Perfectly on cue, my phone pinged, and I picked it up to see a reply from Oscar to this morning’s awkward text: THANK! GOD!

I grinned. “I’m going to a young donors’ event at the Wing Club.”

Alice put down her fork. “For Amberley?”

“Yeah, with Oscar.”

“Huh. Well, have fun but, whatever you do, don’t give that woman any money.”

I laughed at the very suggestion, then squinted. “That woman? You mean Nora?”

Her mouth was set in a tight line. “I’m serious. I know she’s your godmother, and Dad said you’ve been spending a lot of time together—”

“Not that much time . . .” I frowned at my lap, marveling at how quickly Alice had managed to put me on the back foot.

“Listen, just be careful. Those two are wearing Dad out as it is. Sometimes I wish he weren’t so attached to that school.”

“You went there.”

“Like I had any choice!” She nodded as if I’d proven her point. “All I’m saying is . . . I know Nora’s all cotton candy and bunnies in a meadow—”

“Ha-ha, what?”

“But she’s a lot smarter than she lets on. And don’t forget how close she and Mom were for all those years. There’s a reason those two got along so well.”

I winced, thinking of the word she’d used for Mom. Unmentionable.

I didn’t want to ask. Needed to know. “Are you still not talking to her?”

Her eyes shot to mine. “Are you?”

My mouth opened. “I . . .”

“When she calls you, I’ll call her,” Alice said, shut-down mode. “Until then, somebody needs to hold her accountable.”

I wanted to talk Alice back from the brink like the last hundred times we’d had this conversation, tell her it was no big deal, it didn’t bother me, she didn’t need to be my champion, Mom was not toxic, she just had emotional baggage to struggle with, dead-mother-young-age etc., etc., but I couldn’t gather the energy this time. And something else was gnawing at me, her “wearing Dad out” comment—but before I could rewind far enough to ask about it, my phone pinged, another text from Oscar.

I bought a new suit! Well, my dad bought me one. Got it UPS—it’s sharp!

My mood went from slate gray to midday sunshine, picturing Oscar’s dad picking something out for his son to wear to a swanky Manhattan fundraiser, packaging it to be delivered . . .

“Look at you,” Alice said quietly. “You like him.”

I started curling back into a ball.

“It’s okay to be happy, Ruby. It’s sort of the point.”

I watched her push her omelet around her plate, her mind swooping up and away. She was thinking about her public school teacher, but I wasn’t going to tease her about it.

Not when she’d finally cracked the vault and allowed me a glimpse inside.

•   •   •