Time to Fly by Laurie Halse Anderson

you think I was so good at playing a nurse on the soap opera?” she says lightly, handing me a towel. “My mother is a doctor!”
    Gran chuckles. She’s more relaxed around Mom than I expected. Although she’s never criticized Mom to me, I sense that she didn’t exactly approve of Mom leaving me to go off to Lala-land. All their phone calls over the past year started out friendly, but then Gran would begin to look serious and turn away, and finally she’d carry the phone into another room. Before I moved in with Gran, I don’t think she and Mom ever talked on the phone, at least not that I saw. I’ve never quite known what came between them, but the way Gran’s always so tight-lipped about Mom’s career, I get the feeling that Gran didn’t want her daughter to become an actress.
    Gran steps out to fetch her next client and returns with a tall woman carrying an Abyssinian cat. As Mom steadies the slender brownish gold cat on the table and scratches its neck soothingly, Gran peers into its large ears with a light scope.
    â€œLooks like Abby has ear mites,” Gran says to the woman. “Zoe, would you please get the ear mite medication from the cabinet?”
    As Gran puts drops in the cat’s ear, the conversation turns to parrots. “My daughter lives on Telegraph Hill, in San Francisco,” the woman is saying. “She told me there’s an entire population of parrots living there wild. That surprised me alright—I thought parrots could only live wild in the tropics.”
    Gran hands the ear ointment back to me. “Apparently they’re very adaptable,” she replies.
    Adaptable —that’s the perfect word for Mom. Look how well she’s adapted to life in California. And now she walks into this clinic, where she hasn’t set foot in twenty years, and makes herself right at home.
    I guess maybe the word could apply to me, too. When I first arrived at Gran’s, I thought I’d never get used to it, but I did.
    After a few more patients, the waiting room is finally empty, and Mom and I collapse on the waiting room couch for a breather. It occurs to me that Mom might be thirsty after her long trip. “Lemonade?” I offer.
    â€œOh, Zoe, that would be wonderful.”
    I pop next door to the kitchen and return a moment later with two glasses.
    â€œThank you, darling—this is just what I needed.” She takes a drink and then gives a contented sigh. “My, but that puppy was sweet. You know, I’d forgotten how nice it feels to work with animals.”
    My mother never ceases to amaze me. “Mom, I always thought you didn’t like animals.”
    She raises her eyebrows at me, just the way Gran does. “Whatever made you think that?”
    â€œWell, we could never have a pet in New York, even though I wanted one and they were allowed in our building.”
    Mom nods and swirls the ice in her glass. Finally she says quietly, “Well, I was always so busy, and Ethel had enough to do without cleaning up after a pet, and—” She pauses, takes another drink, and then looks at me. “Animals die, Zoe. Sooner or later, they die. I couldn’t—I didn’t want you to feel that pain, that loss.” She smiles at me, but the smile seems sad.

    That afternoon Mom takes me and Maggie and David to the Ambler Bowl-a-Rama.
    The guy at the desk recognizes Mom from her soap and makes a big fuss. Turns out they went to high school together, and he’s thrilled when she lets him take a snapshot of the two of them standing in front of the lanes. “I’m gonna blow it up, frame it, and display it on the wall!” he declares. “Then the next time you come, you can sign it for me!”
    Mom actually blushes, but she looks flattered by the attention.
    â€œI bet they never had a TV star in here before,” Maggie says as we head for our lane.
    â€œHey, I wasn’t exactly a