“She told you that? She told you that she couldn’t get over it?”
“Yes. She told me that she could never accept this and that you had a choice to make.”
“A choice? You mean, like an ultimatum?” I said.
“Yes. A choice. And it’s simple. You can date Clive,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Or you can remain her friend. One or the other. Not both.” She raised her hands in the air, as if surrendering, and said, “Hey. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Mom, that expression only works when you’re merely delivering a message—not taking sides.”
“I’m not on her side. I’m on the side of right. This isn’t right. It can’t work. You’d be Lucy’s stepmother! Your children would be Lucy’s half siblings!”
“Who said anything about having children? I don’t think I even know if I want children,” I said.
“Don’t be silly. Of course you want children,” she said. “If you can’t think of Lucy, think of yourself. Your own future.”
“Mom. I’ve been telling you virtually my whole life. I don’t want the same things you want. I’m not you. Do you ever listen to me?” Then I hit her where it really hurt. “Dad understands,” I said.
“You told him about this? When?”
“When he was down here. The day after Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, that’s rich. And I’m sure he supported you one hundred percent, didn’t he? I can just hear him. ‘Do whatever makes you happy—no matter how much it hurts anyone else!’ Like father, like daughter, I guess.”
I felt slapped, stung by the comparison, but found myself wondering if it wasn’t altogether unfair. Maybe my father and I were alike. Or maybe my mother was just a huge hypocrite. After all, hadn’t she stolen my dad from Astrid and Bronwyn to begin with, rationalizing that it was over between them anyway? That she had nothing to do with their breakup? In the end, didn’t everyone in the world at some point delude themselves in their own insular narrative?
“Well,” I said. “At least Dad owns up to his mistakes … At least he sees clearly the choices he’s made while you’re still blaming him for what’s wrong with your life. All these years later. Still stuck in the mid-eighties with your wounded damsel routine.”
She stared at me, her lips pursed, like an old Hollywood actress, probably a look she’d cultivated from watching too many TCM movies. “You have a lot of nerve, Shea,” she said when she finally spoke. Her voice was flat, sad, and devoid of any melodrama. “Your best friend lost her mother. And you go after her father before the one-year anniversary of her death?”
“I didn’t go after him. It wasn’t like that,” I said, staring at my feet, thinking of Coach and Ryan and Tish.
“It’s disloyal, Shea. That’s the bottom line. Even if you’re madly in love with the man, it’s still disloyal to Lucy. Especially after everything she and Connie did for you over the years. They gave you a happy childhood.” Her voice cracked. “Do you realize that? Do you realize how much we both owe them?”
I didn’t answer her question, just turned and walked out the door, a pit in my stomach. Because I knew she was right about that much. And because, of all the things in the world she could have said to me, calling me disloyal hurt the most.
When I got to work about an hour later, I bypassed my cubicle and headed straight to Smiley’s office. “Do you have a minute?” I asked him, popping my head in his half-opened door.
“I have exactly six,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Unless you start to bore me. Then it’s three.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking that my future, at least the professional part of it, was going to be decided in the next three to six minutes.
I walked the whole way into his office and closed the door, but didn’t take a seat. “I don’t think I can work here anymore. At least not on this beat,” I said, forcing the words out before I changed my mind.
“What?” Smiley said. “Is this a joke? Are you going to ESPN?”
“No. I just can’t be objective,” I said, relieved to make the confession. I wasn’t sure if I could sacrifice my best friend for love, but my job was another story. “I can’t be objective about this investigation. Which I think is a total bullshit fishing expedition, by the way. I can’t be objective about Walker football. And I definitely can’t be objective about Coach Carr.”
Smiley dropped his forehead to his palm, closed his eyes with exasperation, then, after taking a few seconds to gather himself, said, “Because you attended the university?”