Page 36 of Faultlines

She rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Claire, nobody blames you for what happened.”

I force a small smile. I wish I believed that.

A little after 1 pm, I’m finally sneaking a few bites of a sandwich when I finally glance at my phone. Silent since this morning. Since the email about the board meeting.

Twelve missed calls—three texts from Ethan, two from Ellie, and several voicemails.

My stomach plummets. I open my calendar and the highlighted entry mocks me:

Drama Program Parent Appreciation Lunch, 12:00 p.m.

My promise to Ellie. The one she made me double-check.

Ethan picks up on the third ring, and the words rush out of me. “I completely forgot, my phone was on silent. Oh God. I can picture how upset she must have been.” I keep seeing Ellie, small and hopeful, peering through a doorway, and I can’t make myself stop.

He takes a deep breath. “She just kept watching the door. Brooke had to drag her away with a cupcake to get her to stop looking for you.”

My breath catches realizing that her teacher had to step in when I should have been present.

I walk into a silent house a few hours later. The lunch invitation on the refrigerator catches my eye, a splash of pink against the white enamel. I trace Ellie’s handwriting: “Mom,” written in a bold marker, followed by a heart. The paper is creased, a testament to her anticipation. My fingers tremble as I refold it along its worn lines and slide it back under the magnet. It’s a useless gesture, but it’s all I have.

I rehearsed what to say, but standing here, I draw a blank.

I turn and see her in the sunroom, absorbed in her phone. Its blue glow illuminating her face. She looks up and offers a smile, but it’s one I don’t recognize.

“I’m so sorry I missed today. You have every right to be angry and disappointed. I keep letting you down.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

Some of the brightness fades from her expression. “I know you didn’t mean to forget.”

I find Ethan in our bedroom, lounging on a chair reading an architect magazine. “How’d it go?” I ask, my voice barely a murmur.

The question lands wrong. The set of his jaw tells me everything. He closes the book without marking his page. “Do you care?”

“Of course I care,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks. “I hate that I missed it.” His gaze is unwavering, a cold accusation. “There was a situation with the board⁠—”

“Of course there was.” Bitter sarcasm laces his voice.

“What does that mean?”

“It means there’s always a situation.”

I recoil. “I didn’t choose to miss it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“That’s not fair.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “But it’s true. Do you know who was there?”

I cross my arms, the fabric of my sweater pulling taut.

“Every parent. Stepparents. Siblings.”

“I know.”