“Thank you,” I say, the gravity of what just occurred hitting me with full force. “Cheers back,” I add, taking too big of a drink.

“And I’m sorry,” Trish says. When I look up, her eyes are filled with love. “For not asking how you were really feeling more often. For not being there for you. For not seeing that your marriage wasn’t fine. For...” She hesitates. “Well, everything. You’re taking a risk, and that is admirable. I envy and adore you, Adie Lou.”

I reach across the table and take my friend’s hand in mine, and give it a big squeeze.

“Thank you,” I say.

“To no regrets,” Trish says, before adding, “Promise me one thing?”

“Okay.”

“Just watch out for the roses,” she replies.

TWO

“Hi, Mom.”

I am always taken aback when I hear my son’s voice. I still expect him to sound like he did when he was a boy—high-pitched, singsongy, begging for me to hold him or help him—instead of the baritone that booms forth from his six-foot-two-inch, nineteen-year-old body.

“Lose my number?” I tease. I’m on my cell phone, sitting in my Volvo, which is packed with boxes from my office. It’s amazing how a career that can consume every minute of your life becomes insanely irrelevant the very moment you leave to follow your passion, I think. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies.

I move on cautiously because I don’t want to worry Evan. “I have some news.”

“I heard already,” he says, cutting me off at the pass. “Dad told me.”

Of course he did, I think, annoyed.

“Oh,” I say, bracing myself. “What did he tell you?”

“You want the sanitized version?” he asks.

I laugh so Evan thinks his father’s actions don’t bother me, but it sounds hollow.

“Dad said you’d sort of, well, lost it, and that you were quitting your job, moving to Saugatuck and turning the cottage into a B and B.”

“That’s the sanitized version?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Believe me.”

“Well, I actually quit my job today,” I say. “I’m sitting in my car trying not to freak out.”

Evan laughs. There is a pause that worries me, but then he says quietly, “I’m proud of you, Mom.”

This time, his words stop me cold, hit me so hard I feel as if I just might break down and cry. “Thank you,” I say, my voice wobbly.