Knox
“North Carolina,” I say quickly. When I see Sylvie staring at me, I realize I probably told her some variant of “all over,” which was more truthful (at least emotionally) but which now sounds like the lie.
Miranda brightens and touches my good arm. “Oh, I went with Brandon, my life partner, to Asheville for a yoga retreat a couple years ago. It was so healing and centering. It’s really a magical place.”
I decide not to tell her that’s where I lived until we fled. “My grandma lives a couple hours from there, in Murphy. That’s actually where we’re headed.”
“Is that right?”
“Knox helped me find Winslow in the woods after he got loose. He fell and broke his arm while doing it. So he wasn’t able to travel alone and I agreed to take him to his grandma’s,” Sylvie says.
“That’s quite the rom-com meet-cute,” Miranda says. “Although you didn’t need to go breaking your arm. You seem like Sylvie’s type even without the whole injured-bird thing.”
“Mom,” Sylvie says through what sounds like tensing vocal cords.
Miranda ignores her and addresses me. “I’m forever embarrassing Sylvie because I’m always speaking my truth. But why add more artifice to the world, you know? Don’t we have enough of it?”
“I guess I’ve never thought much about the artifice levels in the world.” This was patently untrue.
“Anyway, Syl—” her mom starts to say, but our waitress arrives and cuts her off.
Miranda orders without looking at the menu—a superfood salad with dressing on the side and an order of fries—sorry—frites.
Sylvie orders a tofu banh mi, the first sandwich listing, which makes me think Sylvie doesn’t want to be here enough to care what she eats.
I get the red beans and rice bowl, the cheapest item on the menu.
Miranda orders a pitcher of turmeric mandarin iced tea for the table.
She begins again. “What I was about to say, Syl, I think it’s great the two of you connected. It really feels like the universe throwing you a bone—not being crass there—as a way of saying ‘all’s well’ after the year you’ve had.” She looks at me. “I’m sure Syl’s given you the rundown.”
I fidget in my seat. “Some, yeah.” I strongly suspected I was about to get more information from the queen of nonartifice.
Sylvie’s expression is one of longing for death. “Change of subject.”
“Syl? Can we just sit with this for a minute? Okay? Can we talk here? I haven’t seen you in a long time.
I’m getting to catch up with my daughter in a very sudden and unexpected way—I don’t think it was an accident you ran into Helena so she could tell me you’re in town—there’s a new man in your life; I’m—”
“Okay, first? Knox is not a new ‘man in my life.’” Sylvie makes air quotes. “He’s my friend. He’s . . . Knox. I don’t know. What do you want me to say? He’s my traveling buddy. He helped me and I’m helping him. Please stop being weird.”
I sit in silence. It’s never much fun to sit and listen to someone make the case for your only moderate importance in their life.
“You’re being very defensive,” Miranda says.
“Because you’re being very intrusive and presumptuous.”
“You know my investment in this.”
“Your investment in my life?”
“You’re my daughter. I had to watch you blaming yourself.”
“Sorry. That must have been hard for you.”
“Wait until you have a child. You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to see. I want to let my child feel what they feel.”
Miranda turns to me. “Knox, I promise it’s not always like this between Syl and me.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“You talk about artifice,” Sylvie says to her mom. “But you would love for people to think our lives are perfect and we never fight about anything and I never have feelings that you need to worry about because . . .” she trails off.
“What? Finish what you were going to say,” Miranda says.
“No, that’s all.”
There’s awkward silence for several moments. The waitress brings the pitcher of tea.
“So you still haven’t told me what’s brought you back to town,” Miranda says.