Free The Whole World by Emily Winslow

“But I sometimes go to Magdalene’s chapel for a more formal service mid-week.” He looked back into the courtyard, at all the windows lined up just so and the neatly trimmed grass and the designated paved paths. “I find that formality is a comfort in the midst of chaos.”
    So he felt the world spinning too. That was good to know.
    “Dr. Keene,” I said, “do you really think—”
    And then I saw her. My mother. She was on the other side of the road, looking for me.
    I grabbed Dr. Keene’s arm, then let it go. I hardly knew him. I shouldn’t be touching people I don’t know. Mom crossed, ignoring the bicycles and the enormous red double-decker buses going both ways. For a moment I couldn’t see her, as one of those buses drove between us. Then she was closer. Then she was there.
    Dr. Keene is the same size as my dad. I stepped back to put his shoulder between me and Mom. The wind changed direction; rain from the open courtyard behind us soaked my back.
    Mom joined us in the shelter of the gatehouse. She dripped. She looked like a melting candle. She shook herself off and gave a little conspiratorial smile to us, like a stranger commiserating about the weather.
    Dr. Keene spread his arms protectively. He didn’t realize who she was. It was refreshing to find someone I knew in Cambridge whom she hadn’t already hunted down.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” I said from behind him. I meant in England.
    “I know. It’s such an expensive city. But I’ve been looking at apartments. The rents are higher here than I’m used to, but—”
    “No.”
    She looked at me with coolness instead of her usual beggar’s eyes. “I still have British citizenship and I can live where I wish. It’s not up to you.”
    I stepped out from behind Dr. Keene. “You can’t leave Will,” I said. My brother.
    “Polly,” she said gently. “Will is in college now. You know that.”
    Of course he is. But I still pictured him at fifteen. Everything at home is frozen there in my memory.
    “I’m divorcing your father,” she said formally, embarrassed to be saying it in public. My refusal to meet with her more conventionally had reduced her.
    I’d expected it, but, good God, I didn’t need this now. Later, later , my eyes pleaded. Not now .
    “Okay,” I said. Really, what else was she supposed to do?
    It’s not like I hadn’t known this was coming. She’d started taking birth control pills again just before I left. We only had one bathroom, and she took one right in front of me, while I was brushing my teeth.
    “And there’s something else. Your father …”
    “No!” I said. “Not now, I have an appointment.” Lie, lie. “With Dr. Keene. We were just …”
    “I’m Richard Keene,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand. “Mrs….? You must be Polly’s mother?”
    “Yes, I am,” she said possessively. “It’s good to meet you, Richard.” She called him Richard! That really made me mad. Who does she think she is, that she can call these people she’s only just met by their first names?
    I sucked in a deep breath. “Mom, I know you want a fresh start too. I get it. But Cambridge is mine. It’s mine, okay?” I tried to reason with her.
    “You’re not all right, Polly,” she whispered. “You’re still …”
    “What? What?” I deliberately raised my voice against her purposely delicate tones.
    “You’re still very fragile,” she said. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
    I hate psychology. “I like it here and I’m good at it,” I defended myself.
    “Nick—” she started to say, and I exploded.
    “First, you didn’t want me to have sex. Now you think I’m ‘fragile’ because I don’t want to have sex. Pick one or the other, Mom—they can’t both be evidence of pathology.”
    This was wearing on her. I’d said “sex” in front of a teacher.
    “Polly, you’re a good girl.” This didn’t mean she approved of my behavior. It was just mother-speak for general affection.
    “I