Twenty-Five #2
By evening, I find the strength to get out of bed and take a shower.
I have to at least try to make myself presentable for dinner with my mother.
I don’t want to make her suspicious. So I use concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and give myself a light dusting of blush and a transparent coat of lip gloss.
Then I pull on a pair of sheer black tights and a black skirt that falls just above my knees followed by a white turtleneck.
I wear my black boots and a long coat. Before I leave, I look into the mirror and try to produce the fake smile that will be my faithful companion throughout the evening.
But I don’t look at all convincing. I try a couple more times, but I end up just looking like I’m having mouth spasms. I give up.
***
Half an hour later, I’m sitting with my legs crossed and my foot jiggling nervously under the table.
I stare out the enormous windows overlooking the garden outside, all refined furnishings, warm tones, and soft lighting.
It’s one of those places where they check a book for your reservation, pull back the chair when you sit down, and try to pass off a small appetizer as a full first course.
Crooks. The drinks alone are going to cost an arm and a leg.
My mother seems perfectly at ease though, and Victor, dressed to the nines, studies the menu with all the intensity he’d use to plot his next chess move against some imaginary opponent.
My mother’s bright blue eyes, on the other hand, scrutinize me relentlessly as I stare into the middle distance and swallow the last sip of the sparkling wine that they offered us on the house.
She knows that something is bothering me, and I’m sure she’s just racking her brain trying to figure out what it is.
I already told her during the car ride to the restaurant that Thomas was too busy with the team to come. At first, it seemed like she bought it. Yet she’s still giving me suspicious looks.
“You’re very quiet this evening,” she observes. “More so than usual, I mean.”
I gulp down the last bit of wine and clear my throat. “I’m fine,” I answer, improvising one of those smiles I practiced earlier, hoping that I sound convincing. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“You shouldn’t work so many hours. It’s counterproductive to your mental and physical health and, most importantly, to your studies, which I hope you aren’t neglecting.”
“Esther,” Victor chides her.
“Work isn’t a problem,” I explain calmly, fiddling with the corners of my napkin. It’s true; it’s everything else in my life that’s a mess…
“And how are things with that boy?” she asks, sounding as though she doesn’t really care about the answer. “It’s too bad he wasn’t able to come; I was counting on it,” she finishes, giving the slim watch around her wrist a gentle shake.
“Things are fine with him too,” I answer, trying not to let my voice tremble.
“You don’t sound very sure of that,” she says, her mouth twisting slightly.
Fortunately, we are interrupted by the server, who comes to take our orders. As soon as she leaves, I change the subject to ease some of the tension. “This is a lovely place.”
“It’s very lovely,” my mother adds. “This is where Victor took me to celebrate our second-month anniversary.” Elated, she intertwines her fingers with those of the silver-haired man sitting next to her.
They exchange such knowing looks that I want to vomit.
The look that I secretly give my mother is anything but conspiratorial, however.
It’s a mixture of discomfort and confusion.
At their age, they shouldn’t care about “monthiversaries.” What the hell?
My mother was a married woman, and now she’s acting like a teenage girl with her first crush?
But maybe that’s just me becoming cynical about love.
It’s tough to admit, but I think that some part of me is feeling kind of envious of my mother.
Which, I suppose, makes me a bad person.
But she just looks so happy. Satisfied and carefree.
There is a glow to her that I’ve never seen before and I certainly don’t have.
Not anymore at least. She has such a full life now, and I feel so empty and… oh my God.
I almost leap out of my chair.
Oh my God, that’s Thomas’s car.
My heart pounds violently in my chest, sending a lightning bolt through my body.
I watch through the windows as a black BMW parks in front of the entrance.
But he doesn’t emerge from the driver’s side like I’m expecting; instead, he gets out of the passenger side.
As I watch him with my heart in my throat, I see that he’s staggering.
My heart palpitations increase, as does the sheer horror in my eyes.
He can’t be doing this. He can’t be showing up here to dinner with my mother while drunk . He can’t!
The moment I see him head for the front door, I jump up.
“What is wrong with you?” my mother exclaims, concerned, while Victor looks at me with a dumbfounded expression.
“Nothing,” I manage, praying to God that neither of them turns around and sees what’s going on. “S-sorry, I just remembered that I left something in the car. I’ll be right back.”
I hear them muttering something, but I can’t make out what because I’ve already left.
I move furiously to the front door. Thomas and I put our hands on the doorknob at the same time, me trying to exit, him to enter.
But I’m the one who pulls it back first. He stumbles back with a faint gasp. “Hey, baby.”
“Baby”?
I grab him by the arm and drag him behind the granite gazebo in the garden, far from prying eyes.
Before I start talking, I pause to glare at the person in the driver’s seat of Thomas’s car, only to find that it’s Vince.
I keep glaring at him, but he raises his hands and shakes his head, as if trying to exonerate himself.
“I didn’t have a choice; he would have gone by himself otherwise, and that didn’t seem like a good idea to me,” he says in a voice loud enough to be heard.
“Are you out of your mind?” I scream through gritted teeth before turning my attention back to Thomas. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you mad? Why do you look mad? It’s your mom’s fault, right? Did she already make you regret coming?” he slurs, attempting to touch my cheek or maybe to kiss me, but I dodge him. That seems to make him feel bad, which hurts me as well.
I try to calm some of the rage that is circulating throughout my body because I have learned the hard way that when he’s in this kind of condition, it’s no use trying to take it out on him. “No, Thomas, I’m not angry,” I lie. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re here.”
“You asked me to come.”
My forehead wrinkles in a frown. “What? When would I have done that?”
“The other night, in your room. You’re convinced I don’t remember, but I do, I do remember.”
I shut my eyes as it begins to dawn on me.
“God, I don’t believe this…” I whisper. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“I said I wanted you here with me, Thomas. But not this way, not when you’re like this.
And have you already forgotten what I told you yesterday?
That I need some time away from you? I haven’t changed my mind one day later.
And I’m not going to change it if you keep doing this to yourself. You’re drunk again.”
“I’m not drunk,” he manages. “I maybe had a few drinks before coming, but I’m solid.”
I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “Please, there isn’t a single solid thing about you right now.”
“Shit, you’re right,” he says in an exhausted sort of way.
Then suddenly, his expression darkens. “I’ve haven’t done anything but let you down.
How is that possible?” His words and the way he looks at me, so lost and helpless, make my heart hurt.
He seems so broken, and it is destroying me.
I keep telling myself not to give in to this, but for the first time since his father’s death, it’s like I can see something in his eyes other than anger and contempt.
A glimmer of real, sincere emotion. He really is suffering.
And trying to remain unmoved by that is really damn hard for me.
He presses his forehead against mine, waiting for a response that he doesn’t receive. I can’t tell him he’s wrong. I’d like to, but I can’t.
“Not answering, huh?”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Tell me you’re still my girlfriend.”
“Thomas…”
“Say it, Ness,” he begs.
“This isn’t the time to talk about it. My mother is in there waiting for me, and if she saw you like this, she’d have a meltdown—”
He kisses me.
Instinctively, I try to push him away with my hands against his chest, nauseated by the taste of alcohol that pervades his mouth, but it’s useless.
“I need to hear you say it,” he says against my lips in a deep rumble.
“Because the idea that you might not be any more is fucking with my head.” He grabs my hips with both hands and pushes me flat against the gazebo.
It’s demanding and desperate, this kiss of his.
And when his tongue finds its way into my mouth, it becomes harder to resist it.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night.” He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine again.
“I forced myself to stay away from you because that’s what you asked me to do, but I need to know that you’re still with me, that I haven’t lost you for good.
” The anguish that I can hear in his voice disarms me.
“You know that I’m with you,” I reassure him. “I just want some time to think about it, about how to better deal with this whole situation. For both of our sakes.”
“Think about it…” he echoes in low tones. “I knew we’d get here someday. To the point when you’d smack into harsh reality and then you’d leave.”