“I am,” I said. “I’ve been studying my words and taking practice tests online.”

Another glance out the window. Then she said, “You’ve also been spending nights out with your friend Christine—”

“Kristy,” I said.

“—as well as a bunch of other new friends I haven’t met and don’t know.” She looked down at her hands, folding and unfolding them in her lap. “And then I hear this about you and Jason. I just wonder why you didn’t feel like you could tell me about that.”

“It’s just a break,” I said, “and besides, Jason doesn’t have anything to do with my goals. They’re totally separate things.”

“Are they, though?” she asked. “When you were with Jason, you were home more. Studying more. Now I hardly see you, and I can’t help but wonder if the two are connected somehow.”

I couldn’t argue with that. In the last few weeks, I had changed. But in my mind, those changes had been for the better: I was finally getting over things, stepping out of the careful box I’d drawn around myself all those months ago. It was a good thing, I thought. Until now.

“Macy,” she said, her voice softening. “All I’m saying is that I want to be sure your priorities are straight. You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I don’t want you to lose that.”

Again, I could agree with this. But while for her it meant how I’d pushed myself to be perfect, gotten good grades, scored the smart boyfriend, and recovered from my loss to be composed, together, fine just fine, for me, it worked in reverse. I’d been through so much, falling short again and again, and only recently had found a place where who I was, right now, was enough.

This was always the problem with my mother and me, I suddenly realized. There were so many things we thought we agreed on, but anything can have two meanings. Like sides of a coin, it just matters how it falls.

“I don’t want that either,” I said.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page. That’s all I wanted to be sure of.” She smiled, then squeezed my hand as she stood up, our accepted sign of affection. As she started toward her office, I headed for the stairs and my room. I was halfway there when she called after me.

“Honey?”

I turned around. She was standing at her office door, her hand on the knob. “Yes?”

“I just want you to know,” she said, “that you can talk to me about things. Like Jason. I want you to feel like you can share things with me. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

As I climbed the stairs, I knew that my mother had already moved on to the next challenge, this issue now filed under Resolved. But for me, it wasn’t that simple. Of course she’d think I could tell her anything: she was my mother. In truth, though, I couldn’t. I’d been wanting to talk to her for over a year about what was bothering me. I’d wanted to reach out to her, hold her close, tell her I was worried about her, but I couldn’t do that either. So it was just a formality, what we’d just agreed on, a contract I’d signed without reading the fine print. But I knew what it said. That I could be imperfect, but only so much. Human, but only within limits. And honest, to her or to myself, never.

When I got to my room, I found a shopping bag sitting in the center of my bed with a note propped up against it. I recognized the loopy, flowing script even from a distance: Caroline.

Hi Macy,

Sorry I missed you. I’ll be back in a couple of days, hopefully with a good progress report of the renovation. I forgot when I was here last time to drop this off for you. I found it in the bedroom closet of the beach house the last time I was there, when I was cleaning stuff out. I’m not sure what it is (didn’t want to open it) but I thought you should have it. I’ll see you soon.

It was signed with a row of Xs and Os, as well as a smiley face. I sat down on the bed next to the bag, opening the top. I took one glance, then shut it, quick.

Oh, God, I thought.

In that one glimpse, I’d seen two things. Wrapping paper— gold, with some pattern—and a white card with my name written on it. In another hand I recognized, would know anywhere. My dad’s.

More to come, the card he’d given me that Christmas Day, the last day I’d had with him, had said. Soon. So my missing present wasn’t an EZ gift after all, but this.

I reached to open the bag, then stopped myself. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t unwrap it now, I realized, because no matter what it was, it would disappoint me. All this time it wasn’t a gift I’d wanted: it was a sign. So maybe it was best to let this, of all things, have endless potential.

I pulled my chair over to the closet, took the bag, and pushed it up and over next to the box with the EZ products. Whatever it was, it had waited a long time to find me. A little bit longer wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

Chapter Twelve

“Whose turn is it to ask?”

“Yours,” Wes said to me.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, cranking the van’s engine. “Go ahead.”

I sat back in my seat, tucking one foot underneath me as we pulled out of Delia’s driveway and started down Sweetbud Road. We’d won the toss, which meant we got to go wash the van, while Bert and Kristy were stuck making crab cakes. “Okay,” I said, “what’s your biggest fear?”

As always, he took a second to think about his answer. “Clowns,” he said.