Page 44 of The Five Year Lie

“Okay.” And now I won’t even have to cook. “Mom—what’s on your shopping list?” I always shop for both of us when I use her car.

She shakes her head. “I was all set to cook, but Ray decided he wants to go out. Oh, and, Ariel? I want to take you and Buzz to brunch on Sunday. There’s an inn on Cape Elizabeth that might make a good wedding venue.”

My plan for the weekend was to spend all my time googling older men named Andrew Miller and checking my phone for updates from Zain. So I guess I can fit her in. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

“Let’s go,” Buzz says. “Can we get frozen waffles?”

“We’ll see.”

My mother chuckles as we head for the door. “Good luck to you both. And don’t forget about Sunday.”

“I won’t.”

On Sunday, we climb into the car with Mom for brunch at the inn. She’s clutching her wedding planning notebook.

“You look... frazzled, Mom,” I say. I was going to saytired, but she might have taken it as a criticism. My father used to make comments about our clothes, our hair, our taste.

That’s how your father controls people, my therapist taught me incollege.It’s a tool he uses to keep you and your mother on your toes. You can’t change him, but you can change the way you respond to him.

“I’m notfrazzled.” She sighs. “Maybe just a little, I guess.”

“Is it the wedding?”

“Planning the wedding is fun,” she insists. “I’m fine.”

So I drop it. And it’s possible that I’m only projecting my own stress onto her. Tomorrow it will be a week since I got the text that upended my life. That’s seven days of fitful sleep and self-doubt.

I hope they’re generous with the coffee at brunch.

Half an hour later, we’re seated in the oceanfront dining room of a very pretty inn. The place is grander than I expected. Half elegance, half sturdy New England fishing lodge.

But it works somehow. We’re given a comfortable table by the window with a view of the ocean. The beach is a fat, sandy stripe surrounded by craggy gray rocks. White sailboats dot the dark blue water.

And there’s coffee, served in pristine white cups with matching saucers.

Buzz eats pancakes with a silver fork that’s as long as his forearm, while I pick at my omelet.

“Is something wrong with your eggs?” my mother whispers. “My smoked salmon is delicious.”

“They’re perfect,” I promise, trying to meet her gaze. “This place is great. Is it at the top of your list?”

“I think so.” She adjusts the silver sugar bowl on the linen tablecloth. “Ray told me to go ahead and book it if I want to. This room can hold forty-five guests. They have an opening in October.”

“That’s lucky,” I say, trying to sound like I’m paying attention. But my head is fuzzy with stress and exhaustion.

Last night I dreamed about Drew. He was standing in my father’s office, talking to me through the glass wall. But I couldn’t hear him. “What?”I shouted.

Meet me at the candelabra tree, he mouthed.

I turned around and headed for the office door, per his instructions. But when I looked back to make sure he was following me, he was just gone. Vanished.

Then I woke up in Buzz’s bed, sweating, the Frog and Toad book still open on my chest, my little boy sleeping soundly beside me.

“Does this place sayclassy, casual second weddingto you?” my mother asks. She gives the room a stern glance over her shoulder.

“Absolutely.” I strain for something supportive to say. “It’s nice without being fussy. Just like you.”

The smile she gives me is more manic than amused.