“You go,” said Wes.
“You know what we were talking about the other night? About how hard it is to stand up to family?” She waited for him to nod. “I told my mom I don’t want to move home, but it’s like talking to a wall. How do I make her listen?”
They were through the next intersection before he answered. “I don’t know if you can,” he said.
“That’s not encouraging.”
“I know. I was thinking about my own mother. Her worldview is different from mine. In hers, she’s constantly battling. Fighting other people, fighting herself. What’s at the end of that battle, I have no idea. It’s like she needs me and my sisters so she has someone there to be in conflict with.”
Nadine touched his hand, and Wes continued.
“I’ve recently realized I can never win because she refuses to see that she doesn’t need to quarrel with anyone. I think fighting is how she feels alive.”
“You think my parents’ mindset is why they don’t listen? Like your mom?”
“It could be. You said they thrive on safety. They may notunderstand that you don’t feel the same way, or they may not be willing to understand.”
“Because if I don’t feel the same way as they do, they need to question their own assumptions?” This made sense. “Regardless of the motive, it doesn’t help me with how to get them off my case.”
“I think you’re doing it. When they call, you tell them no. You might need to be firmer.”
“I thought I had, but maybe I was wrong.” Nadine pulled up at Dot’s golden gates. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your mom. What are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing much I can do at the moment besides keep saving money and hoping for the best.” Wes opened the door to get the gate, then got back in the car. “I want to hear more about your mini putt experiences.”
She let him change the subject and decided to tell him about the time Noah calculated all the angles for the local mini putt as they entered the house. The story didn’t take long, but that was fine. Once they hit the bedroom, they had new ways to distract each other.
Thirty-six
“Wes, listen to this.” They were drinking iced mango juice on the front steps during their afternoon break. Nadine had found her new favorite obituary, about a mayor who hosted a party for his entire town each July called Summer Winter Holiday for people estranged from their families.
“It was a potluck, and everyone was welcome to bring their favorite food,” she finished. “One year, they ended up with all desserts. When he died, they had a final potluck for his funeral and made a cookbook to support the youth home he volunteered at.” To her utter shock, her voice hitched as she finished the sentence.
Wes looked over in concern. “Nadine?”
“It says he wanted people to know they had a community, even if they didn’t have a family. Oh my God, why am I crying?”
Wes put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “It’s okay to be emotional about the passing of a person who brought a lot of warmth to the world.”
“It’s silly.” She wiped the tears away. “I’m not sad.”
“Hey. No.” He kissed her again. “Dot said she read these because they’re life-affirming, remember?”
She scrolled through the obituary. Out of the many she’d read, this was the first one that had touched her with the simple brightness of the subject. He wanted to help people, and he did. It was a beautiful life that deserved to be shared and celebrated. Wes was right. Dot had been right. She bookmarked the page, thinking about the mayor who wanted people to feel like they belonged, if only for a day. This was a story with impact.
“Was it in theHerald?” asked Wes.
She sniffed. “Please. All he did was bring people joy. That’s not one of the criteria for theHerald. I wish it was. Lisanne used to say—” She caught herself.
“Speaking of, have you talked to Lisanne yet?” Wes asked.
“No.” She put her phone down. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s bothering you.” He drew a star on her thigh with a cold fingertip. “If you don’t talk about it, it’ll fester.”