Chapter 1

I’m dreading the moment my daughter comes home—which is any minute now. I’d never before wished for a few minutes longer before having to face Tia, but we’d never fought like we had last night. We’d only ever fought about little things, stupid things, like slipping grades and not cleaning her room. Things I'd be worried about for my fifteen-year-old if we didn’t fight about at all. As close as I am to my own mother, we had our fair share of screaming matches, especially when I was seventeen, but that year was scarred with more than just fights with her. I’ve come a long way in understanding that what happened that year wasn’t all my fault. However, last night’s fight, I probably made a lot of the wrong choices.

I may have had one glass of wine too much. I was missing my husband. I was thinking about Carmen—it was her birthday. She would’ve been forty-seven like me. That kind of trifecta caused my usual, level-headed, confident-spoken, quick-thinking self to disappear into murky waters. When I emerged, every inch of my skin was covered in sticky mud that, if I didn’t wipe away hastily, could cake over and make a shell of who I used to be. 

It all began at nine PM last night when Tia walked through the kitchen and said, “I’m heading out.”

I was washing dishes at the time. Though I was half preoccupied, I asked, as any responsible mother would, “Out? Where?”

She huffed. 

“Out. With some friends.”

The water faucet shot loudly onto the stainless-steel sink, making it sound like a thunderstorm was in the kitchen with me. I shut off the nozzle to make sure I'd heard her right and turned. Tia leaned on the island across from me with crossed arms.  

Tia has her father's long legs, torso, and face. Her dirty blonde hair is straight like his, the true opposite of my tangle of messy dark brown curls. I wish there were some Italian in her, considering I carried her for nine months, but even his striking blue eyes passed down to her.

She’s beautiful. I tell her almost every day, just as my mom did with me, but I know she doesn’t believe me, just as I didn't believe her. That doesn't mean I still don’t say it constantly. 

“You look pretty,” I said. “Wait, is that eyeshadow?”

I gently touch her chin after wiping my wet hands on the washcloth. She doesn’t resist, letting me analyze the dark, shimmering makeup. 

“Maybe,” she said, perhaps hoping I’d become blind in the last few seconds. I back up and see she’s wearing a blue sparkly tube top and shorts. It’s January. I know we’re in LA, but I’m from NY and I innately want to grab her a puffer jacket. 

“Where are you going with these friends dressed like that? Hold on, what friends exactly?” I asked.

“Mom!” Tia exclaimed, and it’s like she slapped me and screamed, “I’m going to a PARTY!”

“It’s a Thursday,” I stated matter-of-factly.  

“There was a football game today. Everyone’s going to be there.”

“Oh, so Lee’s going too?” I asked. 

Lee is Tia’s best friend since pre-school, and Lee’s mom is practically mine, too. We met at mommy-and-me, and after countless playdates and school concerts, our lives naturally melded into dinner parties and trips to Aruba, both with our families and without. 

“No,” Tia said, and I had to keep myself from gasping out loud. When did they start growing apart? “They’re new friends. Seniors.”

“You're going to a party with seniors?” I asked. 

“So?”

I wanted to give her a million so’s. I landed on the most innocent one.  

“It’s just…why isn’t Lee friends with these seniors too?”

“They're just like me, okay? Can I go now?”

I play with the chip on my marble counter that Tia made years ago when she accidentally banged it with her guitar case. Tia loves playing string instruments. Her favorite is the acoustic guitar. I can hear her making up songs through her door when I walk past her bedroom at night. It’s a fair consolation that she shares my interest in music, even though she looks nothing like me.  

“Will there be adults?” I asked. 

“Mom,” Tia said, and she might as well have stopped on my feet and whispered in my ear as I doubled down, “Not a single one in sight.”  

My husband and I talked about when this day would eventually come—Tia’s first high school party. We agreed we wouldn’t stop her. It would be pretty hypocritical of us to do so, but we were also going to talk together as a family beforehand. 

Drink responsibly—call us if you don’t.

No drugs—your family history makes you sure to get hooked. 

Think about sex, deeply—your body and your partner’s should be respected. 

Well, the last talking point is mine. My husband would rather no sex for his only daughter and child until she was seventy and he was in the ground for at least ten years, but let’s be realistic here.