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Sighing, she gives in. ‘Liz had planned on swapping out Bell and Chase’s custom Harry Winston bands with the tacky dice ones before the ceremony as a joke, however when she got to her hotel suite and saw Alice’s and your clothes strewn all over the place and you two in bed together, she thought putting them on you would be funnier.’
I wait for anger. Or annoyance. Or some negative wave of emotion to hit me. It doesn’t. But I feel like it should. ‘And this is the child you want to let wander around, unchecked, when this is the kind of stuff they do while “finding themselves”?’
Mother raises her glass once more and tips it in my direction. ‘You think you’re doing much better?’
Thinking of Alice’s stricken face as she held up her birth certificate, I don’t answer. Instead, I ask my own question. ‘Why didn’t you say something then, if you knew we weren’t really married?’
‘When you arrived with a little girl and a social worker, I played along because I thought you were doing Alice a favor.’ She laughs as if she can’t believe the shit show that has become my life.
Me either.
‘I didn’t know your plan was to fire a woman who had done nothing wrong but capture your attention.’ There’s more judgment in her tone than when she handed my father divorce papers.
‘I was angry when I made that plan. I wasn’t going to do it.’
She takes another sip of her wine. ‘And then later, when neither of you said anything, I didn’t either because I was enjoying being Queenie.’ She stares at the white countertop.
‘I shouldn’t have lied to you.’
Mother raises her head, a small smile on her face. ‘I’m glad you did.’ She touches her palm to my cheek. ‘It made me happy getting to see my serious boy smile so much.’ She drops her hand and we both stare into our glasses, thinking.
‘How was she?’ I finally ask, sliding my drink across the countertop between my hands. ‘Alice, I mean. When she came home?’
Mother thinks this over. ‘Sad.’ She nods. ‘She seemed sad and resigned.’
I take another sip. ‘And Mary?’
She leans down and slides something out of her purse. ‘She left you this.’
It’s a picture of the park. Birds, grass, trees. It takes me a second to figure out what’s different. ‘All the colors are right.’
‘I think she thought you’d like it.’
I hate it.
She gets up and I follow her to the foyer where she pulls out a purple puffy coat from the closet. A perfect match to the one Mary has and I wonder if she had been planning on wearing it with her on their next park outing.
‘You know—’ she turns so I can help her with her coat ‘—you were always so worried about becoming your father. Still are.’ She turns to face me, somehow the monstrous jacket looking chic and not ridiculous. ‘Staying in control, keeping your distance, toeing the line. But where has that gotten you?’ She raises her arms to gesture around us, the move hindered by the heavy sleeves. ‘You’re all alone, in a prison of your own making. You couldn’t be more like your father right now if you tried.’
The liquor in my gut turns. And something stabs at my chest. ‘I told her not to go.’
‘Why?’
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. ‘She asked the same thing.’
Another sad smile. ‘And let me guess, you said something about Mary, or about work or about anything except the truth.’
‘What truth?’
She doesn’t answer, just raises one eyebrow at me as if telling me I should already know.
It’s annoying and probably karma.
‘You better figure it out. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose the family you always wanted before you ever really had them.’ She swishes her way to the door, pausing once she opens it. ‘Oh, and don’t forget to feed the cat.’ She points behind me.
When the door shuts, like rubbing salt on a wound, the flesh-colored albatross hisses from his perch on the landing.
* * *
