The Overdue Life of Amy Byler by Kelly Harms

Author:Kelly Harms [Harms, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary
ISBN: 9781542040570
Google: pzZ7uwEACAAJ
Amazon: 1542040574
Barnesnoble: 1542040574
Goodreads: 41723457
Publisher: Amazon Publishing
Published: 2019-04-30T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Dear Mom,

Dad told us what he asked you.

He said you are thinking it over.

Are you really? I wish I knew.

Love,

Your daughter who actually does kind of want to work at the pool and go to diving camp but is trying not to sell you out, Cori

—

I don’t answer the phone the rest of that day except for a few texts from Cori and my daily call from Joe. As subtly as I can, I try to sound them out about how they feel about the summer plans. I try desperately not to give away how opposed I am to the very idea. How threatened. I think about John staring down Cori’s beau, then spending hours with Joe and his new drone. Diving camp. Space Camp. How much John has to offer my children. How little he has to offer me.

I skip Matt’s schedule of aerial yoga, Chelsea Market lunch, museum tour, and oxygen therapy for no reason other than to spite myself and avoid talking to anyone. I’m hurting, but since the reason I’m hurting is because I feel at once replaced and rejected by John, I tell myself I don’t know why I’m upset. Therefore I am not allowed to be upset. Therefore I hide. When Talia comes home around eight to fetch me, I tell her I’m in for the night.

Talia seems out of sorts as well. She is disappointed in me; that much is clear. I am sure in college I seemed tougher. Made of stronger stuff. Maybe I was tougher—I don’t know. But something else is wrong with her too. I feel around for it over takeout but get nowhere. Around nine thirty, she gets a call and tells me she’s going back to work. A car picks her up ten minutes later, and I am alone for the rest of the night. I finish the thriller. I drink a glass of red wine. I go to bed.

Thursday starts the same. Bagel, coffee, book. I’m getting the week I wanted after all, and my friends were right—it’s lame. A couple of calls come in from Pure Beautiful, and I let them go to voice mail. Cori sends me a selfie in this year’s swim cap, which is gold and has wings on it. She is sticking out her tongue, and the caption reads, “The face of a winner.” So I send her a picture of a dachshund wearing a top hat and type, “The face of a wiener.” Then she sends back a collection of emoji that surely means something to her, and I send back the shrugging-mom emoji, and we leave it at that. The interaction is shaping up to be the highlight of my day when Talia calls me from her cell phone. Seventeen times in a row. I pick up on call eighteen.

“You get your butt in here,” is what she says to me when I do.

“I don’t wanna,” I tell her.

“Matt’s up my ass. Get in here; do an after pic. He can do filler for the rest of the piece.

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