‘It does.’
‘And in the end—’
‘That’s the key. In the end, the kids can do things themselves, and the parents are redundant because they’ve done their job right. And that’s why you … some people … hold on and keep their kids dependent on them. Because they’re afraid of what life will be like without the kid to distract them. Nowhere to hide then, right?’
‘Right. I see. Nowhere to hide.’ Heather’s head slumps onto her chest and her bottom lip trembles. ‘And that’s what you think I’m dealing with now? Fear?’
Scott’s abruptly aware he’s gone too far and, in his enthusiasm, achieved the opposite of his intention.
‘Could be,’ he says more softly.
Her jaw tightens. ‘Right.’
‘Perhaps the empty nest is terrifying for you and lots of other parents out there. And you’re trying to hold on. Even when it’s not the best thing for your kids.’
Heather sucks her lower lip between her teeth and sits more upright.
‘So, you’ve got it right all these years, and I’ve got it all wrong. Is that what you’re getting at?’
Scott's heart sinks. He’s done that thing where he focuses on data and hard facts but has inadvertently offended. The data might never lie, but the human psyche can, and does, all the time.
‘No. Well …’ he stutters, trying to find the words to help dig him out of this hole.
‘Well ... Scott, I just want to tell you, you know nothing about me, or my daughter, or our circumstances, or how I’ve parented, or why. And frankly … frankly ….’ Heather places her forefingers either side of the bridge of her nose and uses the palms of her hands to wipe her tears away and flatten her skin. ‘Frankly, it’s none of your damn business.’
She grabs the little notebook that had absorbed so much of her attention during the meal, crumples up the paper she was working on into a soggy ball and pulls her chair away from the table.
‘Good night.’
She doesn’t end her sentence with “and I hope never to see you again”, but she may as well have. But Scott can’t heed that right now. No decent bloke would leave a woman in that state to find her room in a huge hotel like this.
‘Wait up,’ he shouts, and he pounds up the stairs behind her.
He catches up with her by the second turn on the hotel’s sweeping staircase. He’s a little winded from the climb whilst she appears unphased by the exertion. He wonders what she does for exercise. Running? It would explain her toned body.
‘H - … H- ….’ Whatisher name? ‘Please stop. Look. I’m sorry.’
She slows down to accommodate his pace and turns to face him. Her dress (silk?) shimmers against her thighs whilst his soaked trousers cling to his legs like limpets.
‘Look. I’m sorry. Okay. I do that sometimes. Go heavy on the statistics.’
The corner of her lip lifts slightly.
‘You don’t say.’
'Can we start again?' he says. 'Please?'
She slows the pace and allows him to walk alongside her for a few more flights of stairs. Initially they climb in silence, but eventually, she begins to open up, asking about Brianna's course and chatting to him about Georgia and her particular needs. It makes him feel like she trusts him now, enough for him to say what’s really on his mind, at least.
‘So I’m wondering …,’ he ventures, because, where’s the harm in just saying it aloud, ‘… maybe you need to think about what might fill the gap that Georgia leaves behind?’
They arrive on the fourth-floor landing. She pauses and turns to him, her green eyes wide. Her dark hair falls like silk over her right shoulder.
‘What do you mean?’
This feels like a test. He matches his step to hers as she walks along the corridor and comes to a stop at what he can only assume is her bedroom door. She turns to face him. He glances at her muscular body and her pleasingly symmetrical shape. Isn’t there some statistic about beauty? The more symmetrical a face, the more objectively beautiful they are perceived to be? Statistics even have a place in the laws of attraction. Focus, Scott!
‘The thing is, you’re an attractive, intelligent –‘
