“As if that would work,” I shout.
“What is this letter thing you keep talking about?” my father asks, interrupting.
I explain quickly about the letters I sent, and the reaction they’ve, evidently, elicited. I return to my mom. “They’re not random women,” I point out. “You had me lie to them. You made me lie to Catey’s mom and to Mrs. Steigler and to Mrs. Lipshitz, who, incidentally, is a very nice woman. And to Bailey. And now to Amanda. It never ends, Mom. It never ever ends,” I say, and I feel like I’m trying to tear down bricks with my bare hands, peeling away at the mortar with my fingernails. But I’m hardly making a dent.
“Darling, you act as if I have a drug problem. Or a drinking problem, God forbid, like poor Hayes’s mother. Do you realize she died young? She was only forty-six. She basically drank herself to death. That’s a real problem.” She shakes her head, like the memory of his mother’s final days is too much to bear. “I went to her memorial service. It was so sad to see a beautiful life cut short like that.”
I turn to my father, waiting for him, expecting him to pounce on this opening and say something about Noah Hayes and me. He keeps his mouth shut, very purposefully, pressing his lips together. He nods at me, and in this small gesture I know he’s not going to tell her, that she doesn’t need to know, and that he is on my side. I want to thank him again. To hug him again.
I look back at my mom, calling on my reserves. This is my chance to tell her my truth. To speak from my heart about everything that hurts. “What you did is not nothing. I hated lying for you and I hated lying to dad and I hated lying to my friends. And now you’re after Amanda’s dad. Please just leave him alone,” I say as my voice breaks, and I cover my face with my hands. I’m going to cry again, because I’m so sick of this, so tired of her, and I want to have one friendship she can’t touch.
She walks over to me, wraps her arms around me, like my dad did earlier. This is it, this is the moment when she says she’s sorry, when she apologizes for all she’s done. She is going to join me in crying, she is going to admit she’s messed up, she’s going to promise to change.
“You’ve always been so deeply affected by things, my dear,” she says, and I pull her close, because she’s my mom, and I hate her, but I love her. She has taken care of me, and she has loved me, and done right by me, and now she is doing what she’s supposed to be doing, she’s being a mom. She pets my hair, and I feel safe again, and I know she cares more about me than she does about them. “But truly, really and truly, I assure you, there is nothing going on with your friend’s father.”
I yank myself away from her and smash my palms against my cheeks to wipe away the tears. “You are lying.” I push my hands in my hair and tug tightly against my scalp. “God! How can Noah stand to work with you?”
When my mom arches an expertly plucked raven-colored eyebrow, I realize I’ve made a fatal mistake.
“Noah?”
“Hayes, I mean,” but I played my hand, and I can’t backpedal into bluffing. My face is flaming red, and I can’t look at anything but my shoes.
“Why would you call him Noah?” she asks, curiosity dripping from her tone.
“I meant Hayes,” I mumble.
“But yet, you said Noah. Nobody calls him Noah. He is Hayes to everyone, including me. I didn’t think you even knew his first name.”
I say nothing.
“It’s curious,” she says, and returns to her cranberry couch, sinks down into it, her power position, swirling her wineglass. “Because, I’ve noticed that Noah seems a bit distracted these last few days. I wonder if it could be”—she waves a hand through the air, then laughs—“but that’s silly. He wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. I trust you’d know better. Am I right, Kennedy?”
My dad places his hands on my shoulders. “Good night, Jewel. We’re leaving.”
“Oh no you’re not. You crashed my party. And now, I find out our daughter calls my agent—my best friend—Noah. I don’t think anyone is leaving. I think we’re all sitting down and having a chat about this.” She pats the spot on the couch next to her, and I want to smack her, I want to slash her like I did to the Keeland Prep defender on the field, to ram my elbow into her gut and make her double over, tripping in her stupid red-soled shoes.
“Let it go, Jewel,” my father says. “Let it go. So she slipped up. So she called him Noah. I call him Noah. She spends half her time with me. I’m sure it rubbed off on her.”
“There’s only one way to know for sure how you’ve rubbed off on her, Eric,” my mother says as she reaches for her phone and stabs her fingers against the keypad.
She waits while it rings. He must answer quickly, because she’s now saying “Noah” into the phone, drawing it out like it’s ten or twenty syllables, and she’s savoring every one.
I don’t hear his end of the conversation. I don’t have to.
Because the next thing she says is, “I’ve met your new girlfriend and she’s quite lovely. I have the feeling though that I’ve known her for a long time.”
Noah
I’ve been preparing for this moment for more than a year. Anticipating it on every level. But even as it arrives, I’m knocked in the stomach and I deserve what’s coming because I certainly don’t deserve Jewel’s loyalty. I’ve violated her trust. I’ve taken something that wasn’t mine to touch. I’ve lied to my most valuable client, and to my friend.