“Don’t use the dishwasher,” I call after him. “I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on with the drain. In fact, just leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll wash them.”

He peeks his head back into the dining room. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Eli knocks on the doorframe, a rapid one-two-three. “Okay. I’m going upstairs, then.”

“Do you want to watch a movie in a little bit?” I’m sure he will decline.

“Like what?”

“Like whatever you want,” I say, surprised and hopeful.

“Maybe.” He shrugs.

It’s better than a “no.” I’ll take it. In the kitchen, I wash each dish carefully, running the water on low and watching for any signs that the drain is backing up. The water goes down, but slowly. So long as I don’t use too much at a time, it seems to be okay, but clearly something is wrong. I do a quick web search for places that will come out with the camera, like the plumber suggested.

Tomorrow, I think with a glance at the clock. It’s after dinner, now. And it’s Shabbat. I’ll do it tomorrow.

To my delight, which I keep tamped down so I don’t embarrass him, Eli consents to settling in for a movie with me. He picks some action flick with lots of guns and shooting and car chases, a sequel to a long-running franchise I haven’t seen before. I’m not entirely sure what’s supposed to be happening, but I don’t think the plot really matters. I take surreptitious glances at my son’s face, lit up in the glow from Ken’s enormous TV and with glee as he gets into whatever’s going on in the movie.

It’s a good night.

He seems happy.

His phone is what eventually pulls him away. A series of texts he answers with a chuckle or two. He doesn’t even look at me when he says, “I’m going up to bed. ’Night.”

A good mother doesn’t begrudge her child a social life, especially not after worrying for so many years that he’ll always be on the outside. She encourages whatever helps him grow and succeed. I’ve always wanted Eli to fit in. I wish Christian wasn’t the one offering my son all of this.

I wish he was offering it to me.

CHAPTER
21

“WOW, ARE THOSE tomatoes?” Lisa shades her eyes to look across the yard as she settles into the Adirondack chair on my back deck. “In October? It’s almost Halloween.”

When she found out Ken was out of town, she and Beth invited themselves over for what Lisa called an “adult playdate.” I thought this meant coffee, but the two of them showed up with their own bottles—yes, multiple—of wine.

“It’s been so warm,” I say with a shrug. “They’ll keep going until we get a frost.”

Beth sets her bottle on the side table. “I can’t grow a damn thing in my yard. The soil around here is so bad. What’s your secret? Never mind, Jewelann, you’re going to tell me you do something crunchy like compost, and I just don’t have the time for that.”