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Foster spends the car ride typing on his phone. I stare out the window at the pedestrian traffic. We pass a few couples who are walking hand in hand, and it leaves me melancholy. I keep wishing for the same, even though it won’t happen with Foster. At brunch, Laura is ecstatic when we arrive and hugs me tightly. She practically ignores Foster as she takes me by the hand to the kitchen.
“How are you feeling?” she asks when I am seated at the breakfast bar.
“Alright. I have a bit of a headache.”
“Those events can be stuffy, but we’re on the board, so it’s required we stay the entire night. Foster usually avoids attending. I was surprised he chose to come.”
“It was my doing. I was curious.”
“You two seem to be getting along well.”
I look down at the counter, swirling my finger along one of the patterns in the granite. “We are. I’m enjoying married life.”
“Mother, are you dominating my wife again?”
We both glance over as Foster wanders in and slips his arms around me, locking them under my breasts as he plants a kiss on my cheek.
“I enjoy having a daughter. I thought it would never happen.”
“What’s for brunch?” Foster asks, changing the subject.
“Brie and pancetta frittata. It’s in the oven.”
Foster keeps his hold on me, and I begin to feel uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t look right to push out of his grasp.
“Can you get me some water?” I ask him hintingly.
“Of course, my bride.” He once again plants a kiss on my cheek and lets me go. Laura beats him to fulfilling my request by taking a bottle of Perrier out of the refrigerator. Using a bottle opener, she pries off the top and passes it to Foster, who hands it to me with a wide grin on his face. As he takes a seat next to me, Mason enters, and Foster immediately places his arm over my shoulders.
“I hear you made a quick exit last night,” Mason says.
“Paige wasn’t feeling well,” Foster responds.
“Lucky you. You missed the speeches.”
“And they were boring,” Laura adds.
“But necessary,” Mason asserts. “They help spur donations.”
“They got my check,” Foster retorts.
Mason frowns. “You’re a Black. They want to see your face.”
The timer on the oven goes off, distracting Mason as Laura asks him to remove the cast iron pan from the oven. Foster looks over at me and mouths, “I’m sorry.” I shake my head.
Lunch is delicious, but I eat very little since my stomach still isn’t feeling right. Fortunately, my headache is now just a dull thud behind my eyes.
Foster remains attentive, kissing me every so often. I know it was an act, but it leaves me a bit heated. He held my hand as we exited the apartment.
“That went well,” he says.
“Did it?”
“My mother loves you.”
“Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”
“You can still be friends with her after we divorce.”
