She raises an eyebrow. “Still?” She leans toward me again. “Look, I’m the person who took this case. She wasn’t trying to hurt you—she was trying to hurt me. I’m not saying what she did was right, but I’m also not saying that it was unforgivable. At least, not in my mind. That said, I hope you’re careful with her. She has a lot of healing to do yet.”

“I’m not talking to her.” I cross my arms tight against my body.

“I know you might not want advice from me, but I think you should reconsider. I bet she could use a friend right now.” She pauses. “As could you, I think.”

I shrug.

We’re both quiet for a moment. I lie back on my pillows, look up at the ceiling, trace constellations in the stars above my bed with my eyes. My dad put them up years ago. They used to give me comfort as I fell asleep at night—the light from them, the familiar patterns.

My mother breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better mother.”

“Mom—” As usual, my first instinct is to protect.

She puts up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I haven’t been an ideal mom. I hope you can understand it when you get older—the things that pull you in different directions. Especially as a woman and a mother…it’s not easy to find a balance.” She shakes her head. “I’ll try to be better, to do better, to be present for you and Gwen more often. As for your father…maybe give him a break sometimes, okay? Watch some basketball with him. He’s had a hard few years. And he desperately wants to be your friend.”

I hold back my initial response, which is to make a shitty comment about everything she just said, and nod instead. I don’t know if anything has really changed between us, but this is the longest conversation we’ve had in years, and even through my stubbornness, I can tell she’s trying.

—

When Conor gets back an hour later, I’m ready and waiting to go to the show.

Chapter Fifty-three