“When you found out what I did, I was scared you hated me. I thought you might even find my father and give me to him.”

Mom laughs. “Never, never, never. Not in a million years. I don’t know where your father is, and I don’t care.”

“I wish Greg was my father,” I blurt. “If you married him, he would be.”

“Oh, Abbi, I love Greg. Maybe I’ll marry him, maybe I won’t. He’s a great guy, but marriage is a huge commitment.”

Maybe, maybe, I think. At least she didn’t say never in a million years.

“You and Ms. Freeman,” I say. “She doesn’t want to get married either.”

“Nikki has lots of issues from her first marriage,” Mom says.

“So does Skylar. One reason she doesn’t want to see Mr. Boyce is because he cheated on his wife, just like her dad. I don’t think she’ll ever stop being mad at her father.”

Mom sighs. “Nikki is very bitter. I told her once that she should consider family counseling, but that made her so mad I thought our friendship was over.”

“Skylar must be more like her mom than she thinks.”

Mom laughs. “It sounds like it.”

After lunch, Mom and I pass a jewelry store advertising ear piercing.

“‘Done by a certified nurse under sterile conditions,’” Mom reads. “I’ve always wanted pierced ears. How about you? Your friend in the Gap had the cutest little hoops in her ears. What do you say? A mother-daughter memory!”

I’m almost too amazed to say anything. Skylar and I have often talked about getting our ears pierced, but we were sure our mothers would say no. Now here is my mother, so much more uptight than Ms. Freeman, offering me the chance.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes!”

We leave the mall with little silver studs in our ears. We plan to get matching hoops in a couple of weeks.

It’s the best day we’ve had together for a long time.

15

On Sunday afternoon Mom and Greg and I go to the memorial service. It’s one of the few days in August when the air is cool and the humidity low. In some places, this would be a sign that fall’s coming, but here in Maryland I know hot weather is around the next corner, waiting to jump out and send the temperature roaring into the nineties again.

At the Nature Conservancy, Greg drives up a long, straight graveled road. He looks at the fields stretching out on either side of us. Groves of trees, an old barn, picnic tables in the shade.

“What a pretty place,” he says. “I’ve never noticed it before. Never even heard of it. Do people get married here?”

He laughs like it’s a joke, but from the back seat I see Mom’s ears turn red. I hold the idea close and cross my fingers.