I left the room and closed the door behind me.
I’ll deal with that mess later, I decided.
I shuffled down the dimly lit hallway. There was still no sign of Delaney.
I stopped in front of the bathroom and pressed my ear to the door. Water was running, and I could hear something else – the faint sound of Delaney humming while she took a shower. Ever since Delaney had started high school, she had started taking extra-long showers.
Her sweet, melancholic voice was indistinguishable from that of a child’s. For a moment, I could almost believe that on the other side of this door was my daughter, my old daughter, the one who splashed and sang, who squealed for me to jump in the tub and join her.
No, that daughter had been replaced with a new one – the daughter who locks every door and sneaks stashes of pot into her bedroom drawers…
I rapped softly on the door, but didn’t bother turning the knob – she always locked every single door behind her.
So secretive … but that’s the way of teenagers, isn’t it? There’s always some vulnerable, wounded part of themselves they feel like they have to tuck away and hide. The person they trust the most as a child becomes the last person on Earth they’d ever confide in…
The humming stopped for a split second, but then it started up again.
Ignoring me, as usual.
The tune she was humming sounded familiar.
Row, row, row your boat…
“Delaney.” I knocked again, harder this time. “You need to finish up. Samantha’s due here any minute. It’s rude to be in the shower when you know someone is on their way to pick you up…”
I didn’t wait for an answer because I knew there wouldn’t be one.
Truth was, I was less worried about Delaney’s rudeness than my discomfort with the idea of being stuck interacting with Sam while Delaney got her shit together.
I’d imagined this whole pick-up going more smoothly—Delaney standing by the front door with her backpack in hand and ready, the exchange between Sam and I polite, but brisk. Very brisk. Then I’d stand on the front porch and wave. “Have a good time, you two!” I imagined myself shouting, in that perfect, non-jealous way, that responsible co-parents do.
But that scenario wasn’t going to happen.
Michael nor Samantha had been to our house in a couple years; the drop-offs and pick-ups always facilitated by me, or Delaney’s friends. And I liked it that way—the last thing I needed was Michael’s judgement—his eyes scanning every square inch of our small modest home.
At least it’s Samantha coming, not him. But still … I don’t feel like I can trust her either. I always feel like I’m under a microscope, being judged.
It’s a strange feeling, being watched and overlooked at the same time…
My feet were achy from work, but I refrained from kicking off my dress flats; instead, I got busy washing the sticky mugs from this morning, and I hauled the garbage out to the dumpster in the alley out back.
By the time my lovely daughter emerged from the bathroom, the kitchen was neat and organized, and I was working the vacuum back and forth over the carpet in the living room, humming a mindless tune of my own.
Samantha was late, which surprised me a little, but also came as a relief.
The house is looking pretty good now, if I must say so myself…
But when I looked up and saw my daughter’s face, my insides turned cold. Delaney was gripping her cell phone in her hand, shaking like a leaf.
I kicked the vacuum off with my right foot and pulled the cord from the wall.
“What’s going on?”
Delaney was wearing skin-tight maroon leggings with a stretchy black blouse. I’d never seen the outfit before – undoubtedly, a new gift from her father or stepmom. My daughter was painfully pretty, in that way all young people are, skin soft and youthful like putty. Her body and face undamaged by motherhood, or time. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but even after fifteen years, the depth of my daughter’s beauty always knocked me off guard.
People say we look alike, but I don’t see it.
And she was wearing makeup, something new – a silky slip of gloss on her lips, reddish-brown shadow a strange contrast with her navy-blue eyes. However, her long black hair was still tangled and damp from the shower.
Something was wrong; there was a milky-white shade to her skin, and she was gnawing on her bottom lip, the way she used to do when she was young…
“Well, what is it? What’s wrong?” I tried to suppress my annoyance. Another thing about Delaney since becoming a teenager: she was dramatic as hell and getting an answer out of her was like pulling teeth with a pair of chopsticks.
“It’s Sam. There … well, there’s been an accident.”
And just like that, Delaney’s woman-like façade crumbled completely. Her nose wrinkled up and she reached for me, falling into my chest. I held her there, shock rolling through me.
Delaney was sobbing, her body rocking back and forth into mine.
“Oh my gosh. What kind of accident?” I whispered.
I rubbed her back in slow circles, soothing her at my breast, just as I had done when she was young and needed me. But this felt different, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held her.
It’s been years, I realized sullenly.
As I hugged her, I could feel her bones through her skin, no more baby fat. Overnight, she’d become sharp angles and blunt curves … a total stranger to me.
When did she lose weight? And why haven’t I noticed before now?
Delaney still hadn’t answered. I felt desperate to know, but my heart ached as she shook and cried in my arms.
Could my husband’s new wife be … dead?
For a brief moment, I considered how that would make me feel, really feel. Sure, I resented Samantha, but dead?
No, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. Especially not someone my
