I take my fork and swirl it around the empty plate, collecting all of the crumbs.
“What happened to your face?” he asks.
“I fell,” I say, glaring into his eyes.
He shakes his head and a loose strand of hair falls into his face. Our eyes interlock, neither of us daring to blink or look away first.
“Did you want to meet here so that Henry wouldn’t see that he’s still hurting you?” Jackie asks after a long pause.
“You’re a lot smarter than you look,” I say with a laugh.
I reach into my purse and pull out Franklin’s cup.
“I got you this, now go make me a fake print so I can get into his fucking laptop.”
21
Aurora
I haven’t seen my mother for a while. Not since the wedding. I don’t want to meet up with her but the days are long and sometimes it’s nice just to fill them with something.
With the relationship, I feel like I have no identity but it’s worse than that. I feel like there’s nothing I can do or spend my time on that’s worthwhile. Yet I have all of these hours in the day that I spend worrying instead.
I worry about what’s going to happen.
I worry about what might not happen.
There’re so many things that are outside of my control. Yet, I know that I wield some power in determining the outcome.
It’s hard to explain how bored I really am in between all of the moments of terror and uncertainty. I don’t have school to ground me. I read things but nothing stays in my mind. Everything on the news seems like it’s happening to someone else or to people far, far away.
Nothing is relevant.
I know that I’m depressed and that I have to do something to get out of this headspace but what?
“Thank you for finally making the time to see me,” my mother says, opening the door to her apartment.
She is dressed in a crisp linen suit. Her hair is professionally blow-dried and not covered in two pounds of dry shampoo like mine.
She looks me up and down, undoubtably taking note of my casual attire that she doesn’t approve of; black leggings, a loose-fitting sweater that falls off the shoulder, and sneakers.
“I see that you’re not spending all of your days primping and beautifying yourself for your new husband,” she jokes.
She has a dark sense of humor but sometimes it hits just the right note.
The truth is that I miss her. Before we had this marriage stuck in between us, we could at least talk to one another. I know that we are different people with completely different viewpoints on just about everything but as far as entertaining dinner companions, she’s one of the best out there.
“How are you?” I ask, plopping down on her custom-made chiffon sofa that you can’t look at sideways without marking it up.
She glances down at my feet to make sure that they don’t come anywhere near the cushions. They don’t. I have been trained well after all the years of living in this museum.
“I’m good,” she says. “Your father is feeling better and, as you know, health is the most important thing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. There are a few other things you seem to care a whole lot about,” I think to myself, looking around at all the sculptures and relics all around the home.
“I’m happy about that,” I say. “How about the other thing? The legal situation?”
“Everything seems to be fine there also,” she says with a smile. “Thanks to you.”
There’s no more fear in her eyes.
She’s calm, collected, and in control just like she always was when I was growing up. Her hands are folded in her lap and her ankles are crossed.
She’s the epitome of poise. If she feels uncertain or confused about anything, she’s not letting on.
She’s always been like this and for many years I felt like I was growing up with an ice sculpture for a mother.
“How is Franklin?” Mom asks. “We should really have you two over for dinner sometime.”
“He’s fine,” I say. “Very busy with the buyout. So, we probably won’t be able to make it anytime soon.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” Mom says. “There were years that your father and I hardly saw each other at all even though we worked in the same building and slept together in the same apartment.”
She says this with a sense of pride that makes me want to gag.
Don’t you know that life isn’t supposed to be like that?
Doesn’t she know that a good life is one that’s spent with the people you love?
When I was thirteen and I asked them why we never spent time together when I was a kid, my parents said that they didn’t like children much. Nothing changed much over the years. I guess they don’t like adults either.
“So, what’s the end game here, Mom?” I ask.
Her eyes dart up at me. This is the first bit of emotion that I have seen since I got here and I kind of like it. It reminds me that underneath the façade, she’s actually human.
“What are you talking about, Aurora?” she asks.
“Exactly that,” I say, leaning back against the back of the couch. “Franklin and I are married. He’s going to own Tate Media. What’s my exit strategy?”
“So, you two aren’t getting along?”
I look up at the ceiling and pretend to consider the possibility but then shake my head.
On the way here, I had thought that perhaps we could talk about something real. Maybe even connect like a mother and daughter should but then I saw the way that she was dressed and her demeanor and her general standoffishness.
I realized that this would be nothing but a game of pretend. I could go along with it, improvise, and make nice or I could make it interesting.
“I have walked in on my husband in bed with two women on two different occasions. He comes into my room and threatens me. He has punched me a few times in fits of rage. Also, choked me until I almost passed out. Luckily, he hasn’t raped me yet.”
I wasn’t expecting to tell her all of this, it all came tumbling out as soon as I opened my mouth. All of this is because of her. It’s because of what she and my father asked me to do as a fucking favor.
“Are you saying this to shock me?” Mom asks.
I think about that question for a moment and shake my head no.
“Then I don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“I want you to know what kind of marriage your daughter has. It's definitely not a happy one.”
“Anyone can be happy, Aurora.”
I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.
“Marriage is what you make of it. It requires work. It’s two people coming together and agreeing to a certain set of norms. The kind of things you allow to happen in the marriage and the kind of things that you don’t.”
“Okay, I’ll think about that next time he’s choking me,” I say sarcastically. “Should I talk to him about that right now or should it be a little obvious that I don’t wanna fucking get choked?”
“Aurora, you have always made things so complicated. Have you ever thought about the fact that if you just went along and made him feel a little bit more like a man then he wouldn’t be cheating on you? That maybe he wouldn’t be so angry all the time.”