I roll my eyes again. “Ethan seems to be going along with it as of now. I don’t think he’s thrilled about it, by any means, but he’s not protesting too heavily. Yet.”

“Maybe he’s looking forward to spending time with Jared.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “You don’t really think Jared is going to have anything to do with this, do you?”

Val shrugs.

“This will be one more thing that I have to take care of because I don’t have enough on my plate.”

The back of my neck grows taut. I grimace at the discomfort.

“You know,” I say, “on one hand, I wish that Jared spent more time with Ethan so Ethan had a strong role model around to lean on when he had boy questions and stuff.”

“Yeah, but you and Ethan have a great relationship. I’m sure he knows he can come to you with anything.”

“For sure, and I’m thankful for that. But I remember when I was a little girl, and not having a mom around really fucked with me. I mean, I couldn’t go to Dad because I’d be talking to Jim Beam, not Tim Clark. I remember just wishing I had an aunt or grandma to talk to about starting my period and needing a bra, you know?”

Val shifts on the sofa. The bowl of chips nearly falls to the floor.

“Yeah,” she says. “But what you’re describing is a responsible adult. We need to be honest here that Jared was never one of those.”

“Exactly. Which is why, on the other hand, I think it’s better off this way. I mean, even if he was consistent about coming around and following through on promises . . . he’s still Jared. He’s still not the best role model in the world.”

My spirits sink because, somehow in the land of mom guilt, that feels like my fault too.

Val puts the chips on the floor and levels her gaze with mine. She’s ready to defend my honor because that’s what Val does . . . and why she’s my best friend.

“Don’t go there,” she warns. “You started dating him at, what—nineteen? You likely expected that he would grow up. Mature. Get a job. You had no way of knowing that he would fail to launch.”

No, but I wasted over half a decade of my life believing he would.

“Can we talk about something else?” I ask.

“Sure. What happened at work today?”

I make a face at her. She holds her hands to her sides.

“You said to change the subject,” she says.

“I was thinking to something happier.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about how my nails look bomb today.” She holds her fingers toward me and wiggles them. “This color is Decadent Peach, and I really think it’s the color of my aura.”

I snort. “I totally agree.”

“But do you?” She drops her arms to her sides. “I sense a bit of sarcasm there, Miss Yellow Aura.”