She Has Your Eyes (36 page)

It was one of those days I missed your father terribly. I knew how proud he would have been, to see you in cap and gown, the first and only one of our children not only to complete a college education, but at the highest level possible. I was proud too. I just didn’t know how to tell you.

The letter explained other things too.

When I saw you take your life into your own hands by going away to college, advancing your education, working in New York, and more, I believed you were exerting your independence. I didn’t realize that your independence was really the result of your feeling as if you’d been abandoned by me as a parent. Your brothers were so attentive to you that I didn’t feel needed by you. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t understand why you resented me so much. I didn’t realize how much you really did need me, wanted me to be there for you.

I always cry at that part, careful not to smudge the paper.

Wylie and David entered the yard. I squinted at them and waved before turning my attention back to the soil.

“Looks great,” called David.

“Thanks,” I said.

“It’s really coming along,” said Wylie as she took in the surroundings of our new house. We considered moving back to Long Island permanently, on the East End, not far from where my mother lived. Mom left her house to my brothers and me. “Use it as a summer home or something,” she said. “But I beg of you, don’t sell it.” We also considered moving closer to Hartford, but I loved Northampton University too much to leave, and David had too many business contacts in the Boston area. We wound up selling our house to Sam’s brother. Maybe Sam was meant to stick around. David and I found a plot of land not far from Smith College and hired a contractor. Thanks to the generous bonus we offered, the house went up in record time. We officially moved in two weeks ago.

I got to my feet, dusted the dirt off my hands and knees, and went inside to clean up. The house still smelled of fresh wood and paint. David and Wylie were already setting up the easels in the studio.

“I thought we were doing the pizza lesson first this week,” I said.

“We figured we’d work up an appetite first,” said Wylie.

“Did you do your homework?” David asked in a stern professor’s voice.

Wylie and I rolled our eyes and made huffing noises. “Yes,” we both said in mock exasperation.

“Well, let’s see it,” he instructed. We each pulled out our sketchbooks, and the three of us began a critique session. When David saw my sketches—swing sets, lilies, and my brothers’ acoustic guitars (I could draw those from memory), he reached behind Wylie and took my hand. I could feel the sturdy wedding ring on his finger as it nestled with my own fingers, and it was like a battery that plugged into the rest of me. Being married to Dev felt right. Comfortable. Familiar.

As Wylie and David explained and analyzed her sketches, I almost couldn’t remember what life was like before she came into our lives, and didn’t need to. I commented on the fluidity of one of her drawings, making a comparison to the freewriting process, and she laughed, saying, “I knew you’d say that!”

Maybe this wasn’t motherhood, but it was better, as far as I was concerned.

Wylie pointed to one of my sketches, calling attention to the roughness of the line and the balance of contrast. As she did, our eyes connected, and she winked.

acknowledgments

My gratitude cup runneth over for the following people:

Terry Goodman, for falling in love with the manuscript in its early draft form.

Tiffany Yates Martin, for helping me develop the manuscript into a full-fledged novel and doing it with sensitivity, insight, and humor.

Jessica Poore, who answers every stupid question I have (and makes me feel smarter in the process) and always lets me know when a Duran Duran song comes on her iPod.

The entire team at Amazon Publishing, including overseas, for their unwavering support and awesomeness.

Ru, for our Monday afternoon Skype meetings as well as that day in Burlington, Vermont, when she introduced me to those wool socks and that kick-ass hot chocolate.

Rob, Kel, Steffan, Greg, and all the fabulous AP authors who make me proud to be their colleague.

Pam Mottola, for being an early beta reader and assuring me I was on the right track.

My parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, in-laws, and extended family for their love and support.

My North Carolina friends, whom I miss.

The Undeletables, for their love.

Uncle Jon’s Coffeehouse, for the delicious vanilla chai.

And to all my readers for loving Andi and David as much as I do, enough to want to spend more time with them. I hope I didn’t let you down.

JOJO’S CHOCOLATE HOPE was started in memory of Jo Ensanian, a dear family friend who lost her life to cancer in 2012. Please go to
www.jojoschocolatehope.com
to place an order of delicious chocolate bark and make a difference. Proceeds go to cancer research.

Follow
Jojo’s Chocolate Hope
on Facebook or on Twitter
@ChocoForACure
.

Follow Elisa on Facebook at
Elisa Lorello, Author
or on Twitter
@elisalorello
.

Elisa’s website:
www.elisalorello.com

about the author

LENNON PHOTO, 2013

Elisa Lorello was born and raised on Long Island, the youngest of seven children. She earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Massachusetts-Dartmouth and eventually launched a career teaching rhetoric and composition. Elisa spent six years in North Carolina, where she split her time between teaching writing to university students, and publishing her own work. She has since returned home to the Northeast.

Elisa is the author of Kindle best-selling novels
Faking It
and
Ordinary World, Why I Love Singlehood
(co-authored with Sarah Girrell), and
Adulation. Faking It
, translated in German as
Vorgetäuscht
, also spent three consecutive weeks at #1 on the German Kindle Bestseller List. In 2013, Elisa published a memoir titled
Friends of Mine: Thirty Years in the Life of a Duran Duran Fan
.

When not writing, Elisa is an unapologetic Duran Duran fan, Pop-Tart enthusiast, walker, and coffee shop patron, and she can sing two-part harmony.