Maybe she is genuinely sad, but I’m willing to bet this is just a tactic to get me to relent and give her what she wants.

When we get to Scarlett’s, I unpack the trunk as she continues to cry in the car. I take all the presents inside and wait for her. Ten minutes pass. I put the kettle on.

I go out to the car and knock on the window, because another thing that women aren’t allowed to be is heartless.

“Come in,” I say. “I made tea.”

“I need a minute,” she says.

I go back inside and pour two cups of Earl Grey.

I fully expect a continuation of the car unpleasantries, but when Mom comes in, she’s got a weird look on her face.

“Scarlett left the same time as us?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why?”

“She should be home by now.”

“Maybe she stopped somewhere.”

“I texted her. She hasn’t replied.”

“She’s probably driving.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Now she has me worried. We sip our tea in silence.

Half an hour goes by. No Scarlett.

“I’m calling Ashley,” Mom says.

Ash confirms that Scarlett left when we did.

I call Scarlett. I text her.

Nothing.

Another half hour.

“I can’t take this,” Mom says. “Let’s go.”

She grabs my keys off the counter. I follow her out to the car.

“What are you doing?” I ask, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Going to look for her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want us to find her,” I say. “Maybe she’s pissed about the shower.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Wouldn’t that be the best-case scenario?”

“Aurora.”

“Fine.”

We drive around in silence for about forty-five minutes, just circling through town.

“Where could she have gone? Has she responded to you?”

“Nope,” I say.

“What if she was abducted?”

“What if she’s running errands?”

I wish my mother had shown even a fraction of this concern for me when I was an eleven-year-old child being sent out for fucking pizza pickup with Dave.

She’s crying again.

“What?” I ask.

“You hate me!”

“Pull over. You can’t drive like this.”

She pulls into the parking lot of a strip mall. We’re between a nail salon and a Dunkin’ Donuts.

“You hate me,” she repeats. “I tried so hard. I did my best. You have to believe me. I tried my best.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I say, playing with my gold chain, with my moon charm.

“What will it take? What can I do? I couldn’t have done anything differently. I didn’t know, Aurora. He fooled me, too.”

“He didn’t fool me,” I say. “You asked me to give him a chance.”

“A year. He was in our lives for almost a year. I didn’t once see anything that gave me any reason to doubt him, to suspect.”

“How about me saying that I didn’t like him? That I didn’t want him around.”

“You were eleven. You didn’t like anyone.”

“That’s not the point! You’re missing the point. You badger me to talk about it, and then when I do, you don’t listen to anything I say. You don’t want to hear what I’m saying.”