4152 Witchwood Lane

by Katie Winters

  “Wild in what way?”

  Isabelle’s cheeks lost their color. “I don’t know. All those frat parties and stuff. All those girls.”

  Mila recognized the fear in her daughter’s eyes. She reached across the table and gripped her daughter’s wrist. “Nobody can compete with what you and Harry have. You know that.”

  Isabelle’s throat looked tight. She drew her wrist away from her mother again and began to type. After a long pause, she placed the phone back in her purse. “I just need to focus on Tufts today. I want to make at least a few friends before that first week.”

  “And there’s no way you won’t,” Mila affirmed. “I mean, that dress alone is a conversation piece.”

  Isabelle had opted for a vintage dress from the early ‘90s, the likes of which would have been a huge hit when Mila had been in middle school, maybe. It was strappy with a perfect floral pattern, and it made Isabelle look thin and athletic while bringing out the healthy glow of her tan.

  “Let’s look at the class options again,” Mila suggested. “I love that little book.”

  Isabelle dragged out the book of classes at Tufts University. Throughout the previous few days, Mila, Isabelle, and Zane had circled and highlighted all the class options they had thought were most interesting. Well, at least, Mila and Isabelle had done that, while Zane had messed around and circled strange ones, like “Underwater Basket Weaving 101” and “The Evolution of Tango.”

  “If he wants to dance the tango at Boston College, he can be my guest,” Isabelle said with a laugh. “I’d pay to see that for sure.”

  Mila chuckled as they pored over the other class options. Isabelle hadn’t yet picked out her major and had decided to spend the first year discovering her likes, her dislikes, and all the potential paths of the rest of her life. They both agreed that something about the fashion world would be interesting, especially since Isabelle had such a sharp eye. Isabelle also circled a poetry class as she said, “I’ve been experimenting with poetry a little bit the past few months.”

  “No way! You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Mila cocked an eyebrow. “Not even Harry?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t have to tell Harry everything.”

  Mila wondered at this. She felt Isabelle and Harry had always told one another everything, each and every ache of their soul. Now that they were headed to separate colleges, what would that mean for their psyches? Would their personalities shift? In all the years that Mila and Peter had been married, she’d never once thought, “What if we were apart? How would we change?” Now, of course, she’d been forced to find out.

  Isabelle continued to circle other classes — a science one that discussed how vaccines were created and a music course that discussed the storied history of Fleetwood Mac. Mila laughed outright when Isabelle showed her the description.

  “I can’t believe you can go to college and study something like that,” she said.

  The drive up to Tufts was a beautiful one. An eggshell blue July sky belled over them, and Isabelle flicked through songs on her music playlist, many of which Mila had adored over the previous years, as she and Isabelle had morphed from mother-daughter to friend-friend. Of course, there were certain elements of that relationship that remained confusing; for example, Mila would have loved to ask Isabelle what was on her mind regarding Harry and the approaching separation. This was something she would have asked one of her best friends. But Isabelle seemed closed off in this regard; maybe she wasn’t fully prepared to look at the situation directly.

  Mila dropped Isabelle off at the admissions building at Tufts. They agreed to meet back at the admissions office four hours after Isabelle booked all her classes, completed a tour of the dorms, and met with a few other freshmen. Mila squeezed Isabelle’s hand hard in support just before Isabelle rushed out the door. As she stepped up the stairs to the admissions building, several other eighteen-year-olds turned to watch her. Everyone was terribly curious about everyone else. Everyone was about to change everyone else’s life. It was huge, this milestone. That is, Mila had to assume it was.

  Mila parked the car a few streets away, swept her purse over her shoulder, and decided to head off for a walk to explore the campus for herself. The sun beat tenderly across her cheeks, and she lifted her chin a bit higher and drew her shoulders back. As she passed by other students, ones probably on their way to summer classes, she imagined she was twenty-two years old and in the prime of her life. She imagined saying all the things she’d never said, like, “Well, I think I’ll skip class today!” or “I don’t know, maybe we could meet in the quad later?” She smiled to herself; these words sounded so ridiculous in her mind.

  But really, what had she missed out on without college? It wasn’t like she could take any of it back. Everything had worked out precisely the way it should have. She had met Peter. She had fallen in love. She’d had her babies and opened her esthetician salon. Every step of the way, she’d checked in with herself to make sure she was still happy, that this life was the one she wanted to live. And every step of the way, she had answered with a resounding “yes.”

  Still, her mother and father’s opinions seemed to constantly echo in the back of her mind. They had wanted her to be like her brother; they’d demanded why her grades weren’t good enough, why she couldn’t manage to be like Jessie. Every step of the way, she hadn’t felt good enough. And she supposed that sentiment lingered on in everything else. Her parents hadn’t bothered to speak with her since she and the kids had stormed out of dinner the other night. It actually felt as though it hadn’t mattered to them at all.

  Mila wandered into a nearby coffee shop called The Sink and took a seat toward the back, where she sipped something called a “Lucy in the Chai” and opened the book she’d brought from home. Reading in coffee shops — this was something she’d imagined to happen at college, and she relished it. The stereo in the corner played old ‘50s tunes, and one of the coffee baristas danced back and forth behind the register.

  Mila felt strangely unlike herself. She felt like a version of herself that maybe her parents had wanted her to be. She turned the page and continued to read and found herself lost in a sea of fictional conversations. Time passed easily and when she heard someone clear his throat in front of her, she glanced up, bright-eyed with wonder and completely outside of time.

  “Hello,” the man said.

  Mila tilted her head. The man before her was incredibly handsome, maybe thirty years old, with thick blonde hair and wide-set green eyes. He looked a tiny bit like Graham, maybe, but with more youth and vitality. He certainly didn’t look like he’d stolen a car recently, not that that was something you could tell just at a glance.

  “Hi,” Mila returned.

  The man held his coffee mug awkwardly out in front of him. He cleared his throat and said, “I never do this, but I wondered if I could sit with you for a moment.”

  Mila gestured toward the soft cushion of the chair beside her. “Of course.” What was she doing? Did she just enjoy being asked? Or maybe, had he thought she was a bit younger? Maybe a grad student? She decided to lean into it. To pretend to be the person her parents had always wanted her to be.

  “What are you reading?” the man asked.

  “It’s Chekhov,” Mila said as she flashed the cover. “I love his short stories.”

  “I do, too,” the man said. “Which is your favorite?”

  In truth, Mila had only read a few in the very collection she now showed him. “The Lady with the Dog is really great.”

  “Oh, my gosh. I love that one.”

  Mila’s heart swelled. She’d managed to impress him. She imagined telling Isabelle this later — that a much-younger guy was impressed with her fake intellect.

  “I read it in a class, I guess,” the man continued. “Chauncey’s class. Undergrad, though.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Me too. I guess that was the first time,” Mila lied.

 
His eyes brightened. “I wonder if we took it around the same time.”

  Did this guy really think they were the same age? Mila thought back to every facial she’d ever given herself, every stab of the botox needles and every moment she had put on sunscreen. She thanked herself because it all had led her to this.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Although I have to admit, coming back to it like this is really a pleasure.”

  “I’m sure. I always find that about books. That you’re a different person when you read it later, so it gives you something else.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Mila said.

  The man maintained heavy eye contact with her. Mila was reminded again of her date with Graham, although the guy beside her was more earnest, more genuine. She felt like a prize.

  “Are you a grad student?” he asked then.

  “I used to be. Staying around here until I decide what to do next,” she replied.

  “I understand. It’s a difficult world out there,” he said.

  “My parents aren’t exactly thrilled that I haven’t taken the next steps,” Mila offered.

  “Mine aren’t either, but hey. When you want to be a writer like me, there aren’t so many options,” he said.

  After a moment, the man asked if she might like to share a brownie and have a cup of coffee. Mila agreed. She had another two hours to kill before she had to meet Isabelle, and she wanted to dig deeper into this fake world and see what she could make of herself. She was reminded of Isabelle’s list of potential classes. Mila felt she was circling the elements of herself that she wanted to reveal to this younger man.

  For once, she didn’t want to be the failure of a daughter.

  She didn’t want to be the widow.

  She just wanted to be at the beginning of her life again with a million opportunities at her disposal.

  The man eventually introduced himself as Gavin. Mila said her real name and they shook hands. Soon, they fell into deeper conversation about Chekhov and other short story writers they both liked. Mila admitted that she didn’t have as much time as she liked to read anymore, now that she had to actually work for a living. When he asked what she did, she lied that she worked at a bar in downtown Boston. When she made up a name, he said, “Oh, I think I’ve heard of that place,” and she breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to impress her, just as much as she wanted to impress him.

  When she had to head back to the admissions building to pick up Isabelle, Gavin basically insisted on walking her back.

  “I have to head that way, anyway,” he said.

  “Oh! For what?”

  “I have a part-time job over there. Grad-student life means I have a few opportunities on campus. But I guess you know that,” he said.

  “I do.”

  They walked together beneath the sterling July sunlight. Mila found it was easy to make him laugh, and her smile felt wide, ear-to-ear, practically. When they’d nearly reached the admissions building, she found herself telling him that her parents had always wanted her to be a doctor, like them and like her brother. At this, Gavin stopped walking. This forced Mila to stop and turn back. Her eyes met his.

  “Your life isn’t your parents’ life,” he told her then.

  Mila was struck by how intense this statement was.

  “Yes, they created you, raised you, but that’s it. Now it’s up to us to create our own destiny going forward. You need to do what makes you happy, not them,” Gavin continued. “I want you to remember that. And don’t feel guilty. Don’t—”

  Suddenly, there was a familiar voice. It interrupted the illusion that Mila had created this day. It brought her back to reality.

  “Mom?”

  Mila yanked herself around to find Isabelle standing on the sidewalk. Her eyes turned from Mila to find Gavin.

  “Gavin?” Isabelle continued.

  Confusion surrounded them like a bubble. Gavin’s eyes found Mila’s then. He furrowed his brow.

  “I guess you know one of my freshmen,” he said.

  Isabelle marched up to stand alongside Mila. She crossed and uncrossed her arms. “Are you ready to go?” she asked her mother.

  Mila felt suddenly heartbroken. Gavin’s eyes seemed to comprehend the weight of her lie. How could she begin to describe to him that really, she’d just wanted to step out of herself for a moment? Was that a crime?

  “Isabelle. Good to see you again,” Gavin said. “I hope the tour went well after we set up your schedule?”

  Isabelle nodded. “It was great, thanks.” She then turned to her mother and said, “Gavin’s my resident advisor. He helped me set everything up for the year. And he’ll be living in my building.”

  Mila’s eyebrows rose. She glanced back toward Gavin, whose eyes had turned toward the ground. Was it possible that he was mid-twenties, even? Not thirty? Shame washed over her. She’d been kidding herself.

  “I guess we’d better go grab the car. The meter’s about to run out,” Mila said finally. She suddenly hated her own voice; it sounded so tired, like a mother’s. “Good to meet you, Gavin.”

  “And you,” Gavin returned. Still, he didn’t look at her. “See you in a few weeks, Isabelle.”

  “Yeah. See you.” Isabelle didn’t return an ounce of enthusiasm.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabelle wouldn’t look at her mother at the pizza place. It was one of those overly trendy college dive places, with graffiti on every space of the walls, different kinds of vintage lamps illuminating the tables, and rock music blaring on every stereo. It had been their plan to go there, to try out the garlic bread and drink cherry cokes and digest Isabelle’s day of orientation. But somehow, all of that had been ruined because Isabelle had walked up to Mila during her flirtation with her resident advisor. How desperately Mila wanted to grab her daughter and explain just how lonely she had gotten over the previous few years. How desperately she wanted to tell Isabelle that she hadn’t wanted to hurt her, that she’d only wanted to live for a few moments as someone else.

  But words didn’t seem to be enough.

  They ordered cherry cokes and garlic bread, along with a medium-sized vegetarian pizza. Isabelle twiddled her thumbs for a moment as silence fell over them.

  “Will you tell me what classes you signed up for?” Mila finally asked.

  Isabelle rolled her eyes — in the style of the eye-rolling Mila had previously done to Diana Ellis, back in the day.

  “Come on, Isabelle. Please?”

  Isabelle groaned and leafed out her booklet, where she had written out her schedule for the next semester. She presented it to her mother, saying, “I don’t have to wake up on Tuesdays and Thursdays until ten, which is crazy. But Monday, Wednesday, and Friday every week, I have French at eight a.m.”

  “Oh,” Mila said. “That’s early.”

  “Yes. True. But I have my last class at noon, so it’s not so bad,” Isabelle said. “But everyone says that you have to study at least five hours a day, so it’s not like it’ll be easy.”

  “Nobody said it would be easy,” Mila agreed. “It’s Tufts, for goodness sake.”

  “Yep. Tufts is tough,” Isabelle said dryly.

  The silence fell between them again. Mila’s heart pattered strangely.

  “I really want to tell you that I didn’t mean to — erm — become friendly with your resident advisor,” Mila said finally. “I met him at a coffee shop, and he asked what I was reading, and, well, it—”

  “Sounds like a classic meet-cute,” Isabelle said, with the slightest bit of sarcasm.

  Mila’s heart shattered. “I was just a person in a coffee shop. So was he. We liked a lot of the same stories. And to be honest with you, I thought he was a little bit older.”

  “And he probably thought you were a little bit younger. I get it,” Isabelle said with a sigh. “I just—ugh. I mean, Mom, come on. Think about it. It hasn’t been easy on Zane and me, you know. You trying out dating and all that.”

  Mila dropped her eyes to the table.
It was in moments like this that she fully realized how much her children had missed out on. They’d had to say goodbye to their father at age sixteen and the death had literally ripped them in half. All three of them had been in therapy for almost two years. There were some things in life you could never mend.

  “I know. It’s not easy for me either, you know,” Mila returned.

  Isabelle nodded so that her hair curled out from behind her ears. Their garlic bread arrived, along with their cherry cokes. Isabelle sucked at her straw but didn’t go for the bread. Mila didn’t feel hungry, either.

  “Your dad went to college, you know,” Mila said then.

  Isabelle’s eyes shone with tears. “I know.”

  “He went to Penn State. And he said he was absolutely crazy back then,” Mila said.

  Isabelle nodded. She wanted her mother to keep talking; Mila could sense it.

  “He joined a fraternity and he said he threw some of the wildest parties the campus had ever seen,” Mila continued. “Once, the dean actually threatened to kick him off campus, but he was one of the top journalists at the school paper, and he ended up exposing this huge scandal, which revealed that a number of the teachers were stealing finances from parents who’d made hefty donations.”

  Isabelle’s lips formed a round O. She shook her head. “That’s insane.”

  “Your dad was quite a character,” Mila said with a smile. She reached forward and tore a bit off a piece of garlic bread, then took a bite. She closed her eyes as the salty garlic washed over her palate. “You really have to try this, Izzy. Seriously. It’ll blow your mind.”

  Isabelle laughed for the first time. She grabbed a piece and followed suit. “Oh my God, you’re right. This is sinful. Freshmen fifteen, here I come.”

  Mila laughed outright. “Naw. With all the walking around campus you’ll do, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  Isabelle reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. Her eyes looked lighter. “I didn’t mean to freak out about Gavin. I just felt weird. But to be honest, Mom, I feel weird about all of it. I feel extra weird about leaving you in that big house alone. Zane and I talk about it all the time.”