I shake my head. "A function. Like I said, I didn't want to go to it anyway."
"No, instead you got to play twenty questions." She smiles, looking at me. Waiting for me to reciprocate.
"Yeah. Survived it, though. It's late. I should go to bed."
"Oh, yes. Me too. It's been a long weekend, and tomorrow I'm going with Mom to her friend's pottery class."
"Right. Well, I'll see you for dinner tomorrow, then."
She braces her hands against the kitchen counter, and for a moment, the expression on her face is lost. "Yes, of course. Goodnight."
I take the stairs in two and close the door to my bedroom. My breathing comes heavy. My bedroom feels empty and alien without her in it. I want her here, but not if she's waiting to get rid of me. Not until I know she's really forgiven me for how I behaved during our year together at work. Her mother's words ring in my ear. The assumption that I've exploited and used her. Cecilia's own confession that I'd made her cry at work.
This is why I don't get involved. This is why I've always kept up boundaries. Because someone ends up getting hurt if you don't.
I'd just never thought that person would be me.
Victor hasn't been himself for the past week.
He comes back late from the office, sometimes way past dinner, and goes straight to his computer. We don't sleep in the same bed anymore, despite me trying to twice. I'd wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him desperately, passionately. He'd kissed me back for a long moment and then lowered my arms from around his neck.
He'd run a thumb over my lower lip, eyes on the movement rather than meeting mine. "We'll talk more this weekend."
"This weekend?"
"Yes. Will you let me take you out to dinner?"
"On a date?"
"I'd like that, yes."
"Good," he'd said, and we'd said good night right there, in the long impersonal hallway between our two bedrooms. It had been the only time this week where we'd had an actual conversation.
In some ways, he's every bit the Victor I once knew. The one who came home and went straight to his office, who hated unnecessary small talk, who avoided emotional intimacy.
And I can only think of one reason why that's happened.
It had started when we came home from dinner with my mother. The distance. I'd been replaying some of Mom's words in my head in the days since, especially her thoughtless suggestion that this might become more than a fake marriage.
Victor had looked away from me when she said that, obviously pained by the suggestion. Pained because he couldn't fathom it, or pained because he suspected it was what I now wanted?
I know he's easy to spook, and still, I'd insisted on that damn dinner. I'd hoped it would settle my mom's nerves and in some naive, foolish way, I wanted them to meet. Two of the people who meant the most to me. The only one missing was Nadine, but we hadn't needed any more fuel to that fire.
It had managed to scorch us all on its own.
My phone rings and I put my headphones in before I answer. "Hi, Mom. Did you make it home okay?"
"Sure did! Had a lovely flight, too. The clouds were gorgeous. Aiyana was waiting for me at the airport and we're on our way now."
"To the flower festival?"
"Yes. She's exhibiting and I'll help."
"You'll have to send me some pictures of all the flowers."
"I will. Hey, say hi to Aiyana."
I raise my voice. "Hi Aiyana!"
A cheerful voice, slightly echoey, from the other end. "Hi, Cece baby!"
"Good luck with your exhibition!"
"Thanks, honey!"
Mom's voice returns to the phone. "I've been thinking a lot since we said goodbye."
"I don't think I made it clear just how happy I am that you finally made the decision to tell me about your marriage. I understand why you were hesitant. It's not like I've ever spoken positively about marriage."
I run my fingers along the marbling on the kitchen counter. "No, nor about secrecy, New York's corporate scene, rich people, men in suits, inheritances in general…"
"Hey now," she says. "I've always said that suits have a certain appeal. They're just an outdated custom."
"Not to mention you think they kill originality."
"No man was blessed with life only to dress forever in gray or black," she says. "But honey, that wasn't the point. I wanted you to know that I appreciated your honesty. Your path and my path aren't the same, but they are perpendicular, for as long as I'm treading mine. And I'm so grateful I get to see the beautiful, strong, ambitious woman you've become."
My throat feels tight. "Thanks, Mom."
"Victor was… interesting. He has the conflicted power of a man who knows himself and his abilities well, but hasn't fully incorporated his shadow self. He still fights his weaknesses, when he should be embracing them."
"He won't let me heal his chakras," I say, half-joking, half-serious. "I tried once."
Mom hmms in thought on the other end. "A man like him wouldn't. But there's healing to be done in other ways, sweetie. He'll find it in time, and you can't do it for him. Just remember to keep your channels of communication open."
I sigh. "Yes. I will."
Mom once drew a chart of the channels she considered a part of communication, and you'd be surprised how many non-verbal ones she included. This week, we haven't been using much of any channel, Victor and I.
"I love you," I say. "You know, I don't know if I've ever thanked you for giving me a childhood unlike any of my friends'. I know I wasn't always grateful when I was younger. But I am, Mom. We were a team, you and I, and we saw so many things, and did them all together. You were always there for me."
There's a beat of stunned silence on the other end, and then Mom sniffles. Her voice is warm. "Honey, I love you too. I know the life we lived wasn't always easy for you. You're cut more from your grandparents' cloth than mine, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"But the years I raised you were the best ones in my life. Always."
"Thank you," I whisper. I'm going to cry if we don't end this. Perhaps she thinks the same, because she gives a strangled half-laugh, and I join in.