple of years earlier Laura had been involved in a very serious car accident, and although her mother accepted the accident itself wasn’t Laura’s fault, responsibility for subsequent changes of life plan and a variety of embarrassing mental health problems landed squarely in Laura’s court. Her mother had found the whole thing deeply irritating.
“It’s been nearly two years, Mom. Please can we stop rehashing this?”
Her mom made a noise Laura was all too familiar with, a click-tongued hissing sigh that conveyed several different emotions in one sound, none of them positive. Third and final plan of attack: Laura’s stubborn irrationality. “You can go to grad school here, Laura. Why must you leave the nest in such a dramatic fashion? What’s wrong with Columbia? I’m sure it has an excellent program for whatever it is you’re doing. Plus here you can take public transportation, which is so much easier for you. God knows how you’re planning to get around out there.”
Laura closed her eyes. Her mother knew exactly what program she was doing, she just didn’t approve of it, and anything her mother disapproved of became magically inexplicable. The public transportation dig was simply her mom being bitchy. Laura stood up and walked over to the kitchen door. Knocking on it, she said, “Mom, someone’s at the door, I have to go.”
“Make sure you see ID before you open the door . . .” said her Mom immediately.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll call you later.” Laura hung up, then leaned her forehead against the wall and stayed there, banging it gently.