Henry’s expression turned grave as he nodded. “I was hoping you would.”
Silence settled between them.
Her mom cleared her throat, forcing a smile to her lips. “Sweetheart, how’s everything at the firm? Have you made partner yet?”
Emma tasted acid on her tongue and made herself swallow. “No, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. It’ll work out,” Marie replied without looking up. “You remember what I always told you about obstacles and rising above them?”
Emma ran a hand over her face and looked at her mom. “It’s not the same, Mom. This isn’t some script for a movie or TV series. This is a bit more serious.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Her mother’s career had always been a sore topic in the house, and addressing that head-on wasn’t the Sullivan way.
Both her parents stiffened, but it was too late for Emma to take the comment back, no matter how much she wanted to.
Why had she blurted it out anyway?
She knew it wouldn’t do any good.
For years, Emma and her father had been forced to tiptoe and glide around the topic, knowing they were never going to understand Marie’s fascination and obsession with the glitz and glamour of acting. All through her childhood, Emma had watched her mother on screen—every curve of her lips and every forced laugh—and she’d wondered why her mother had bothered with a family at all.
For as long as she could remember, Emma had carried around the feeling that she had to play second fiddle, as if Marie’s role as a mother could take a back seat to everything else.
For a while, it almost had.
Even her father had borne the brunt of being married to a star from the seventies, the kind who used to get stopped and asked for autographs, but a part of Emma had clung to the hope that without her career, without the burden of caring for Emma, her parents would find their way back to each other again.
They hadn’t even looked at each other once since she’d arrived.
Had her departure been the final nail in the coffin of their marriage?
“Of course, it is,” Marie said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just thought it was important that you know you can do this.”
Emma let her hand fall to her side. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
Marie coughed and looked up at them with a half-smile. “Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. Why don’t you all go and sit in the living room? I’ll be done in a moment.”
Emma lingered, another apology on the tip of her tongue, one she knew she was never going to give.
At least Marie was trying.
It was a few years too late, but Emma had to give her credit.
Sighing, Emma trudged into the living room and lowered herself into an armchair opposite Jules, who was sitting in the middle of the couch, half-turned toward her grandpa. Henry’s form seemed even smaller against the large brown armchair, and his gaze kept flicking to the window and the dying light of the setting sun.
Emma found herself wondering how her father’s obsession with astronomy started—whether it had anything to do with not finding any solace or comfort in anything on the ground.
“…so, yeah, anyway, she’s this Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, and she’s going to guest lecture us for a month or so,” Jules continued, her voice climbing in excitement. “And we took part in this fundraiser for the sorority. It was a lot of fun getting to dress up for those kids.”
Henry’s dark eyes flicked over to Jules, and his gaze softened. “That sounds good.”
Jules nodded, head bobbing up and down. “It was. I’ve still got a year and a half left until I graduate, but it already feels too soon. There’s so much I need to do beforehand.”
Marie pushed the living room door open with her hip and came in, carrying a tray of cookies and a pitcher of apple cider. “There’s still plenty of time, dear. I wouldn’t worry too much. You should try to enjoy this phase of your life while you can. It’s not going to last forever.”
Emma stood to take the tray from her mom, but Marie looked right through her—as if she didn’t exist.
