Madeleine’s surgically paralyzed brow could betray no distress, but her eyes still conveyed bewilderment. “After all these years, I still can’t get used to it. Sometimes you come to me as a child in an older body—”
“I’d hardly call twenty-one a child.”
“—and other times you’re this wizened soul, young on the outside but even older on the inside than I am.”
“Mom, you’re dripping paint on the floor.”
“I can’t imagine how trying it is for you, but it wears on me, too. I don’t know how to be a mother to you sometimes. You were rarely a willful teenager, so to see you behaving like one in the body of a grown woman…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to make of it. I know…” Her voice caught in her throat. “I know there are certain things I’m supposed to forgive because of your circumstances, but sometimes…”
“You don’t want to?” Oona took the paint roller from her mother’s hand and placed it in the pan.
“I want to. But sometimes I feel like I can’t.” Madeleine sat on the edge of the bed, the plastic tarp rustling beneath her. She covered her eyes, inhaled through her nose. Unlike her daughter, she didn’t cry easily.
Unsure, Oona remained standing, a stranger in her mother’s home. “Tell me what we fought about.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Maybe if you tell me, I’ll be able to prevent it from happening in 2003.”
“Your future is my past. I can barely get my head around it.” A mirthless, machine-gun chuckle. “No, my dear. Your life shouldn’t be about trying to prevent mistakes. Make mistakes, but learn from them and live with them.”
A black, hissing voice in her head: How many mistakes can you live with? A mist of regret crept into her. She took in small gulps of air, released tears and more tears.
“Come sit beside me.” More rustling as Oona joined her. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
“I. Wonder.” Staccato words through jagged bursts of air. “I. Wonder. If.” A hard swallow to quell the sobbing. “I wonder if I ever get things right.”
“Do any of us? We all do our best. And even with your time travel, you still live through each year only once. You don’t get any redos.”
“But what if I could do better? What if avoiding last year’s fight makes this year better?”
Madeleine took a moment before answering. “There’s no telling whether it would change much. Maybe that fight needed to happen.” A downcast turn of her mouth, but Oona nodded. “Another thing to consider—even if you could prevent it and ended up changing your future, you wouldn’t know how because you already lived through that year. And if you start going on about alternate timelines again, it’ll give me a headache, so please let’s not go down that road. Make your life more about letting in the good things than preventing the bad things. You’re not going to stop any wars or stave off any big tragedies. You’re not Sarah Connor, and the Terminator is now governor of California. You … you do good by being a good person, making others happy. Embrace that.”
“Do I make Edward happy?”
“You do.”
How? “And does he make me happy?”
“Yes, I think so.” Madeleine took the tone of a witness on the stand, measuring out her answers.
Recalling 2003 Oona’s warning, she pressed on. “Are you sure?” Trepidation trailed like ivy up her spine.
Madeleine looked at her daughter, unblinking. “I think you make each other happy. The rest of it is none of my business.”
They were back on solid footing, but still skirting the ice. Better not to risk another fracture. Oona walked over to the pan of paint, picked up the roller, and began zigzagging swaths of teal across the nearest wall.
“How is everything with Edward?” her mother asked.
Now that Oona had an opening to voice her marriage concerns, she was more reluctant to do so. “I mean, it’s weird having someone around the house. It’s not like it was with…” Kenzie. Perhaps because they’d had more time to develop a friendship. Oona was lucky if she saw Edward an hour or two a day with his hectic schedule. “I mean, it’s not like it was when I lived on my own and didn’t have this other person I’m legally tied to. But I’m getting the hang of it.” Was she? “At first I was worried it was gonna be a repeat of the Crosby situation, where I felt like I had to pretend to be someone else. But I don’t have to pretend with Edward.” A lie, but sometimes pretending was better than being alone. “It’s such a relief.” It wasn’t. But at least the sex was good.
“Careful, Oona, the paint is dripping. You’re laying it on a little thick.”
Oona gave her mother a look: Really?
“The paint. I swear I’m only talking about the paint. Use less on the roller so it coats evenly.” She got up and demonstrated on a second roller. “You mentioned you don’t get to see much of Edward?”
“Oh, that’s only because he’s so busy getting Clary’s Pub ready for the grand opening. I’m sure things will calm down once it’s up and running.” Of course, Oona was sure of no such thing, but she wanted to believe it and to see Edward’s dream come to fruition. But it had been easier when she and Dale had their band and shared a common dream. Everything had been easier with Dale.
They worked in silence for the next few minutes, the only sound the sticky slap of paint rolled onto the walls, as if the color was resisting its new home.
Oona spoke first. “Is it terrible that I still wonder if anyone will ever measure up to Dale?”
“It’s not terrible. But it’s … not realistic. Or healthy. Dale was your first love, which is beautiful, but I think you sometimes put him on a pedestal. He was a real person. He had flaws.”
“I know he had flaws.” Did she, though? “What do you think his flaws were?”
“His table manners, for one thing. He’d talk with his mouth full, his elbows were always on the table. It drove me crazy.”
Oona rolled her eyes. “How could you let me be with a monster like that?” But she’d never noticed these breaches of etiquette. And judging from her mother’s hesitant look, there was more. How much did she want to know? “What else?” she finally prodded.
Keeping focused on the wall, she said, “He was a talented musician and certainly had drive and good looks, but he could be a little full of himself. And bossy. I worried about that sometimes. He had a power over you, like you couldn’t make your own decisions without him.”
“What?” Oona nearly dropped the roller. “What are you talking about?”
“You preferred to wear your hair short but grew it out because Dale liked it long.”
“I was trying something new. Isn’t that what being a teenager is about?”
Noncommittal murmurs from her mother.
“Are you saying he was controlling?” Oona asked.
“Not controlling. But a strong influence.”
“Give me another example.”
“You never wanted to be a keyboardist.”
That was undeniable. “Yeah.” The word came out between a whisper and sigh. “I thought I’d be happy playing anything as long as I was making music—and I was. I loved our band.”