She was born with an old soul, and even though she’s nine, she’s mastered the pensive look perfectly, a troubled line etched between her brows. “What, baby?”

“Do you think Jemma’s mom is pretty?”

I feel like a cat with a hairball. I want to retch. Instead I touch that furrow between Eva’s eyebrows, willing it to go away. “Mmmm.”

“I love her clothes, and her hair. I think she’s so stylish and pretty.”

I can’t even come up with an appropriate answer, but fortunately, Eva doesn’t seem to need one.

“You’d look beautiful in dresses and outfits like that, Mom. Don’t you think? You could be so beautiful if you tried.” Eva smiles up at me, and her smile briefly dazzles me with its innocence and hopefulness. Eva can be so serious, and then when she smiles it’s like the full moon at midnight. So big and wide, glowing with light.

I lean toward her, kiss her. “I love you.”

She’s quiet for a long time, and I think maybe she’s fallen asleep. But then a moment later she whispers, “So white would be okay? Because I saw the most beautiful dress for you, Mom. It looks like a ball gown—”

“Don’t make me send you back to your room, Eva.”

“Mom.”

“You know weddings aren’t my thing. The whole idea of dressing up like a Madame Alexander doll and marching down an aisle while everyone watches curdles my stomach.”

“That’s rude,” she protests, cold feet rubbing against my calves.

“But it’s true, and Eva, you don’t have to get married to be happy.”

“Maybe not, but there’s no reason to make fun of people who want to get married.”

“I’m not making fun of them. I’m just saying, don’t try to be part of the pack. Be the wolf. It’s so much more fun.”

Eva giggles. “You’re weird.”

“I know, and I like it. Now go to sleep.”

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, my Eva.”

Eva scoots closer and tucks her hand into mine. “You know what I want, Mom?” Her voice is pitched low, and it sounds strangely mature in the dark room.

My fingers curl around hers. Her hand is warm and small in mine. “Please don’t mention weddings or marriage.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then tell me. What do you want?”

“I want Jemma to like me.”

The pressure is back, a weight on my chest. I clear my throat. “I’m sure she does—”

“No, she doesn’t.” She sighs softly, sounding far too old for her years, but maybe that’s what being an only child does to you. “I can tell she doesn’t like me. But maybe she’ll change her mind. You know. When she gets to know me.”

I squeeze Eva’s hand tighter. “Let’s hope so.”

 

Chapter Two

Eva’s shaking my shoulder and talking too fast. “Mom, Mom, Mom.