Either way, Whitney didn’t have it in her to stick to the script today. She was weary. Scared. If ever she needed a mother, it was now.

Clearing her throat, Whitney instinctively raised her chin. “I’m actually not that great, Mom.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Um...I don’t really know. Amelia went to a friend’s last night and hasn’t come back yet.”

“I see.” By her tone, Whitney knew what she was thinking.

Like mother, like daughter.

Whitney regretted opening her mouth. “But I’m sure she’s fine. Probably on her way home now,” she backtracked. Clearly, Amelia wasn’t with her mom, so it wasn’t like she could help. “Maybe it’s just a case of getting our wires crossed. A miscommunication.” She was rambling now. God, why did she always allow her mom to have this effect on her.

When she was younger, her mom would constantly criticize.

Be nicer to your brother.

Play with your brother.

Include your brother.

But when she’d give in, do what her mom wanted, her mom would nag at her.

Be careful with your brother.

Don’t be so rough with your brother.

Look what you did. You got your brother too excited.

There was no winning.

Whitney had often fantasized about being older. Wiser. More mature. And she’d longed for that time when she could stand her ground. Say her piece. Be herself. But now here she was, in her midforties and she was still kowtowing to her mom.

“Yes, that’s probably it. Amelia’s such a sweet girl,” her mom agreed. “I talked with her last week and she sounded like she was doing great. Just made a new friend, and she was really excited about visiting her dad in Amsterdam.”

“She told you she was going to visit her dad?”

“Yeah. Said she was just working on the paperwork for her passport.”

“There’s no way she could move forward with the passport. I never signed anything.”

“I think Dan was helping her with it,” her mom said. “He’s such a good dad.”

“Yeah.” Whitney was used to comments like this. Her mom always liked to remind her of the mistake she’d made letting Dan get away.

“Oh, Whitney,” her mom said. “Dad’s here. He wants to say hi a minute.”

“Hi, Whitney.” Her dad’s voice came on the line, a soothing balm. As a child, she loved when he sang to her or read her bedtime stories. There was nothing quite like her dad’s voice. It was smooth and rich, like one of those voice-over actors. “How is everything going?”

“It’s okay.”

“Why just okay?” His concerned tone caused her bottom lip to tremble.

“I don’t know. Just stuff isn’t great with Amelia. She’s been acting out a little. Being rebellious.”