The Book of Jane by Anne Dayton

and starts to deal another hand of hearts. “What’s wrong with your face?”
    â€œJim!” Mom says. I put my hand up quickly to cover my rash. “I’ve almost won this round, Jane,” she says. “We’ll deal you in next game.”
    I nod and take a sip. The wine is light and refreshing.
    Mom puts a smile on her face, trying to help me out. “So how’s Ty?” she asks and beams at me. I freeze. I had also hoped to avoid talking about this. I take another sip. Mom looks at me.
    â€œMom, Ty and I broke up,” I whisper. I feel so small.
    â€œ
What!?
” Dad yells.
    â€œNo!” Mom says. “When? Why?”
    And now they’re shocked. Great. I wait for a snarky comment from Jim, but he just looks at me sadly, which actually hurts more. I
am
pathetic.
    â€œIt just wasn’t going to work out,” I say, biting my lip.
    â€œOf course it was,” Mom says. “You guys were perfect for each other.”
    I take a deep breath. “I thought so too,” I say, taking a long drink. “But apparently he had other ideas. He’s moving to Denver.”
    â€œDenver?” Dad asks, flabbergasted. “Why would he want to live there?”
    â€œHoney,” Mom says, patting my hand.
    â€œMom, I—”
    â€œMaybe you could give it another shot?” She smiles at me hopefully and pats my hand.
    I look around at them. “I wish we could, more than anything. But I think it’s a more permanent break.” Before they can say anything, I stand up and walk to the door. “I’m going to go to bed now,” I say. Dad nods, stunned. Mom looks like she’s going to cry, as if Ty broke up with her.
    â€œHoney, check my vanity. I’ve got a great Dr. Hauschka product that will help your face.”
    I ignore her, trudge to my childhood room, and collapse on the bed.
    Â 
    The next morning, I stay in bed for as long as I can, listening to the rain drum against the roof, praying for wisdom, but the smell of bacon fights against my desire to remain cocooned in my own world. Finally, hunger wins. I have to go face my family.
    Dad is cooking while Mom reads the paper and drinks coffee at the table. I can hear vague computer-generated explosions coming from Jim’s room.
    â€œThere you are, honey,” Mom says, smiling sweetly as I trudge down the stairs in my pajamas. “Did you sleep okay?”
    I nod as I walk toward the pot of freshly brewed coffee.
    â€œDo you want some orange juice?” Dad asks, flipping the bacon in the pan.
    â€œNo thanks,” I mumble, then take a seat at the table.
    â€œHow are you feeling today?” Mom asks.
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œI didn’t sleep very well myself,” she volunteers. I nod. “I was up all night, thinking.” I don’t say anything, so she continues. “I realized what the problem is. I think you just don’t understand what a man really wants.”
    I look up at her, eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
    â€œThey want to feel needed, honey. They need to feel like the provider. It’s an ingrained thing from way back in the caveman days. He went out hunting, she stayed in and took care of the children. He brought home food at night, and they were all happy. Men are still the same today.” She smiles and hands me a napkin.
    â€œYou think I should hang out in a cave and Tyson will come back?” I ask in disbelief.
    She laughs. “No, honey. What I mean is, Ty is probably uncomfortable with the fact that you make more than he does and that you place so much value on your career. You just need to be more supportive of his career.”
    â€œYou mean I should quit my job.”
    â€œNot yet. But you do need to let him know that when you get married you will.” She smiles.
    â€œBut I won’t.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m saying,” she says, as if I’m a petulant five-year-old.