Page 109 of Things We Fake
By the time I got back to my apartment, tears ran down my face. Tonight’s emotional showdown had drained me completely. But it was done. Now, I had to live with the consequences.
I replaced my shoes and fancy dress with a pair of old leggings and an oversize Rangers shirt. The food I’d had settled like lead in my stomach, so I made a cup of tea. I wasn’t hungry, even though I’d eaten very little under my mother’s watchful eye. I just wanted chocolate.
I curled up on the couch, sipping my tea and opening one of the many boxes of chocolates Cam had brought me. From time to time I glanced at my phone. There was only one person I was interested in right now, and he hadn’t replied to my text or tried to call me. I didn’t blame him.
I don’t know how long I sat in silence, shoving chocolate after chocolate in my mouth, not even turning the lights on as the windows grew dark and night fell over the city.
My heart jumped when a knock came at my door. I swallowed hard, convinced it was Cam. I was nervous to face him, but I was so happy and grateful he was here.
When I opened the door, my tentative smile vanished. It wasn’t Cam. It was my mother.
She seemed as composed as ever, although as I looked closer I noticed she was very pale and hermakeup was gone. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her hair was disheveled, as though she had raked her hands through it a lot.
“Hello, Susanne.” Her voice was strangely soft.
I cleared my throat. “Hello, Mother.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I opened the door wider and flicked on the light switches.
“You forgot this.” She handed me my coat, which I hadn’t noticed on her arm.
“Thank you.”
I set the coat aside, and gestured toward the living area. For once, she didn’t comment on the mess, the cup of tea with no coaster, the half-eaten box of chocolates. Thank God Cam had gotten rid of the sex swing, or this scene would have been even more awkward.
My mom also carried a brown paper bag. As she saw me look at it inquisitively, the ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“I brought some cannoli.” She handed me the paper bag, her gesture an unspoken truce.
“Uh, thanks.” I took the bag, but didn’t open it. “Do you want to sit down?”
“If that’s okay.”
“Sure.” I looked around, as though seeing my apartment for the first time. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A glass of water, please.”
I brought her a glass of water, and then we both sat stiffly on the sofa next to the window. My gazewandered to the front steps of my building, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Cam when he came home.
My mother thanked me for the water and took a sip before placing the glass on the coffee table.
“I like your apartment,” she said, gazing around. “It’s very cozy.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say but “Yeah.” She’d only been here once before. She never seemed to take an interest in my life outside of Warwick.
My mom looked at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Her lips were pressed together, as she struggled for words.
“Susanne, I came here to say I’m sorry.”
I blinked, fighting an urge to check my ears. Had I heard her right? Elaine Morelli did not apologize. She explained. She rationalized. But she did not apologize.
I made an effort to keep my voice neutral. “For what, exactly?”
She blew out a breath. “For what I said at dinner. For what I’ve said for years. For making you feel like you weren’t enough.”
