Still, it was the third hushed call this month.
Earlier that week, I’d walked into the kitchen, and she’d slid a manila folder off the table and into her backpack in one smooth motion, as if she’d practiced it.
When I asked, she just said, “School stuff.”
I let it go. I always let it go.
She’d slid a manila folder off the table.
***
Mark had noticed I looked wrung out at work lately.
I’d told him, over coffee in my kitchen once, that I was burning out. That I didn’t know how much longer I could keep cutting people open at 2 a.m.
Lily had been in her bedroom that afternoon, close enough to hear.
I hadn’t thought about it since.
I looked wrung out at work.
***
Lily was in the middle of a circle of her friends that we’d invited over, laughing at something Rachel had said, her hair catching the late afternoon light. I stood by the grill flipping burgers, and for a second, I just watched her.
My kid was growing up fast.
I heard a knock at the front . I set the spatula down and walked through the house, expecting a late guest or a delivery driver. When I opened the door, the porch was empty.
I just watched her.
There was just a small white box sitting on the mat. A cream-colored card was tucked under the ribbon.
I picked it up and read the card twice.
“It’s time you found out that your daughter has been hiding something terrible from you.”
My first thought was that some kid from her school was pulling a prank.
High school drama, jealousy, whatever. I almost tossed it into the trash right there.
I picked it up and read the card twice.
But my hands wouldn’t let me.
I carried the box down the hall, past the sound of Lily’s laughter, and shut my bedroom door behind me.
