Chương 12
The quiet lasted until we reached the parking lot.
Then my phone started ringing.
Patricia.
I watched her name pulse across the screen while people around us hugged goodbye, loaded bags into cars, and complained about the cold.
Sterling glanced at the display.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
The phone stopped.
A voicemail notification appeared.
Then another call began.
I answered.
“Hi.”
For a few seconds, Patricia said nothing.
I could hear traffic on her end and the hollow echo of somewhere enclosed.
“You’re back.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
I looked at Sterling.
He was standing beside the trunk, giving us privacy without pretending not to listen.
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
“It was windy.”
She exhaled.
“I saw photographs.”
“Already?”
“People post things.”
Of course they did.
For once, the thought did not bother me.
Patricia continued.
“Marcus Vance was there.”
“Yes.”
“And the Hollister Foundation chair.”
“Yes.”
“And Judge Bell.”
“Yes.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
“You knew all those people were coming.”
“I invited them.”
“That is not an answer.”
I closed my eyes.
The parking lot smelled like diesel, salt, and wet pavement.
A guest nearby was trying to fit a folded stroller into the trunk of a compact sedan.
“I don’t know what answer you want.”
“You let me think your wedding would be some improvised little thing.”
There it was again.
Not how was your ceremony.
Not did you get home safely.
Not are you happy.
I felt something in me settle instead of tighten.
“I didn’t let you think anything.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You told me to celebrate in a public park.”
“You knew what I meant.”
“I knew exactly what you meant.”
Patricia’s voice sharpened.
“Then you should have corrected me.”
“Why?”
She did not answer.
The question sat between us.
Why had it been my responsibility to inform her that the man she dismissed had money.
Why would money have made him worthy of respect.
Why would powerful guests have made my work legitimate.
Why did every path back to her approval require proving she had underestimated the market value of my life.
“I left Savannah’s reception early,” she said.
“I heard.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“She said you had a headache.”
“That’s what I told her.”
I leaned against the car.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Okay.”
“She was happy.”
The words sounded almost accusing.
I waited.
Patricia continued.
“They removed everything.”
“What everything?”
“The sponsor displays.”
“I know.”
“The launch material.”
“I know.”
“The photographers barely had anything to work with.”
“Savannah seemed okay with that.”
“She thinks she is.”
That sentence told me more than Patricia intended.
I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the phone case.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“She got married.”
“I was there.”
“Then maybe let that be enough for tonight.”
Patricia laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Because your wedding turned out perfectly.”
I looked across the lot at Sterling.
His tie was in his pocket.
There was dried seawater on one trouser leg.
Behind him, Leah was arguing with a driver who had parked in a loading lane.
Our perfect wedding.
Two broken schedules.
A failed boat.
Wind.
Delayed guests.
A crooked livestream.
Lunch at two.
Aunt Rosa threatening transportation personnel.
“It didn’t.”
Patricia went quiet.
“What?”
“It wasn’t perfect.”
“But the photographs—”
“I’m sure some of them are beautiful.”
I swallowed.
“That’s not the same thing.”
She had nothing to say to that.
Neither did I.
The silence became awkward enough that I almost filled it for her.
Old habit.
I stopped myself.
Finally Patricia said, “I suppose you’re very pleased.”
“With being married?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
She expected victory.
Maybe she needed me to claim it so she could hate me cleanly.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“Elena.”
“I’m going home.”
“You’re just going to leave it like this?”
“What is this?”
“Our family.”
The stroller finally fit into the nearby trunk.
The father trying to force it shut lifted both hands in triumph.
His wife laughed at him.
I watched them for a second.
“I don’t know what our family is right now.”
Patricia’s breathing changed.
That hurt her.
I knew it.
Part of me wanted to soften the sentence.
Another part had spent too many years softening everything.
“We can talk later,” I said.
“When?”
“When I’m ready.”
“You cannot keep punishing me indefinitely.”
“I’m not punishing you.”
“It feels like punishment.”
“Then maybe we disagree about what distance is.”
Her voice dropped.
“I’m your mother.”
“I know.”
“That should matter.”
“It does.”
The truth of that exhausted me more than anger would have.
“If it didn’t matter, this would be easier.”
She was silent.
For once, I let her sit inside the consequence without rescuing either of us.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Elena.”
“Good night.”
I ended the call.
Sterling came over.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Useful answer.”
“I’m expanding my emotional vocabulary.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
He opened the passenger door for me.
I got in.
Halfway home, we stopped at a gas station because Sterling wanted coffee and I wanted potato chips.
We were still technically in wedding clothes.
The cashier looked at us, looked at the bouquet lying across the back seat, and said, “Long day?”
“Yes,” we answered together.
He nodded as if he had seen worse.
In the parking lot, Sterling handed me the chips.
“Romantic dinner.”
“We already had romantic lunch.”
“True.”
We ate in the car with the heater running.
My phone stayed in my bag.
The next morning, I woke at seven twelve because Sterling sneezed.
He was sitting at the foot of the bed wearing one sock.
“Why are you awake?”
“I’m married now.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“I wanted coffee.”
“Still not a reason.”
He sneezed again.
“You’re allergic to marriage.”
“Possibly the flowers.”
I pulled the blanket over my head.
May you like
For forty minutes, neither of us did anything useful.
Eventually we made coffee, ate leftover bread from the culinary collective, and opened wedding gifts without creating a spreadsheet.
