Page 202 of The Dixon Rule

“Unacceptable,” I say sarcastically. “How dare I try to live my life without him?”

Shane bends down to kiss me. “Text me if you need anything. I can always leave Maryanne at the diner and pay one of the waitresses to keep an eye on her while I run down the street to the station.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise. I love you.”

I say those three words to him every day now, and part of me still curses myself for not saying them the night Percy was parked outside Meadow Hill. I felt it then, but I was still pissy that Shane went off with Lynsey. Now I realize how childish that was. If you love someone, you should always tell them. Life is too short, and you never know what tomorrow will bring. What if I kept my feelings to myself that night and something had happened to him the next morning? I can’t even imagine living with that kind of regret.

“I love you too,” Shane says before kissing me again.

He leaves for practice, and I return to the kitchen, where Maryanne sits at the counter drinking the smoothie I made her. She slurps loudly on the straw.

“You two are very mushy,” she accuses.

“I know.” I sigh. “It’s disgusting.”

Maryanne snickers. She laughs a lot more frequently than Shane. I don’t know if it’s because children are more resilient or if she’s really good at masking her pain. But while she talks about missing her dad and has moments where she cries, she’s not carrying the heavy weight that Shane’s been struggling with for days.

“All right,” I tell her. “Let’s bundle up for the rock hunt. We have a few hours before we need to head to campus.”

We’re going for a walk, then lunch, then physiology, and then Shane and I will make the hostage exchange. It’s going to be a busy day.

Shane’s mom calls while we’re at lunch, and I have to cut Maryanne off midsentence. She’s chattering on about the rocks we found on our walk.

“Hold on. It’s your mom.” I quickly answer the call. “Hi, April.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to check in. Make sure you guys are okay.”

“We’re great. Thank you.” Shane’s mother calls me every single day, which is about, oh, a million times more than my own mother. I’m lucky to hear from Mom once every few months.

“How is the house hunting going?” I ask April.

“Good. I think I found something. You can tell Shane I’ll send him the listing later. Hopefully he’ll have a chance to look at it. We can discuss over the holidays and also deal with all the estate stuff.”

I can’t even imagine how much “stuff” there is. Ryan ran several businesses, owned a ton of properties, and it all goes to Shane and Maryanne.

“Do you want to talk to your mom?” I ask, covering the mouthpiece.

She shakes her head. “I’ll call her tonight.”

“Maryanne says she’ll call you tonight,” I tell April.

“Sounds good. Thanks for helping out, Diana. It means the world, having you as part of our family.”

Damned if that doesn’t bring a lump to my throat. Yes, I have a family. I have my dad, Larissa, Thomas. But hearing those words from…a mother, I guess. It lands differently.

I’m still a bit raw from it later when Shane and I exchange Maryanne duties before cheer practice. And I’m still thinking about it after practice. As I’m leaving the locker room with Crystal and Brooke, I suddenly wonder if this rift with my mother, the chasm between us, is partially my fault. Because how often do I call her? What do I do to bridge the distance?

When I really reflect on it, I realize that somewhere along the line, I simply gave up because of her disinterest in me. The awareness that I’ll never be smart enough for her took its toll and I stopped caring.

But I should care. I don’t begrudge anyone who cuts off a family member; there are multiple reasons to do it, and I would never judge if someone said, oh, I don’t speak to my mother. I wouldn’t question it because I’d assume they had their reasons.

But, in the grand scheme of things, mine isn’t so bad.

In the lobby of the athletic center, I walk toward an empty bench instead of the front door, waving the girls off. I sit down and dial Mom’s number.

I’m prepared to leave a voice message, so I’m surprised to hear her voice. “Diana. Is everything okay?”

Like you care is my first thought, and when my brain catches it, it’s all the confirmation I need. I am part of the problem. Maybe she does care. Why do I instantly decide she doesn’t?

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