“I am a teenager. Who just lost decades of my life, so excuse me if I’m a little moody.” Oona rubbed the back of her neck. Her body ached like she’d slept on boulders, not on a high-end mattress.
“You haven’t lost decades, sweetie, your life has just been … rearranged.”
“You make me sound like living room furniture.”
Forming his hands into a T, Kenzie stepped between them. “I have an idea. How about less arguing and more birthday brunching? I made a reservation for you two at Applewood. Understated, but just fancy enough.”
“You’re not coming?” Trying to hide her disappointment, she covered with “Not that I’d expect you to. You should take today off.”
“Oh.” Warm surprise colored his cheeks. “I just thought you and your mother would want some time to…”
“Catch up on the last three decades?” The idea of which made Oona want to go back to bed. “I, um—I don’t think I’m up for a fancy brunch right now. Maybe some toast in my fancy kitchen instead?”
“Fancy kitchen toast, coming right up,” he said.
“It’s bad enough I kept you up late last night. I can make it. Or have Mom show me how to use whatever high-tech contraption toasts bread nowadays.”
The three went downstairs and, after checking to make sure Oona didn’t need anything else, Kenzie left, and the two women headed to the kitchen.
Madeleine took out a loaf of bread and some plates. “If it makes you feel any better, toasters haven’t really changed.”
“That makes me feel so much better. Makes up for everything.” It wasn’t intentional, this tendency toward sarcasm; Oona never understood how her mother triggered it so easily.
“So how are you … handling everything so far? Did you read the letter?”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t mean anything. I could be insane or have Alzheimer’s or…” She placed her hands on the kitchen island’s cold granite, overcome. Wake up, wake up, wake up.
But the stone was unyielding and her mother’s stroking the back of her head offered little comfort.
“Listen, sweetheart. I know this is going to be a tough year for you—you told me so yourself last week. But you can’t remain in denial.”
“This is denial? How do I know you and Kenzie aren’t trying to make me deny my true reality?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Maybe because…” The lump in her throat made it tough to dislodge the words. “Maybe soon I’ll forget all of this anyway. Maybe it doesn’t matter what you tell me, so you’re taking the safe route, trying to keep me from totally cracking up.”
Madeleine’s head jolted back. “Does that sound like something I would do? Take the safe route with you? If you recall, I’ve done everything to encourage you to take more risks. I’m the one who told you to give Dale a chance when you were uneasy about dating an aspiring musician. Who made you play hooky once in a while so we could go shopping. Who bought you clothes you said were too loud or too slutty.”
The toaster clicked; the bread popped up.
“True.” Oona thought on this for a moment. “That was pretty messed up. Why would you do that?”
“You were always a cautious kid, but after Charles died, you walked around like the world was made of eggshells. So scared of making a misstep—”
“I’m scared to go on boats. I think that’s understandable, seeing what happened to Dad.”
“It’s more than that. I wanted you to be open to taking risks now and again.”
“Oh, like the kind of risk that made you get a fake birth certificate to land your dream job at Pan Am only to lose it because you got knocked up at seventeen?” Her hand flew up to her mouth. “That was mean. I’m sorry.”
An eyebrow twitch and a smirk. “Apology accepted. Yes, my teenage daughter is back, all right.”
“I didn’t mean it. I’m just—I wish I could make sense of all this.” Oona closed her eyes and forced her brain to pluck a memory from the void of missing years. But no matter how much she strained to cast a light into the dark corners of her mind, the most recent time she could illuminate was the party at Dale’s. And, god, it was so vivid. The Christmas lights, the rough scales of her sequined dress, the astringent gel Dale used on his rockabilly pompadour, the whispery scratch of the Talk Talk record before the cascade of drum machines and synthesizers ushered in a string of hey-hey-heys. But when she opened her eyes, the scene before her was less vivid. The pale green kitchen, the cold counter, the smell of buttered toast, her mother calling her name.
“Oona, listen to me. Hard as it is to believe, you do still have your whole life ahead of you.”
The toast was brittle and scratched the roof of her mouth as she chewed. “How would you even know?”
“Because you’ve hinted at things. Fabulous things.” Madeleine’s inflated lips curved into an enigmatic smile.
“What things?”
“Why ruin the surprise? You have some hardships ahead of you, but you also have some marvelous experiences on the horizon, ones that would be robbed of their wonder if I told you.”
The plate screeched against the granite as Oona pushed it away. “Then just tell me the bad stuff, so I can avoid making the same mistakes again. Did I end up going to London? Was that a mistake? Tell me, so I can choose the band next time, if this insanity is even real and I ever go back to the eighties.”
Madeleine shook her head. “It doesn’t … you can’t. You’ve learned not to play with your fate. Apart from the stock market, but maybe it’s your fate to be wealthy. I’m sorry, Oona, but I have to respect your own wishes not to reveal your past or future.”
“Can you at least tell me about my tattoo?”
“I can’t.”
An invisible hand tightened around Oona’s throat. “Why do my earlier self’s wishes matter more than the me in front of you right now?”
“Because that you is wiser. She’s had more time to consider how to craft a meaningful life. And because you once told me something about my future that hurt me deeply. I vowed I’d never do that to you.” Her mother looked away. The dish trembled in her hand.
“I’m sure I didn’t mean it.” How strange, to feel contrite for something impossible to recall.
Madeleine rinsed off the plates. “It’s fine now.” She turned back around. “Now let’s take a break from finding order and do something a little wild.”
“We’re two old ladies, Mom. Both probably lacking in mental faculties.” Folding her arms across her chest, she shifted her weight to one leg, the pouty teenager pose at odds with her middle-aged body.
“Wrong on both counts. Now stop sulking and open your birthday present.” Her mother handed her a flat package, its wrapping paper covered with antique clocks.
“Nice touch on the wrapping. If I’d been attacked by a shark, would it have had a Jaws theme?” She tore into the thin cardboard box. Inside was a black fifties-style halter-top bathing suit. Beneath that was a folded paper, a printout confirming a two-week stay at the St. Regis Princeville Resort in Kauai.