I watched her and sensed whatever it was she was thinking right now was part of why she had left in the first place. After several moments where all I could hear was the occasional crack of the firewood and the faint instrumental Christmas tunes Val favored when she was at the front desk, Mom met my eyes. The defensiveness and challenge were missing.

“Let me ask you something, Finley. If I hadn’t talked about you leaving Christmas all these years, would you have wanted to? On your own?”

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Maybe you should think about it.”

“Oh my God!” I threw up my hands in frustration. “That is seriously all I’ve been doing since my birthday!”

She chuckled. “Which sounds exactly like you.” Then she smiled gently and reached out to stroke my hair and this time I let her. “You overthink things, Fin. Always have,” she said with a quiet affection. “You get that from me.” Her mouth twitched knowingly. “Everyone thinks your father is the overthinker, because he’s quiet.” Her smile turned inward. “Makes him seem like he’s brooding. But he’s the opposite. He decides something and that’s that. No second-guessing, no ‘what-if-ing.’ But me? I’ve spent . . .” She sighed deeply. “. . . my whole life ‘what-if-ing.’ ”

“Since you got pregnant with me.”

She met my eyes. “I have never, never once regretted you. Not once. And I never will.”

“But you could have done so much more,” I whispered, feeling my lips start to quiver, which was vaguely mortifying; I had never been this much of a crier.

She put two fingers under my chin and tipped up my face until I met her blue eyes so very like my own.

“But I will never do anything better than be your mom.”

I started crying then. Big time. About everything. About Barrington and my grades and not being invited to Bronwyn’s party or fitting in, about getting caught lying about my hometown, about Ayisha and Mia and Brody, and thinking badly about Esha and why my grandmother hid such important things from me, and what would happen to my parents. And about Arthur, who was weird and kind and whom I liked more than I thought possible, but who lived in a world where it seemed I could never belong.

And Mom held me.

We didn’t talk about much more after that. We were both too spent. She went home to our empty house, and I went up to my tiny room and got in bed with the full intention to do more thinking about everything that had happened today.

And yesterday.

And many more days.

But the second my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed, I tumbled into a deep sleep before a single thought could begin to form. I didn’t even dream.

Twenty-Two

DECEMBER 23