Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
It’s a white lie, covering up for more blatant, darker lies, but my mom can never know what I’ve done. It’s enough that Leon knows and that it’s the ever-present elephant in the room. Neither of us is brave enough to pull the pin on that hand grenade. If do we, the fragile foundation of our shaky relationship will explode. The truth will boil out like angry red lava, incinerating everything in its path. What’s the point of unleashing all that havoc if I can’t make it right? I can never tell the truth and give Leon the recognition he deserves. I’ll never repay my mom’s sacrifices by signing her death warrant.
“How was your dinner?” my mom asks, skipping past me down the stairs. “Did he take you someplace special?”
“We were too tired to go out.” Another white lie.
She flashes a knowing smile from over her shoulder. “With all the thought he put into the dress and the earrings, I doubt he’ll let the big event go uncelebrated.” She bounces down the hallway to the kitchen. “He’s probably planning something huge for tonight like…” She thinks for a beat, then drags a palm through the air, highlighting an imaginary sign. “Dinner at Oscars. You better wear a pretty dress in case he’s planning on keeping it a surprise.”
“You should’ve been a scriptwriter for Hallmark movies.”
“Mark my words.” My mom wags a finger. “It’ll be the complete deal with candles and roses.”
While I warm up some of the lasagna, my mom offers to make a salad.
“I’m glad to see Leon is a healthy eater,” my mom says after taking salad ingredients from the fridge. “From all the luxury brands he stocks, he’s not stingy either.”
“And I’m glad you’ve made your analysis of him based on his grocery list.”
She goes to the sink, her arms loaded with lettuce, tomatoes, and veggies. “You can guess a person’s character by their spending habits, but you can definitely judge them by the content of their fridge.”
“I’ll remember that,” I say, smiling.
She dumps her loot in the vegetable wash basket. “Have you met his family?”
“Not yet. The wedding happened very quickly.” Wait. Why am I making excuses for him?
“We should all get together, seeing that we didn’t have a wedding lunch.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I clear my throat. “Elliot isn’t Leon’s favorite person at the moment.”
She waves a hand before opening the tap to rinse the tomatoes. “They’ll get over it. You know how boys are. There will be other opportunities for Leon.”
If only it were that simple.
I observe my mom as she prepares the salad. She’s humming softly, interrupting herself ever so often to pepper me with questions. She’s upbeat, a little too much, so when she puts the salad on the table, I say carefully, “You’ll remember about Elliot, won’t you?” I don’t add the rest, the why. I don’t have to. We both know what I’m talking about.
The brightness of her smile doesn’t diminish. Only the slight tensing of her shoulders gives away her stress. “Don’t worry about me. Put your energy into building your new life with your handsome husband.”
If only that were as simple too.
We finish our lunch early. My mom insists on rinsing the dishes and packing the dishwasher.
When I greet her at the door, she says in a lowered voice, “I’m very happy to see you slept in the same bed last night, but do make the bed in the morning. You don’t want your husband to come home to an untidy house.”
She’s referring to the fact that the covers in the spare bedroom were undisturbed. I flush, but not for the reason she assumes.
Winking, she blows me a kiss and waltzes to her car, as light on her feet as if walking on a cloud.
Zelda waves from across the street where she’s bent over a flower bed with a gardening spade clutched in an orange garden-gloved hand.
I return her wave and wait until my mom has turned the corner before locking the door.
Silence wraps around me.
Needing to keep busy, I strip the bed and put clean linen on. Then I do the laundry and vacuum the floors. I’m used to the cleaning. Like drawing, it helps to clear my head.
When my hip aches from going up and down the stairs, I settle with my laptop at Leon’s desk and fill out job applications at online recruitment companies.
By the time I close my laptop, it’s dark outside. Like last night, there’s no sign of Leon. I swim a few laps, have a shower, and dress in a comfy T-shirt and lounge pants. I’m brushing out my hair in front of the mirror in the dressing room when laughter reaches me through the window.
I walk over and peer down. Zelda and a man with graying hair and a mustache—Sam, I presume—are sitting on a swing bench on the porch of their house, Zelda with a glass of water in her hand and Sam with a beer. Candles are lit on the low wall, and Chinese takeout boxes are stacked on the table.