Seven Days in June by Tia Williams
Chapter 17
An Unanswered Question
“I’M TELLING YOU, THAT THING UPSTAIRS ISN’T MY DAUGHTER. SHE’S ALREADY seen every fucking psychiatrist in the world, and they sent me to you, Father. She needs a priest. You can’t tell me that an exorcism wouldn’t do her any good! You can’t tell me that!”
It was 9:00 a.m., and Eva was watching The Exorcist on her phone, in bed. She’d woken up an hour earlier, intending to write. But when the alarm blared (her ringtone was Cece singing “Write your, write your book” in the key of Rihanna’s “Work work work work work”), she’d elected to watch her comfort movie instead. This scene always killed her. This woman’s twelve-year-old daughter was up in her bedroom, gruesomely possessed by the devil—while a priest wrote it off as depression. Never mind that the girl was humping crucifixes and levitating. It was an old story, really. Women telling the truth, and no one believing them.
Depression, my ass, thought Eva. In the words of Grandma Clo, it’s Satan hisself.
Eva knew every word of The Exorcist, and the familiarity always lulled her into calm. After the Dream House, she made the walk of shame home, relieved the babysitter, ordered La Villa pizza for dinner, and ate in silence with Audre, and then they both escaped to their bedrooms. She couldn’t face her daughter. How could she go through the motions—making homework inquiries, checking in on the status of Audre’s art project—when she’d just recklessly thotted throughout the West Village?
Cringing, Eva curled herself into a ball under her pristine white duvet. What if they’d been caught? She’d already searched DREAM HOUSE + SHANE HALL + EVA MERCY several times, and nothing had come up. Just in case, she preemptively booked an appointment with a Google-search cleanup agency.
She was shocked at the recklessness of her behavior.
And then there was her silent standoff with Audre. They’d never fought like this. In a few days, Audre would fly off to Dadifornia for the summer, and Eva couldn’t bear it if she left angry.
Before Audre woke up for school, Eva put her breakfast out on the table, with a note saying, “I love you, baby. Let’s talk when you get home.” Then she snuck back to her bedroom. Even mid-awkwardness, she wanted her daughter to know that she was there. But Eva needed her space, too. She was still tingling from Shane’s touch, his mouth, his everything—and she wanted to indulge in it for as long as she could.
Eva bit her lip, trying to keep her guilty, thrilled smile from spreading. Shane. She’d divulged all to him. He’d cracked her open, and she’d come spilling out, slow and sweet as honey. She wanted to hate letting him get inside again. She’d been so willing to give it all up.
Over the years, during lazy daydreams, she’d sometimes allowed herself to fantasize about running into him. But in her thoughts, they’d still been kids. She couldn’t imagine them relating to each other as adults. Whatever Shane sparked in her, she’d thought she’d outgrown. But they weren’t who they used to be. They were better.
She pulled the duvet closer to her chin, her cheeks blazing, and she had an epiphany. Shane wasn’t a thing to outgrow. He’d always fit. No matter how old or young or sophisticated or raw she was. No matter how much time had passed.
Shane was inevitable.
I need to be careful, she thought. But careful didn’t exist with Shane. It was like entering a burning building. You could wear sunglasses and lather yourself in sunscreen, but you’d still go up in flames.
With a groan, she rubbed a temple and sat up, propped against three pillows. All of this was moot, because she’d fled from the scene. She had to apologize. But there was no cute meme to send after you had semipublic ex sex, came so hard that tears sprang to your eyes, and then bolted with your unhooked bra hanging out of your armhole.
Eva thought she’d feel powerful, leaving before she was left. But all she felt was emptiness. She’d wanted to stay locked in his arms forever. Or at least until their Sleep Guide issued them a fornication fine for breaking the rules.
Running away wasn’t empowering. An empowered woman would’ve indulged.
Focus, she told herself. Step one, text him. Step two, own up to it. Step three, tell him you had a great time. Step four, explain why it can’t go any further.
She picked up the phone.
Today, 9:30 AM
EVA:Lol?
SHANE:Lol? Seriously?
EVA:I’m sorry.
SHANE:No, don’t apologize. I more than deserved it.
EVA:You did, but I’m still sorry. It was ridiculous the way I left.
SHANE:No, ridiculous was me, lying on the floor, alone, with my dick out.
EVA:Actually, that was a beautiful sight.
SHANE:…thank you?
EVA:Np.
SHANE:Can I see you? I need to see you.
EVA:I don’t think it’s a good idea.
SHANE:But we had a perfect day.
EVA:We did! But…let’s leave it at that. We finally have closure. An ending.
SHANE:That felt like an ending to you?
EVA:*panicked silence
SHANE:Don’t panic. I’m fucking shook, too. Please, can we meet somewhere?
EVA:Texting is safer.
SHANE:Why, tho?
EVA:Seeing you in person makes me forget the things I should remember.
SHANE:Was that a haiku?
EVA:Shane.
SHANE:I wanna SEE you. You home? I’m coming over.
EVA:You don’t have my address.
SHANE:It’s easy to get. I have Cece’s number, and you know she loves drama.
SHANE:*hopeful silence
EVA:Fuck. 45 7th Avenue. Ground floor.
SHANE:You sure? If you really don’t want me to…
EVA:Get over here, before I change my mind.
Eva threw back her covers and bounded out of bed as her phone went flying, landing in her plush shag carpet. She’d deal with that later. Instead, she started pacing in boxers and a Bad Boy Family Reunion Tour concert tee, knuckles thrust into her pounding temples, her mind zipping from thought to thought.
It’s 9:45 a.m.! Did he mean he was coming now, or later in the afternoon? I need to put on blush, clean up the living room—fuck, we have zero food except Five Guys takeout and Pirate’s Booty. Should I get wine? No, no, no, OF COURSE Shane can’t have wine. Calm. Down. Start with a shower. Do I have time to book a quick highlights appointment? Shit. Shit. Shit. Is this crazy?
She flung open her bedroom door and bounded down the hallway to the kitchen. Coffee first. Then painkillers. Then she’d figure out the rest.
Slightly skidding in her fuzzy winter socks (her feet were permanently frozen, despite the almost-summer temps), she ran into the kitchen.
“AH!”
Eva jumped half a foot in the air and let out a proper slasher-flick scream. There was Audre, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. Bent over her portrait of Lizette. She was surrounded by a flurry of feathers, paints, strips of fabric, and sequins. The second she heard Eva’s scream, she shrieked, too, hopping to her feet and brandishing her paintbrush like a sword.
Then they were standing there on opposite sides of the kitchen, breathing heavily, staring at each other. Audre had a burgundy feather stuck to her cheek.
“What are you doing here?” yelped Eva, clutching her head. That scream had rattled her brain.
“Um, I live here?” said Audre, with utter calm. She was wearing oversized Princeton sweatpants and the Hogwarts Sorting Hat she always wore when she was working on her art. “The hell, Mommy.”
“Language!”
“Oh, my eternal bad. What’s the proper response when your MERE PRESENCE sends your mother into ACUTE HYSTERIA?”
“Audre,” said Eva, trying to modulate her breathing, her head and heart thumping wildly. “My love. Why aren’t you at school? Please don’t tell me Bridget O’Brien expelled you. Do. Not. Tell. Me. That. ’Cause I will absolutely sue Cheshire Prep. She promised me—”
“I’m not expelled! Goddd-uh. It’s the second-to-last day of school. We have today off. Like we do every year, for teachers to finish report cards. Didn’t you, like, get an email?”
Eva couldn’t keep up with Cheshire’s administrative emails. They sent one for everything, from notices about lice epidemics to parent-led Zumba classes.
Keeping her head very still, Eva gingerly slid onto the bench in her breakfast nook. Audre watched her, knowing all the signs. Huffing, she grabbed a fresh ice pack from the freezer and tossed it to her mom, who caught it with one hand.
“Thanks,” breathed Eva, pressing the frosty ice pack to her left temple. “I forgot about today. I think I’m losing my mind.”
“No comment,” Audre said, pouting. She plopped onto the bench, across from Eva—a not-yet-graceful girl with noodly limbs and an endless neck who, one day, would be elegant in the extreme. But today, she was a newborn giraffe.
In an effort to be casual, Eva asked, “How’s the portrait going?”
“Fine.”
“It’s lovely. You really captured your grandmother’s essence, even though it’s an abstract piece. Your dad’s gonna be so proud.”
“Dad co-designed the characters in Monsters, Inc. and Brave,” she mumbled. “This is nothing.”
“Okay, Audre,” she said, letting it go. “So. Did you see my note this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“Any response to it?”
Audre shrugged, slipping off her wizard hat. Underneath, her hair was a riot of ringlets, identical to Eva’s. “No. I mean, yeah. Like, I guess we should talk.”
Audre’s lower lip was poked out, and she wasn’t blinking, because if she did, tears would fall. Eva shouldn’t have been so nervous to launch a difficult conversation with her own kid, but so much of Eva’s self-worth depended on how her daughter thought of her. She knew it was unhealthy and over the top, but it was also true.
“We can’t tiptoe around each other like this, babe. You’re my girl. You’re my person. I love you bigger than—”
“I know, bigger than Ursula in the dramatic finale of Little Mermaid.”
Eva had been saying this to Audre her entire life. It was one of their things. But Audre wasn’t moved.
“I’ll go first,” sighed Eva. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you at school. It wasn’t the place or time. I was just shocked, you know? You’re always so consistently on point. The last thing I was expecting was to walk into that meeting and find out that you’re facing expulsion.”
“You act like I’m the worst daughter, though,” she said. “Do you know why Parsley was in detention? Tequila!”
“She brought tequila to school?”
“No. She snuck a tequila-soaked tampon to school in her actual vagina, let it absorb into her bloodstream, and was blackout drunk by fourth period.”
Eva stared at her daughter, thunderstruck.
“Point taken,” she said. “Look, I don’t think you’re terrible. My expectations of you are high, because I want you to have every option in the world. Options I didn’t have.”
Her daughter sat in stony silence. Eventually, she plucked the burgundy feather off her cheek and started slowly shredding it on the table.
“Audre. Say something.”
Finally, she glanced up, meeting her mom’s eyes.
“Are you sorry you had me? Do I make your life harder?”
“No! Where is this coming from?”
“You said I was a burden, Mom. You said you don’t have any space for a real life, because I soak up all your time and energy.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Audre’s brows rose to the ceiling.
“Yes, I said that,” admitted Eva. “And it’s true. It’s hard for me to date and do spontaneous stuff other single women do. But I’m also not interested in dating. I love my life the way it is! Just me and you, kid.”
“Just me and you, huh?”
Eva cocked her head. “Yeah. Who else?”
Audre shrugged insolently. She was acting strange. This was more than just the fight. She was holding something back.
“By the way,” Eva continued, grasping at straws, “when you called me perfect? I’m far from it. And when I was around your age, I had a really tough time.”
“You went to an Ivy League school! And wrote a bestseller when you were barely legal.”
“Honey, I was also sick. Even sicker than I am now. Wanna know how I got to Princeton? My grades dropped so dramatically my senior year that they rescinded their offer. I had to write an essay from a hospital bed”—psych ward, just tell her—“begging the university to take me back. Explaining that I had a debilitating illness.”
“Really? Can I read it?” Audre asked shyly, her mood shifting a bit. She was always hungry to hear more about her mom’s childhood. When Audre was little, she’d ask Eva relentless questions. What’s your funniest memory? Did you ever have a crush that liked you back? What was the scariest movie you saw in the theater? Eva could always answer those. The deeper questions, she couldn’t.
“Yes, baby, you can read it,” said Eva, getting up to move to Audre’s side of the bench, scooting in next to her. Audre hooked her arm through Eva’s and leaned her head on her shoulder.
“So, you fought to get back into Princeton.”
“I did,” said Eva.
“You fought to keep me in school, too,” started Audre. “How? I mean, what did you say to Mrs. O’Brien to change her mind?”
Audre peered up at her, with her massive doe eyes, and Eva froze a little. She wasn’t prepared to explain Shane.
“I did her a favor. I found an English teacher to replace Mr. Galbraith. Shane Hall. Heard of him?”
“Ohhh, I’ve heard of him,” responded Audre cryptically. “How do you know him?”
“Well, he’s a Black author,” said Eva, kissing Audre’s forehead. “We more or less all know each other.”
“Huh. How well do you know him?”
“I mean…”
“Do you, like, like him?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I saw pics of you two. Outside, yesterday. And it was clearly a date.”
Eva disentangled herself from Audre and stared at her—mouth agape, heart pounding, temples exploding.
“Audre,” she started, forcing a casual little laugh. “I don’t know what you saw. But if I was seeing someone, you’d know it. Honestly, does Shane Hall even seem like my type?”
“You don’t date, Mommy. What even is your type, the Invisible Man?”
This was too much. In seconds, her migraine went from annoying to obliterating. Vision starting to blur, she grabbed her purse off the table and fished for her bottle of pain pills. She swallowed two dry and reminded herself to breathe. The numbing effect rolled across the pain like the tide, sweeping it away, where it was unreachable—at least until three hours from now, when the effect would wear off and the pain would come crashing back to shore.
Eva would take any respite, however meager. It wasn’t until her midtwenties that she found a doctor to prescribe effective pain treatment, and she was eternally grateful. Especially today. She had to be in fighting shape for this conversation.
“I met with Shane to ask for his help. That’s all! So not a date! In fact, it was low-key humiliating to ask a favor of someone I hadn’t spoken to in ages. But I’d do anything for you.”
Audre thought about the pics of her mom with that dude. They looked like the poster for a syrupy rom-com. And her mom looked flirty—in a way that Audre had never seen. She was literally throwing herself at that guy.
Eva claimed that she had no time for men. And then, out of nowhere, she was caught canoodling with an actual man? Sharing ice cream on a romantic day date? Audre had done a deep dive into Cursed Twitter and uncovered more fan pics of them looking googly-eyed all over the West Village. Eva had been with Shane for hours. Either her mom was whipped as hell, or she was an A-plus actress.
Audre yelped. Suddenly, it all made sense. Audre flung her arms around her mom’s shoulders and started to weep and wail.
“Noooooooo, Mommy! Tell me you didn’t! Oh, I feel terrible! You’re right, I’m the worst daughter.”
“What are you talking about?” Eva was flabbergasted by Audre’s sudden hysteria.
“I know there are no bounds to maternal love. I mean, hello? I read Mommy Burnout!”
“Who hasn’t?” said Eva, who hadn’t. “Audre, what do you think I did?”
“You…you…seduced that man, to keep me in school, didn’t you? You had sex with him for me. And I’ll never forgive myself!”
Eva was too astounded to formulate a response. And she didn’t have time, anyway—because the buzzer rang.
She’d forgotten. An hour ago she’d been embroiled in heavy text banter with Shane Hall, but the second she’d seen her daughter’s face, everything else had vanished from her mind.
Including the fact that Shane was on his way. And now he was here.