He shrugged. “I don’t know all the details, only bits and pieces that the nurses from the home have told me. All I know is that there were cultural, religious differences. Bianca is Jewish, and Pierre’s family are very observant Christians. Pierre chose to convert and he and Bianca wanted to raise their children as Jewish. This didn’t go down well. His father disowned him.”
“I can’t believe Petra would have felt the same way. You saw her with me tonight, when she thought I was Bianca.”
“Apparently her husband forbade her to speak to Pierre ever again.”
“Why? I mean, that’s just . . . crazy. It’s her son. How could he do that?”
Mike turned and looked at me. “Families have beliefs and biases. They have fights and falling outs. I don’t know all the circumstances, and maybe there were more factors. All I know is that it’s heartbreaking, that’s for sure.” His voice became weak and small.
“Has anyone tried to do something to fix this?” I asked.
Mike shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“Someone has to do something about it,” I said, getting worked up.
“What?” he asked.
“Can’t we phone her son and tell him that she wants to see him? I mean, she clearly does. That’s all she wants in the whole world.”
Mike shook his head. “We can’t do that. You can’t get involved in family matters, as much as you want to.”
“You’ve thought about doing it?” I asked.
He nodded. “About a hundred times, but . . .” He paused and looked at me earnestly. “Family matters are complicated, they’re just . . .complicated. Take my family, for example. I thought we were normal, but, a year ago, I discovered things were a lot more complicated than they appeared to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother was also in love with someone she shouldn’t have been in love with. Someone the family disapproved of.”
“Really?” At that, I perked up. “Who was she in love with?”
“Again, I don’t know the full story. I don’t think anyone does, actually. All I know is that the relationship was very much frowned upon and she was forced to marry my grandfather, Ian. She wasn’t free to love who she wanted to love.” He sighed and looked out of the windshield. The streetlights illuminated the contours of his face and he looked . . .beautiful. “I think some of us take for granted that we can fall in love with and marry who we want. It certainly isn’t like that for many of us.”
I felt a tear come to my eye as I thought about it all. As I thought about the lonely woman who longed for her son. The son who lost his mother and the grandchildren that had never known their grandmother. I thought about Edith, longing for a man she couldn’t have, and about him, thinking that she no longer loved him. I was overcome with this feeling of utter loss and my heart physically ached. And then guilt. Mike was opening up to me, and these were the things I wanted to hear, but this felt so one-sided. Like I was using him for information, like I was . . .
“My family is complicated, too,” I blurted out, without really thinking.
He turned in his seat and looked at me.
“My father died before I was born. My mother was a wreck for a long time—she still is, in many ways. We’re not close, at all,”
I continued.
Mike scanned my face again; he always seemed to look at me in a strange, specific way. As if he was trying to see me for who I was. He wasn’t just looking at me, he was . . . well, it felt like he was . . .seeing me.
“Must have been hard growing up with a grieving mother?”
“I didn’t grow up with her,” I said sadly, sharing the most intimate part of my life. I never shared this with people. Mike was an exception. “I was looked after by relatives, mainly. A lot of them. But I never really felt welcome anywhere, you know? I was always an imposition—that’s how it felt, anyway.” A small tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek. I couldn’t help it.
“Hey, hey . . .” Mike reached out and touched my cheek. He caught the tear on his fingertips and wiped it away. It felt so incredibly intimate that another tear immediately ran down my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, wiping the other tear away.
I shook my head, unable to speak. Everything was sort of crashing around me. Thoughts and emotions slammed into me like stormy waves against the rocks. It had also suddenly dawned on me, in that moment, just how huge and important this story was that I was trying to tell. This wasn’t a story about two people who weren’t allowed to be together and love freely. This was a story about everyone who’s ever had that privilege taken away. A basic human right to love whomever you want to love—romantic, platonic or otherwise. Edith hadn’t been allowed to love the person she wanted to love. Petra hadn’t been able to love her son or her grandchildren in the way she should have, and then there was me. I hadn’t been able to love my father, and, as for my mother, well, she and circumstances had made it impossible to love her the way a daughter wants to love her mother.
“Don’t cry, Becca.” Mike leaned in closer to me and placed his hands on the sides of my face.
“Sorry, I . . . just feel emotional.” I pulled away quickly and wiped my face, embarrassed by this sudden show of emotion.
He smiled at me. Killer smile. Smile to end all smiles. Smile that held the power to melt Neptune, melt hearts, melt me . . .
