But I told her what she deserved to understand.
And when I was done, I said, “I’m ready to hear everything you have to say. I’m ready to answer any questions at all. Let’s have a discussion about this.”
But all she did was shrug her shoulders. “I don’t care, Mom,” she said, sitting on her bed with her back against the wall. “I really don’t. You can love whoever. Marry anybody. You can make me live wherever. Go to whatever school you decide. I don’t care, OK? I just don’t care. All I want is to be left alone. So just . . . leave my room. Please. If you can do that, then the rest of it, I don’t care.”
I looked at her, stared right into her eyes and ached for her aching. With her blond hair and her face thinning out, I was starting to fear that she looked more like me than Harry. Sure, conventionally speaking, she would be more attractive if she looked like me. But she should look like Harry. The world should give us that.
“All right,” I said. “I will leave you alone for now.”
I got up. I gave her some space.
I packed up our things. I hired movers. I made plans with Celia and Robert.
Two days before we left New York, I walked into her bedroom and said, “I’ll give you your freedom in Aldiz. You can choose your own room. I’ll make sure you can come back here to visit some of your friends. I’ll do whatever I can to make life easier for you. But I need two things.”
“What?” she said. Her voice sounded disinterested, but she was looking at me. She was talking to me.
“Dinner together, every night.”
“Mom—”
“I’m giving you a lot of leeway here. A lot of trust. All I’m asking for is two things. One is dinner every night.”
“But—”
“It’s nonnegotiable. You only have three more years until you’re in college anyway. You can handle one meal a day.”
She looked away from me. “Fine. What’s the second?”
“You’re going to see a psychologist. At least for a little while. You’ve been through too much. We all have. You need to start talking to someone.”
When I had tried this before, months earlier, I was too weak with her. I let her tell me no. I wasn’t going to do that this time. I was stronger now. I could be a bette
r mother.
Maybe she could detect it in my voice, because she didn’t try to fight me. She just said, “OK, whatever.”
I hugged her and kissed the top of her head, and just when I was going to let go, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me back.
EVELYN’S EYES ARE WET. THEY have been for some time. She stands up and grabs a tissue from across the room.
She’s such a spectacular woman—by which I mean she, herself, is a spectacle. But she’s also deeply, deeply human. And it is simply impossible for me, in this moment, to remain objective. Against all journalistic integrity, I simply care about her too much not to be moved by her pain, not to feel for all she has felt.
“It must be so hard . . . what you’re doing, telling your story, with so much frankness. I just want you to know that I admire you for it.”
“Don’t say that,” Evelyn says. “OK? Just do me a favor, and don’t say anything like that. I know who I am. By tomorrow you will, too.”
“You keep saying that, but we’re all flawed. Do you really believe you’re past redemption?”
She ignores me. She looks out the window, without even looking at me.
“Evelyn,” I say. “Do you honestly—”
She cuts me off as she looks back at me. “You agreed not to press. We’ll be done soon enough. And you won’t be left wondering about anything.”
I look at her skeptically.
“Really,” she says. “This is one thing on which you can trust me.”