Then Nathan's phone went off.
His hand stilled in my hair, then he reached over and looked at the screen.
Something changed in his face. Not much. But I could tell.
"I have to take this," he said.
He sat up. Moved to the window. Half-turned, which put his back mostly to me, and answered.
"Mother."
Oh.
Nothiorheyor any of the things I said when I was glad my mom called.
I tried to imagine what Nathan’s mother looked like. Was she tall like him? Did she have the same ice-blue eyes?
I stayed on the bed. I wasn't trying to listen. But the room was small and the call was happening and I was there, and those were the facts of the situation.
“Yes.” A pause. “I know.” Another pause, longer. “I said I know.”
His shoulder moved slightly.
“Work is fine. The team is—” He paused. “Yes, we're away. Toronto.” Another pause. “I'll be back Thursday.”
I looked at the ceiling. The Toronto ceiling, same as my Toronto ceiling, generic and beige and doing nothing for anyone.
“I know about the dinner.” His voice dropped slightly. “I appreciate it but I'm— I'm busy. The team’s schedule is—” He stopped. Whatever was on the other end of the phone had interrupted him, and Nathan Cross being interrupted was its own category of information.
“She sounds lovely,” he said, each word clipped. “That's not—I'm not saying that. I'm saying the timing isn't—”
Another pause. Longer.
His voice, quieter: “There's no one. I'm fine. I'll come for dinner when I'm back.”
He said a few more things. “Yes.” And “I know.” And “I'll call Thursday.” And then the silence of a call ending.
He came back to the bed. Sat on the edge of it, which was where he'd been before, but different now. Something in his posture that was tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.
I didn't say anything. I was getting better at that.
After a while: "My mother," he said. "She calls when I travel."
"Okay," I said.
"She worries."
"As moms do."
He looked at his hands. "She's been—" He stopped. Started differently. "She has a friend. With a daughter. She's been mentioning it."
I looked at the ceiling for a second.
"A setup," I said.
"Yes."
I considered that. "Does she know?" I asked.
