Chapter 3 #2
had taken the time to put out fresh flowers and stylish flatware and crystal glasses. Dinner at their house was an event more
than a meal. If Victoria was back at her place, she would be ordering DoorDash and eating on her sofa while watching reality
TV.
She entered the kitchen and found her mother preparing dinner. Despite the large house, the daily maid service and the platoon
of gardeners that kept the grounds looking perfect, Ava preferred to cook for her family. She always had. Even Victoria’s
school lunches had been put together by her mother.
“How are you feeling?” Ava asked from her place at the sink where she was washing basil.
Victoria eased onto a stool and held in a groan as her body complained about all the moving around. “How do I look?”
“Like you were thrown out of a truck.”
“That’s kind of how I feel.”
Her mother’s mouth straightened, and her eyes narrowed. “I know you enjoy your work but—”
“Stop,” Victoria said, interrupting. “Don’t go there, Mom.”
“I wasn’t going to be critical.”
“Sure, you were. You can’t help it. Improvement is your love language. I get it, and mostly I’m fine with it, just not today.”
Ugh—more weakness, which was so not like her. Normally she liked sparring with her mom. Going toe-to-toe with Ava was an excellent
mental exercise. But somehow she just didn’t have it in her to rally. She gave herself the excuse of the pain meds and vowed
to do better next time.
“Very well,” Ava said quietly and returned to drying the basil.
An awkward silence filled the room. Fortunately before Victoria could start to feel guilty for cutting off her mother, she
heard a familiar voice call out “I’m home.”
The relief was instant. Having her dad around made everything easier.
Seconds later Milton walked into the kitchen. He offered her a brief smile before crossing to her mom and pulling her close.
Her parents held on to each other for several seconds, as if reconnecting after a two-year absence.
They’d always been like that, she thought, watching them. Totally and completely in love. They were a unit, bound together
by an unbreakable bond. As a kid, she’d watched as several of her friends’ parents had separated then divorced, but that wasn’t
anything she ever worried about. She might not be interested in romantic love for herself, but she sure believed it could
exist. Her parents were living proof.
Her father walked over and touched her cheek. “The purple is a nice addition.” He frowned slightly. “Still not okay to hug?”
She winced at the thought. “Fist bump.”
They did, and he kissed her cheek.
“All right, beautiful ladies. Put me to work.”
“You can slice the tomatoes,” Ava told him.
“With pleasure.”
He crossed to the sink and washed his hands before starting his task.
Victoria wondered what the studio’s other senior executives would think about seeing Milton Rogers carefully slicing tomatoes before artfully arranging them on a platter with mozzarella and basil.
Not that her father would care—there was only one opinion that mattered to him.
Funny how knowing that made her feel just a little less achy. Despite their devotion to each other, she’d never felt left
out. They loved each other, and they loved her—even if Ava felt compelled to show her affection through criticism.
“We’re skipping cocktails tonight,” her mother said. “What with you on pain medication.”
“Thanks, Mom, but you and Dad can go ahead. Believe me, I’m not tempted.”
“We’ll be fine,” her father told her.
The fancy, upscale air fryer dinged. Ava used tongs to put chicken pieces on a platter while Milton carried the salads to
the table. Victoria maneuvered herself into a standing position and hop-stepped to her chair. She sank down and wished everything
didn’t hurt so much. Bodies were not meant to be flung out of trucks.
They sat at one end of the large dining room table. Breakfast and lunch were eaten in the kitchen, but dinner was served more
formally. It had always been that way. Victoria glanced around the spacious room, taking in the antique sideboard and the
framed artwork, all original. However had the house survived her childhood? She knew she’d been whatever was more than a handful.
She had a vague memory of throwing food and refusing to eat anything but mango and chicken nuggets for weeks.
Her mother started to pass her the caprese salad, then hesitated. “Is this going to be too heavy?”
“Let’s find out.”
Victoria reached for it and felt a sharp stab in her upper back. Her pain must have shown on her face because her mother was
instantly on her feet and circling the table.
“Never mind. I’ll serve you.”
“Mom, you don’t have to.”
“Apparently I do.”
Victoria stared at the chicken thigh, the scoop of avocado and jicama salad, along with a slice of tomato with mozzarella.
She knew from experience everything would be delish, but the thought of eating made her stomach churn.
“Thanks, Mom,” she murmured, wishing she’d stayed in bed. This food thing was overrated. Still, she knew she had to fuel her
body to heal and forced herself to slice off some chicken.
Her parents chatted about their respective days. She didn’t listen past the headlines. The familiar sound of their voices
was enough. She wondered if that would ever change, if she would get to the point in her life where listening to them talk
wasn’t soothing. Maybe when she’d been on her own longer than a couple of years.
“You’re welcome to have your friends come by,” her mother said, drawing her attention back to the conversation. “It’s not
a problem.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m only going to stay a few days.”
“You’ll stay until you’re better,” her father said firmly. “There’s no need to rush back to your condo. You need someone looking
after you.”
She wanted to protest that she was fine, but her inability to pass the salad kind of destroyed that argument.
“I appreciate the support,” she said instead, thinking once she could breathe without pain she would be ready to return to
her place.
“Are you seeing anyone?” her mother asked. “Romantically?”
Victoria shook her head. “You always ask.”
“I’m interested in my daughter’s life.”
“You want to pair me off. Mom, it’s not going to happen. We’ve discussed this a million times. I don’t do relationships, I
do sex.”
“Victoria.” Her father’s voice had the mildest edge to it.
“Dad, I didn’t start this, and it’s not like you and Mom don’t have sex. You’re too crazy about each other not to. It’s a
normal, biological function and one I happen to enjoy.” She looked at her mother. “There’s no special guy. Not now, not ever.”
Her mother exhaled slowly, as if telling herself to be patient. “Don’t you want someone in your life? Someone to care about
you? I don’t understand how you can be so comfortable having meaningless encounters with men you’re never going to see again.”
“I see a lot of them again.” She paused. “Well, if they know what they’re doing. Otherwise, no.”
“Victoria, you’re twenty-four. Don’t you think it’s time to start thinking about your future? Right now age-appropriate young
men are everywhere, but in a few years—”
Victoria held up her hand. “Stop. Fifteen-minute rule.”
Her mother frowned. “I’m not being critical.”
She pointed at the old-fashioned grandfather clock against the far wall. “Fifteen-minute rule.”
“You’re impossible.”
“She gets that from you,” Milton teased.
Ava sighed. “Very funny. Fine. Fifteen-minute rule.”
Victoria had started the practice during high school at a time when she and her mother agreed on nothing. Tired of the constant
criticism, she’d refused to come down to dinner unless her mother promised not to be critical for fifteen full minutes. Her
dad had been an unexpected supporter, and the fifteen-minute rule had been born. If Ava didn’t comply, Victoria was free to
leave the table and not return until her mother apologized. Nothing that thrilling was enforced now, but when she’d been a
teenager, that kind of power had been exciting.
Ava poked at her avocado jicama salad. “I’ve noticed many young women your age are ready to find someone special and get serious
about a relationship.”
“Really? News to me.”
“We only want you to be happy.”
“I am.” She was. Sort of. Mostly. “I just wish you could believe me. I feel no compelling need to pair-bond. It’s too soon.”
Which was an easy way to shift the conversation because the statement implied that one day she would be ready to hand her heart over to a man. Only that was never going to happen. She knew she had trust issues, but her wariness
went way beyond that. She lived her life in a constant state of self-protection. Exhausting but necessary. Of all the memorable
lines from the classic Disney movie Frozen, the one that had resonated with her was Conceal, don’t feel. It kind of summed up her personal philosophy.
“So I shouldn’t talk to you about the cute new guy in the front office,” her father said, his voice teasing.
“Does he have big feet?”
“Victoria!” Her mother stared at her. “This is the dinner table.”
“Thanks, Mom. I wasn’t sure what we were doing here.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
Conversation shifted to safer topics, but right at the sixteen-minute mark her mother said, “I want to make an appointment
for you with Dr. Stern.”
For a second Victoria couldn’t remember who that was, then figured it out and groaned. “No. I refuse to see a plastic surgeon.”
It took all her willpower not to reach up and touch the scar on her cheek. Yes, it bugged her, and time was not improving
it at all. She probably would have agreed to go see someone if it had been her idea, but once Ava had started mentioning it,
well, she had no choice but to refuse.
While she didn’t enjoy acting like a six-year-old, around her mother she couldn’t seem to help herself.
They’d always been in opposition. Ava wanted her to act a certain way, and mostly she resisted.
She hadn’t wanted to dress in frilly clothes, hadn’t wanted to sit quietly and read, hadn’t been interested in crafts or not talking or cleaning up her room.
There were always so many more interesting things to be doing.
Perhaps trying to paint a bouquet of flowers on her parents’ white silk bedspread hadn’t been her best idea, but she’d meant the soggy watercolor to be a gift, not an act of rebellion.
And she could admit that jumping off the railing from the second floor to the first, with only a bath towel as a parachute hadn’t been clever, but she’d survived and had barely been injured.
Not counting her twisted ankle and broken arm.
“I’m not like you, Mom,” she said, speaking what they both knew to be the truth. “The same things don’t bug me that bug you.”
Ava smiled at her. “On that we can agree.”
When it came time to clear the table and clean up, Victoria was shooed out of the way and told to rest. She hop-stepped to
her father’s office and stretched out on his cushy leather sofa. A few minutes later, he joined her and pulled up a club chair.
“How do you feel for real?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“Crappy. Stuff hurts.”
“Are you taking your pain meds?”
“At night. I don’t like feeling dopey during the day.”
“Honey, you need to take them. If you’re fighting pain, your body can’t focus on healing. You know this.”
She did. “I can’t help it. I’m stubborn, Dad. I am what I am. You can be as logical as you like. I’m not going to listen.”
He smiled at her. “There’s my girl.” The smile faded. “Your mother loves you.”
“Yes, she does.”
“When she offers a suggestion . . . It’s just her way.”
“I know. It always has been, and mostly it’s fine.
” But when it wasn’t, it was very bad, she thought glumly.
How many times had she heard the frustrated, you’re-getting-on-my-last-nerve tone from Ava who told her that she “would never understand how you make decisions”?
How many fights had been followed by the quiet but deadly “I can’t deal with you right now”?
When that happened, Ava would slip into her bedroom and close the door, leaving Victoria standing in the hallway, not sure
how mad her mother was or how long she would be upset. The house would be very still until Milton came home. He always held
her tight and promised everything would be fine. Only it wasn’t. And on the very bad days, he would look at her for a long
time and say, “I wish you two could get along better.”
“Dad, it’s really okay. Mom’s used to me disappointing her, and I’m used to her being disappointed. It’s kind of our thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You’re older now.”
“So I should suck it up and do what she says?”
He smiled. “No one expects that.”
She knew better than to ask about her mother’s responsibility in the relationship. Milton was firmly Team Ava. “But you’re
saying I should be nicer.”
“I’m saying I’m glad you’re here, and I want you to focus on getting better. I hate seeing you in pain.”
A not-so-subtle change in subject. “I appreciate that.”
“And if you got serious about someone, that would be nice, too.”
“Dad! Don’t you get on me about being in a relationship. I meant what I said. It’s too soon. I’m not going to feel any biological
pressure to connect to anyone for years.” If ever, she added silently. “I like my life. I don’t need to be married to be happy.”
“I’m not suggesting marriage, but I would like to see you with more emotional support. I don’t think you like being alone
as much as you pretend you do.”
Ouch with the insight. “I’m very independent. It’s one of the things you like best about me.”
“Too much of a good thing, maybe.”
She smiled rather than laughed, then carefully rose to her feet. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, too, baby girl.”
Once she managed the death ride to the second floor and had hobbled into her bedroom and shut the door, she allowed herself
to admit that maybe, just maybe, her dad was right. It was possible that being alone wasn’t the greatest thing ever. But as
the alternative was, you know, letting people into her life, she honestly didn’t see how she had much of a choice.