The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

“I see,” Henry said, his expression sobering as he leaned forward to look her squarely in the face. “And how has this been communicated?”

“Henry, what does that have to do with—”

“I’m going somewhere,” Henry interrupted Bernice and rolled his eyes. The gesture was so prepubescent it looked absurd on a man in his sixties. Dylan snickered, only pulling it together when her mother caught her eye.

“Mostly texts. A few angry voice mails.”

“Oh, honey. Scoot over, yeah?” Dylan pulled her shoulders back and moved closer to the center of the couch so her mother and father could squeeze in on either side of her, the three of them jammed more closely together by their height and matching shoulder width.

Rearranging the puzzle pieces of their bodies, Henry sat back, wrapping his arm around her and clearing his throat. “You tell CEOs off in emails for a living. Why not do the same to Nicolas?”

“It just seemed so childish and impersonal after dating the guy for years. We should be able to part better than that.”

“True,” Bernice said, throwing her arm over Dylan as well. “But I think we both know the kind of man you drive over foliage to get away from is not someone you treat like a grown man.”

“If there is anything I have learned after forty years of gallery contracts, it’s get it in writing. Preferably in a language you speak.” Henry frowned partially as he added the last part.

Dylan decided she would rather not know the story behind that little piece of advice. “It feels draconian. Like jumping from level two to level ten at light speed.” Bernice’s right eyebrow joined her left as she pursed her lips. “What, Mom?”

“Well, it’s not really my place, but—”

“Spit it out,” Dylan said, attempting to adjust under the weight of her parents’ arms. The gesture was nice, but she was getting hot under so many layers of skin and sweaters.

“It’s just, if you think his behavior is level two, we need to talk about your bullshit scale.”

Her father’s arm tensed around her, as if shielding her from the directness of her mother’s words. The squeeze around her shoulders translated to a squeeze around her heart. Her mother was right. Her bullshit scale needed recalibration, badly.

Somewhere along the way she’d started letting bad behavior control her, first with Nicolas, then with Jared, and even with her clients. As straight talking as she’d thought she was with Tim, how much beating around the bush had she done to cajole him into half decency? It was as if she had gotten so good at repackaging bad behavior that she had stopped seeing it altogether.

“You’re right. Civility is just throwing good after bad,” Dylan said, slowly nodding in time with her thoughts.

“That’s my girl. Cut your losses.” Henry announced this like she had won some sort of prize.

“Let’s get this email written.” Bernice jumped up and ran into the hallway.

“Now?” Dylan asked, a bit startled by her mother’s sudden burst of energy.

“No time like the present. Where is your purse?” Bernice called over her shoulder.

“Kitchen,” Dylan answered, not bothering to ask why her mother needed her purse.

A moment later the sound of the purse’s contents scattering across the kitchen counter crashed into the living room, along with a triumphant “Ha!”

Bernice ran into the room, clutching the half-empty bottle of wine and Dylan’s cell phone. She took the phone from her mother, piecing together what she was expected to do. “Do you want me to proofread it?” Bernice asked.

“Mom, no. Remember when I talked about respecting boundaries? This would be one,” Dylan said, half joking as she opened her email.

“Okay, but will you at least tell us what you are going to say?” Bernice asked, causing Henry to giggle.

“We are going to work on your understanding of boundaries after I write this email. Dad, stop laughing—I can feel you reading over my shoulder, and that is just as bad.”

Henry had the decency to act ashamed. Bernice, on the other hand, took a page out of her husband’s book and leaned in closer to try to read as Dylan typed:

Nicolas:

I would like us to communicate through email from now on. I understand the end of our relationship is difficult, but I do not want to be threatened again. Let’s keep it civil and behave like adults.

Movers are coming to the house on the 3rd to pack up and take my things away. I will be there to help supervise, and afterward, I will return my key. If there are any final bills to settle, you may email a copy of the statement to me and I will transfer you my share.

Please know that any calls or texts will go unanswered. I expect you to adhere to these ground rules in honor of the time we spent together so we can part on good terms.

Sincerely,

Dylan

“All right. Did I miss anything? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” She held the phone out so both her parents could see her screen. Henry leaned in to see the tiny font, while her mother adjusted her glasses.

“I’m happy with it,” her mother pronounced, wrinkling her nose.

“Hit send. Be done with the rascal,” Henry said.

Dylan’s finger hovered over the screen. Before she could start the downward spiral of second-guessing her second guesses, she shut her eyes and pressed her index finger down, then opened them just in time to see the little blue line finish scanning across the screen. No turning back.

Bernice let out a whoop and jumped up. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Me too!” Henry said, reaching over and smothering Dylan in the big hug she suspected he’d been holding off on administering until this moment.

“Thanks, Dad,” Dylan said, burying her head into the sweater that was steadily causing her to overheat. When she finally looked up, she saw her mother was still holding the bottle of wine she had retrieved from the kitchen.

“I have to say, Linda and Patricia have good