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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. The class lists! They should be up. Wake up.”
    I squeeze my eyes tighter and try to roll away from her. I roll right onto a crumpled magazine. I reach for her magazine and shove it off the bed. “Eva, why do you do this to me?”
    “You have to wake up sooner or later. Might as well wake up now. The class lists are up. We’ve got to go check it out.”
    “And this is why you’re waking me up?”
    She climbs over me, her knobby knee banging my hip, and puts her face in front of mine, her long hair falling on my cheek. “We’ve got to find out who my teacher is and get my class supplies. It’s already Saturday. School starts in three days, and I’ve got to get organized.”
    Another curious difference between us, I think, slowly opening one eye to peer at her. I hated school, and Eva loves it. She excels academically, reads and writes as if she’s fifteen instead of nine, and aces every test.
    “Mom. Get. Up.” Eva impatiently rips back the covers.
    The early morning air is way too chilly for that, and I yank the covers back. “What time is it?”
    “Almost seven.”
    Glancing past her, I see the clock next to my bed. Six twenty-three. Arrrgh. “You lie. It’s not even six-thirty.”
    “You might as well get up. With school starting soon, we’ve got to get on a routine again. Get back to normal.”
    Normal? Routine? Schedule? Whose kid is this?
    Growling, I bury my head under my pillow. “Give me another half hour. I need a half hour. Okay?”
    And Eva, my delicious little daughter, agrees and returns to wake me up at six forty-five on the dot.
    I see the red numbers on the alarm clock, and so does she, but Eva just grins, happy to rob me of fifteen minutes if it means she wins.
    As soon as Eva sees me up, she bounds out of the bedroom, long legs flying. I’m moving much more slowly, and I stumble toward the kitchen to start the coffee.
    Leaning on the counter, newspaper spread out in front of me, I scan the headlines as the coffee brews.
    “Are you going to go for a run?” Eva asks, taking the DVD of
Father of the Bride
off pause.
    She’s watched that movie a dozen times this summer, along with her other summer faves:
Runaway Bride, The Princess Bride, My Best Friend’s Wedding, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, The Wedding Planner,
and let’s not forget
Four Weddings and a Funeral.
    As Steve Martin’s emotion-choked voice fills the room, I close my eyes. “I will run if you insist on watching this again.”
    Eva temporarily mutes the sound. “But there’s nowhere else to watch it, Mom, this is our only TV.”
    “Maybe you don’t need to watch it.”
    “Maybe you need to run.”
    Maybe I do.
    Grumpily, I head to my room and change into shorts, a T-shirt, and my running shoes before strapping my iPod on one arm and my cell phone on the other.
    I reappear to say good-bye to Eva. She beams at me, sinks deeper into the couch cushions. “Have a good run.”
    “I’ve got my phone. Call—”
    “I know. I know the number. I know the house will be locked. I know what to do.” She