Mrs. Fletcher The Obligatory Emoticon It was a long drive and Eve cried most of the way home, because the big day hadn''t gone the way she''d hoped, not that big days ever did. Birthdays, holidays, weddings, graduations, funerals--they were all too loaded with expectations, and the important people in her life rarely acted the way they were supposed to. Most of them didn''t even seem to be working from the same script as she was, though maybe that said more about the important people in her life than it did about big days in general. Take today: all she''d wanted, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, was a chance to let Brendan know what was in her heart, to express all the love that had been building up over the summer, swelling to the point where she sometimes thought her chest would explode. It just seemed really important to say it out loud before he left, to share all the gratitude and pride she felt, not just for the wonderful person he was right now, but for the sweet little boy he''d been, and the strong and decent man he would one day become. And she wanted to reassure him, too, to make it clear that she would be starting a new life just the same as he was, and that it would be a great adventure for both of them. Don''t worry about me, she wanted to tell him.

You just study hard and have fun. I''ll take care of myself . But that conversation never happened. Brendan had overslept--he''d been out late, partying with his buddies--and when he finally dragged himself out of bed, he was useless, too hungover to help with the last-minute packing or the loading of the van. It was just so irresponsible--leaving her, with her bad back, to lug his boxes and suitcases down the stairs in the sticky August heat, sweating through her good shirt while he sat in his boxers at the kitchen table, struggling with the child-proof cap on a bottle of ibuprofen--but she managed to keep her irritation in check. She didn''t want to spoil their last morning together with petty nagging, even if he deserved it. Going out on a sour note would have been a disservice to both of them. When she was finished, she took a few pictures of the van with the back hatch open, the cargo area stuffed with luggage and plastic containers, a rolled-up rug and a lacrosse stick, an Xbox console and an oscillating fan, a mini-fridge and a milk crate full of emergency food, plus a jumbo bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, because they were his favorite.

She uploaded the least blurry photo to Facebook, along with a status update that read, Off to college! So happy for my amazing son, Brendan!!! Then she inserted the obligatory emoticon and launched her message into space, so her 221 friends would understand how she was feeling, and could let her know that they liked it. It took a couple of tries to shut the hatch--the damn rug was in the way--but she finally got it closed and that was that. She lingered for a moment, thinking of other road trips, vacations they''d taken when Brendan was little, the three of them heading to Cape Cod to stay with Ted''s parents, and that one time camping in the Berkshires when it rained and rained--the earth turning liquid beneath their tent--and they had to pack it in and find a motel in the middle of the night. She thought she might cry right then--it was going to happen sooner or later--but before she could get herself started, Becca zoomed up the driveway on her bicycle, moving so swiftly and silently it felt like a sneak attack. "Oh!" Eve flung up her arms in self-defense, though she was in no danger of being run over. "You scared me!" Becca shot her a withering what-planet-are-you-from look as she dismounted, but the contempt came and went so quickly it was almost like it hadn''t been there at all. "Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher.

" Eve bristled at the greeting. She''d told Becca numerous times that she preferred to be addressed by her first name, but the girl insisted on calling her Mrs. Fletcher, as if she were still married. "Good morning, Becca. Shouldn''t you be wearing a helmet?" Becca released the bike--it balanced on its own for a moment before toppling dreamily onto the grass--and patted her hair with both hands, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be, which of course it was. "Helmets are gross, Mrs. Fletcher." Eve hadn''t seen Becca for a few weeks, and she suddenly realized how pleasant the interlude had been, and how she''d failed to appreciate it, the same way you fail to appreciate the absence of a stomachache until the cramps return.

Becca was so petite and adorable, so totally put together--that cute little turquoise romper, those immaculate white sneakers, all that makeup, way too much for a teenager riding her bike on a summer morning. And she wasn''t even sweating! "Well, then." Eve smiled nervously, acutely conscious of her own body, the doughy pallor of her flesh, the dampness spreading from her armpits. "Something I can do for you?" Becca shot her that frosty look again, letting her know that she''d used up her quota of stupid questions for the day. "Is he inside?" "I''m sorry, honey." Eve nodded toward the van. "We''re just about to leave." "No worries.

" Becca was already moving toward the house. "I just need a minute." Eve could have stopped her from going in--she totally had the right--but she didn''t feel like playing the role of bitchy, disapproving mom, not today. What was the point? Her mom days were over. And as much as she disliked Becca, Eve couldn''t help feeling sorry for her, at least a little. It couldn''t have been easy being Brendan''s girlfriend, and it must have hurt pretty badly to get dumped by him just weeks before he left for college, while she was marooned in high school for another year. He''d apparently done the dirty work by text and refused to talk to her afterward, just crumpled up the relationship and tossed it in the trash, a tactic he''d learned from his father. Eve could understand all too well Becca''s need for one last conversation, that vain hope for closure.

Good luck with that. * Figuring they could use a little space, Eve drove to the Citgo station to fill the tank and check the tire pressure, then stopped at the bank to withdraw some cash she could slip to Brendan as a parting gift. For books, she would tell him, though she imagined most of it would go for pizza and beer. She was gone for about fifteen minutes--ample time for a farewell chat--but Becca''s bike was still resting on the lawn when she returned. Too bad, she thought. Visiting hours are over . The kitchen was empty, and Brendan didn''t respond when she called his name. She tried again, a little louder, with no more success.

Then she checked the patio, but it was pure formality; she already knew where they were and what they were doing. She could feel it in the air, a subtle, illicit, and deeply annoying vibration. Eve wasn''t a puritanical mom--when she went to the drugstore, she made a point of asking her son if he needed condoms--but she didn''t have the patience for this, not today, not after she''d loaded the van by herself and they were already way behind schedule. She made her way to the foot of the stairs. "Brendan!" Her voice was shrill and commanding, the same one she''d used when he was a child misbehaving on the playground. "I need you down here immediately!" She waited for a few seconds, then stomped up the stairs, making as much noise as possible. She didn''t care what they were doing. It was a simple matter of respect.

Respect and maturity. He was leaving for college and it was time to grow up. His bedroom door was closed and music was playing inside, the usual thuggish rap. She raised her hand to knock. The sound that stopped her was vague at first, barely audible, but it grew louder as she tuned in to its frequency, an urgent primal muttering that no mother needs to hear from her son, especially when she was feeling nostalgic for the little boy he''d been, the sweet child who''d clung so desperately to her leg when she tried to say goodbye on his first day of preschool, begging her to stay with him for just one more minute. Please, Mommy, just one little minute! "Oh shit," he was saying now, in a tone of tranquilized wonder. "Fuck yeah . Suck it, bitch.

" As if repulsed by a terrible odor, Eve lurched away from the door and beat a flustered retreat to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of soothing peppermint tea. To distract herself while it steeped, she flipped through a catalogue from Eastern Community College, because she was going to have a lot of time on her hands from now on, and needed to find some activities that would get her out of the house, maybe bring her into contact with some interesting new people. She''d made it all the way up to Sociology, circling the classes that seemed promising and fit her schedule, when she finally heard footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Becca stepped into the kitchen, looking rumpled but victorious, with a big wet spot on her romper. At least she had the decency to blush. "Bye, Mrs. Fletcher. Enjoy the empty nest!" * The previous summer, when Eve and Brendan were visiting colleges, they''d had some lovely long drives together.

Lulled by the monotony of the highway, he''d opened up to her in a way she''d forgotten was possible, talking easily and thoughtfully about a multitude o.