Linda glares at her son. “Aha.”

In the tense quiet that follows, Zoe doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She just fades away into the background.

“So what’s up with your mother?” Linda says abruptly.

I try smiling this time. “Nothing is up with my mother.”

“That’s nice to hear, but we both know that’s not true. I’ve been sitting here for weeks in my house thumbing magazines and wondering what I could have done at the funeral to have Chrissie treat me this way. Like, if she was going to tell me that she never wanted to see me again or simply continue to ignore me. She lives a mile from me and pretends I’m not even here. So when I ask you what’s wrong, don’t flash your smile or give me the black stare and pretend I’m imagining things. I get enough of that from Len these days.”

“I was simply explaining that my mom is OK.”

Linda’s eyes flash. “OK? You keep saying that. Why does it sound insincere?”

“I don’t know that it does. It’s the truth.”

“I saw Chrissie today,” Bobby says. “She looked fine to me.”

Linda glares at Bobby. “Right, thank you. That’s nice reassurance. I guess.”

“Everything is not about you, Mom.”

“Right! Thank you again.”

There is something so uncomplicated in the way mother and son fight that I allow myself a moment to feel mildly jealous of the Rowans. There is nothing uncomplicated about my relationship with my parents.

I study them. Fuck, how do I defuse this? Confessing Chrissie’s latest fuck-up to Bobby is one thing. Telling Linda Rowan is another. No way will Linda stay out of this clusterfuck if she knows the truth. She would tell Alan. And that would unleash a total shitstorm on Chrissie.

I’m pissed at my mom, but I don’t want that.

“Mom is sort of stuck in limbo right now,” I explain, cautiously. “It’s just the move and getting organized again. I’m sure she’ll call you when she’s ready to. She’s not angry with you. She’s not angry with anyone. Just sort of stuck in limbo.”

“Limbo. Aha.” Linda gives me another penetrating stare then holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

I tense. “What?”

She shakes her hand in front of me. “She won’t answer my calls, but I know she’ll answer yours so give me your phone or start being honest here.”

“Fine.” I fish in my pocket and toss her the phone. “Dial away if you think it will get you anywhere.”

I cross my arms, wishing I could take this one back. It is the second uncool thing I’ve done to Chrissie today. I watch as Linda clicks on the phone and searches through my contacts.

Injecting Linda into the mix is like tossing a Molotov cocktail into Chrissie’s carefully constructed world. Still, if it gets us out of being stuck in limbo—and that’s where we are in Chrissie’s universe—then more power to Linda.

Still, I’m surprised that I have to squeeze my eyes shut and lean back into the soft cushions of the chair to keep from starting to cry. It is in this moment that I become fully aware of how internally chaotic I’ve been since Khloe’s birth and how tense I’ve been made by the forced secrecy and all the trauma of the past year. I hadn’t realized how bad it was until today. But I feel it now in my limbs and how hard I have to fight against the tears.

“It’s going to be OK, Kaley,” I hear Linda say.

When I open my eyes she has the phone to her ear. I start to remember things about Linda from when I was little. She always frightened the shit out of me as a child, but just then in her voice she sounded older, more soothing and motherly.

“Am I allowed to ask if all is well with you?” Linda demands, without preamble, into the phone.

Shit. I can hear my mother’s voice rapidly streaming through the phone, but I can’t make out the words. I can only imagine the conversation on the other end and how pissed off this is making my mother.

Linda can hardly get a word in—it is completely unlike Chrissie to control any conversation—and in between the steady stream of ‘aha, aha, aha, oh shit,’ then ‘aha’ Linda seems to collapse back into her chair and says, “Oh fuck.”

My stomach turns. That oh fuck confirms that my mom, for whatever reason, just told Linda everything that’s happened since my stepfather’s death.

After another ten minutes, it looks like Linda has decided she’s had enough of listening to my mom.

“You are fucking this up the most you can,” she says fiercely into the cell. “I hope you know that. No. No. Kaley is fine. Sitting right here. And no you can’t talk to her. She is very upset. That’s why I called you. One look at her told me something fucked-up was going on with you. Damn, we’ve been friends forever, Chrissie. How could you have a baby and not call me? Move here and not see me? I’m hurt. Really hurt. Why did you shut me out, dear?”

That is followed by more ‘ahas’ and Linda reaching for her iPad. She starts clicking the screen until she reaches her calendar.

“Of course, Chrissie. Of course. You’ve always been able to trust me. No, I won’t say a word. OK. Good, good, good. Yes, I’m free on Friday. I’ve missed you. I can’t wait to see the baby. But I can’t believe you didn’t trust me with this.”

Linda clicks off the phone and hands it back to me. “You’re a very good daughter.”

For some strange reason that’s enough to make the tears give way. “No, I’m not. I’m a real bitch these days.”

Linda smiles sympathetically. “All teenage girls are. The problem is when we don’t outgrow it. Or worse, when we don’t know that we are. And Lord knows you have had more than your share of shit to wade through this year.”

I stiffen and cross my arms. “Meaning?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Meaning we’re all family here. There is nothing you could tell me about your mother that would come as a surprise to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Family I’ve only seen once, at a funeral, in ten years. When Mom broke up with Alan, you left us. Remember?”

“Damn, you’re just like him.” Linda gives a frustrated sigh. “You used to be such a sweet girl. Now you’re doing your best to be intolerable. It won’t help, but I understand it. Get a hold over it before you do something stupid with all that hostility.”

A silence of injury befalls me. Linda seems not to read it well. Bobby sees it at once.

“We’re out of here, Mom.”

Linda smiles and fixes her eyes on me again. “Are you staying for dinner?”

I don’t know what to say. My emotions are stuck in a different gear, but events here seem to roll in an effortless flow from the bizarre back to completely normal again.

“I’ll text you from the pool house once I know,” Bobby says.

He takes my hand and pulls me with him out the back door, past the pool and into the small cottage there. Inside, I note personalized posters on the wall, a guy’s type of bed, a big screen TV with video games, guitars, and dirty clothes scattering the floor. Messy, but personal. His room.

“You sleep in the pool house?”

Bobby shrugs. “They moved me out here at fifteen. I guess they thought it would be easier to sneak girls in here and I think my dad wanted to silently motivate the activity.”

I collapse back on Bobby’s unmade bed. It smells of guy and sweat. I find the combination appealing.

I roll over onto my side to look at him, curled in the center of his bed, cheek resting in palm. “Why motivation at fifteen? And why do they think you’re gay?”

He shrugs. “I don’t date, OK?”

Zoe is at the small apartment-size fridge rummaging through the cans. “He,” she says with a lift of her nose, “is selective. You’ve seen the girls at school. Snobs. Phonies. Freaks. Who would want to date them?”

“We’re girls from the Academy,” I point out. I look at Bobby. “So what’s wrong with us?”

“Nothing, as far as I can tell, but it’s early. And grab me a beer while you’re in there, Zoe.” He looks at me. “Do you want something to drink?”