November 4, Wednesday

The kids were on the back patio this time, sharing the wrought-iron loveseat I'd bought at an estate sale years ago. The sky behind them had the flat gray of early dusk, and Lily was wearing my old fleece, the purple one with the busted zipper.

"Hi, you two. How's school?"

"Fine," they chorused and didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"How's everything at the house?"

Lily pulled the fleece tighter. "Heidi labeled the refrigerator shelves. With a label maker. One shelf says HEIDI ONLY. It's all kombucha and those little cups of chia pudding." She leaned closer to the camera. "And she does yoga in the living room at six in the morning with music that sounds like whales getting a massage."

"That sounds…" I searched for something generous. "Peaceful."

"It's psychotic."

I cast about for another subject. "What about April and Liv? Have they come around?"

Lily's mouth pinched. "They sat with Ariana at lunch. Again. Liv posted a picture of the three of them at Sonic, and the caption was a heart emoji." She shrugged hard, both shoulders. "Whatever. I eat in the library now. Ms. Pruett lets me."

My chest ached. I'd eaten plenty of lunches alone at sixteen. I didn't want that for Lily.

"Josh? How's the statement for Friday coming?"

He was huddled at the far end of the loveseat, knees drawn up, hood pulled so far forward that his face sat deep in shadow. He'd shredded the cuffs of his sweatshirt. He kept twisting a loose thread around his finger until the tip went white.

"It's done," he said quietly.

"Can I hear it?"

"Dad said it was fine." His knee had started bouncing. He looked toward the side yard, toward the street, then back. Then at the street again.

"Josh, is something out there?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because you keep—"

"There's nothing, Mom." Lily said it for him, sharply, like closing a door against a draft. "He's fine."

I tried another way in.

"I want to say something, and I want you both to really hear it." I smiled. "Look at what you've done these last few weeks. Lily, you pulled up your chemistry grade. You made that list and got your dad to act on it. Josh, you've been taking care of Tucker every single day, and you wrote a statement for a hearing, which is something most adults would be scared to do. You two can do hard things. You're doing them right now, without me."

"That's kind of the point," Lily said.

"What is?"

"Without you." She said it calmly, and the calm was worse than shouting would have been. "You keep saying it like it's a compliment."

Josh pulled the drawstrings of his hood until it closed around his face, leaving only a small circle of nose and mouth. Behind him, Tucker nosed at the patio door and whined to be let in.

"I'm proud of you," I said. "That's all I meant."

"Okay," Lily said.

"Okay," Josh echoed from inside the hood.

The same word, the same flat tone. As if they'd rehearsed it.

"Bye, Mom." Lily reached for the laptop, and Josh leaned his shoulder against hers as she did. The two of them were tucked together on the loveseat, a united front, and I was on the other side.

The connection cut off.

I'd spent two months praying my children would learn to lean on each other and they had.

So why did I feel so alienated?  ~

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