15. Valentina
— ? —
Valentina
Nora’s house feels different the second time.
Not smaller or less intimidating. Just more familiar. I know where the blue plates are kept. I know which chair creaks if you lean back too far. I know that Nora takes her coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream, and that she’ll pretend she doesn’t if you ask.
“You came back,” she says when she opens the door. “Most people don’t.”
“I’m not most people.”
She laughs. That real laugh again. “No. I’m starting to see that.”
Dinner is quieter than brunch. More intimate. Eric is different here too. The sharp edges soften. He argues with his mother about whether the roast is overcooked (it isn’t) and whether he works too much (he does). He lets her tease him about his haircut, his car, his inability to keep plants alive.
He looks almost human.
After dinner, Nora pours wine and settles into her chair with the sigh of someone whose bones hurt more than she’ll admit.
“Eric doesn’t talk about his father,” she says, swirling her glass. “Has he told you?”
I glance at Eric. He’s very still.
“Some,” I say carefully. “Not much.”
“His father was handsome. Charming. The kind of man who made you feel like the only woman in the world.” She takes a sip. “He was also a liar and a cheat who took everything I had and left me with a ten-year-old and an eviction notice.”
The words hang in the air.
“Mom,” Eric says quietly.
“She should know.” Nora looks at me. “You had someone in your life who did something similar, didn’t he?”
I can’t speak. Can only nod.
“I thought so. I can see it in the way you hold yourself. Like you’re waiting for the next blow.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “The blows stop eventually. Not because the world gets kinder. Because you get stronger.”
Eric is watching us with an expression I’ve never seen on his face. Something raw. Something that makes my chest ache.
“I’ll get dessert,” Nora announces, standing with effort. “Stay. Talk. Pretend I’m not eavesdropping from the kitchen.”
She disappears through the doorway. The silence she leaves behind is thick enough to touch.
“You didn’t tell me,” I say. “About your father. Not like that.”
“It’s not my favorite story.”
“It’s part of you.”
“A part I try to forget.” He moves closer. Not touching, but close enough. “He taught me that love is a weapon. That people use it to take what they want and leave when they’re done.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“I believed it for a long time.” His eyes find mine. “I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong.”
The air between us shifts. Charges.
“My mother is going to walk back in here any second,” he says quietly.
“Then you better make it look real.”
I don’t know who closes the distance.
One second we’re standing apart. The next his mouth is on mine, and it’s nothing like the parking lot. That was punishment. This is something else.
His tongue traces my lower lip. His hand cups the back of my neck, tilting my head. His other hand presses against the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.
I can feel every line of his body. The hard plane of his chest. The buckle of his belt against my stomach. The low sound he makes in his throat when I dig my fingers into his shoulders.
Footsteps in the hallway.
We break apart. Gasping.
My lipstick is gone. I can see it smeared at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
Nora reappears with a plate of cookies.
She takes one look at us and smiles like she saw everything and approved.
“You two look good together,” she says serenely.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure everyone can hear it.
***
Eric
I can still taste her.
She’s sitting three feet away, pretending to listen to my mother’s story about the neighbor’s cat, and I can still taste her on my lips.
Vanilla. Wine. Something underneath that’s just her.
My mother catches my eye. Winks.
She knows. Of course she knows. She’s known since the first brunch, probably. Saw through the arrangement before either of us admitted there was anything to see through.
Later, walking Valentina to the car, she’s quiet. Thoughtful.
“Your mother is incredible,” she says finally.
“She likes you.”
“She barely knows me.”
“She knows enough.” I open the car door for her. “She knows I’ve never brought anyone else here. That means something to her.”
Valentina pauses. “What does it mean to you?”
I don’t have an answer. Or I have too many answers. None of them safe.
“It means you’re different,” I say finally. “I’m not sure how yet. But you’re different.”
She looks at me for a long moment.
Then she gets in the car.
I drive her home in silence, both of us pretending the kiss didn’t change everything.
Both of us knowing it did.