“You’re sorry.” Mary crossed her arms and shook her head. “I can’t believe you would do this to me, and that he would stand me up for you.”

Josie felt the words crack through her. They burned and then settled in her palms, and she squeezed her hands into fists and pressed them tight against her sides. “Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what? You’re a fucking student. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I’m not his student.”

Mary laughed. “Very good, Josie.” She narrowed her eyes. “Fine, go ahead and fuck your surgeon. I’ll make sure to avoid the both of you.” She turned, snatched her briefcase, and stormed into the house.

Josie could feel the blood pulsing in her hands, and she dragged her nails against her thighs and let out a muffled cry. Below her, Tyler was still drawing, tracing yellow against blue, absorbed and oblivious. She tried to focus on the circles, tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she were caught in the drawing—pinned at the heart.

That night Devesh was in the lab and Mary refused to talk to her, and the pain and guilt of it all curled heavy like a cat on Josie’s chest. She picked up her cell phone and called her mother. Josie hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, and when she answered, Josie could hear the chill in her mother’s voice.

“How’s school?” her mother asked.

“Good,” Josie said.

“And work?”

“Fine.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Josie knew she should say something, but she wasn’t sure what, wasn’t even sure exactly why she had called.

“Did you want to talk to your dad?” her mother asked.

“No.” She answered too quickly and then took a deep breath. “I … talked to him yesterday.” She always returned her father’s calls when she knew her mother was at her biweekly tennis game. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hmm,” her mother muttered.

“I can’t call just to say hello?” Josie could feel the familiar spur of anger pang in her chest.

“Of course you can.”

“Good.”

There was another uncomfortable silence before her mother chimed in. “Oh,” she said. “I ran into Dorothy Winters yesterday. Dana just got married to a fellow she met at Columbia. They’re living in Palos Verdes now, both investment bankers, both working at Smith Barney.”

“Oh,” Josie said.

“And remember Mark Sandburg? Your dad just got him a job, so we took him and his girlfriend out for dinner last night. She’s getting her masters in urban design, which is what your cousin Darren did. It’s a very lucrative field, you know.”

“Yes; you told me.” She knew what would come next—the supposed concern for her job prospects, the commentary on how she was getting too old to be “babysitting.”

“Have you seen any good movies lately?” Josie tried.