“No, wait. I do want to know. I thought you were going to be here when I got back from Barrington,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“I didn’t know you were leaving it.”

I could tell that landed. Not that this was a fight, despite the part of me wanting to make it one.

“Sweetie, it’s . . . it’s complicated.”

That word again. I hated it. “Yeah, Dad kinda said the same thing.”

“What did he say?”

“Not a lot.”

Mom’s sigh echoed in my ear and I pictured her rubbing the base of her palm against her forehead like she did when she was spent.

“Listen, Finley. Honey. If I’d known you were coming home for Christmas, I absolutely would have been there to be with you.”

“But not Dad. You’d have been here to be with me, for me, but not for Dad. Right?” There was a long pause before she sighed a second time and my irritation bubbled inside of me. “How long have you been planning to leave?”

“What—?”

“Is that why you pushed me to go to Barrington? So you could leave as soon as I was gone?”

“No! Finley, I want you to go there so you can learn and grow and have opportunities.”

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed at her vision, but I wasn’t amused.

“Finley? What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. Maybe now was a good opportunity to spill my guts to my mom about staying here instead of returning, though deep down it didn’t feel right. Not when she wasn’t here and everything felt out of sorts.

“Finley, I don’t want you to think any of this is about you, okay? This is between me and your father.”

“Does that mean—”

“Does that mean what?”

Before I could stop myself, I asked, “—you’re not dating someone else?”

I hadn’t been aware this was a concern on any level until the question was already out in the open. But as soon as I heard it, I realized how much it was a fear of mine. I held my breath, my stomach twisted in dread. But Mom’s response was quick.

“No, not at all. Neither your dad nor I are seeing anyone.”

“How would you know? You’re not here. He could be the next contestant on The Bachelor for all you’d know.”

An uncertainty crept into her tone. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” I plucked at the handmade quilt that lay folded across the foot of the bed.

“Then why did you . . . ?” There was a long pause. “Is Skip—is he . . . seeing someone?”