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All of the framed photographs on the wall have made me feel as though I belong here.
I may not be taking those with me today, but I’ll come back for them and everything else once Graham and I share what we’re feeling.
A knock on the door turns me around.
It has to be Aurora. Since I haven’t told my family about my marriage yet, I tug the rings off my finger and hide them behind the plant again. Aurora and Eldon both stop into the bakery sometimes, so I need to be careful at least until I can sit down with my parents and explain that I married my boss and then fell in love with him.
“I’m coming,” I call out to her.
I make quick steps of the distance between where I’m standing and my apartment door.
I swing it open with a flourish, but instead of finding Aurora on the other side, I find my mom.
“Mom?”
“Trina,” she whispers my name as her bottom lip quivers. “Sweetheart. I don’t know what to say…I don’t understand.”
I step aside. “Mom, come in. Please.”
Tugging on the bottom hem of the yellow blouse she’s wearing, she steps over the threshold and into my apartment.
It was unusual to see my mom in anything but a plain white dress when I was growing up. It’s what she wore when she worked in the bakery. She divided her time between the kitchen and the front counter.
Now that she’s mostly retired, she wears vibrant colors. Today she’s paired the blouse with a pair of white pants.
“Can I get you something?” I fumble my way through the question with a tremor in my voice. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t need anything.” Her hand reaches out to find mine. “I went to your office, but they told me you left for the day.”
“I left early,” I admit. “What’s wrong, Mom? Why didn’t you call if you needed me? I would have come to Brooklyn.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “I wanted to talk in person.”
I nod. “Talk about what?”
“A man came into the bakery today to get a chocolate cake. He said he had a piece the other night and loved it. He wanted an entire cake to take home with him.
My stomach knots as I ask the next question. “What man?”
“His name is Lloyd.” Her blue eyes lock on mine. “Lloyd Abdon. He told me he owns the company you work for. He insisted that you and that man you work for are husband and wife. He said you married Mr. Locke.”
The tears in her eyes cut through me. I see her confusion, her disappointment, and mostly I’m bearing witness to her pain.
“Is it true?” she asks in a whisper. “Did you marry your boss and not tell us?”
I choke back a sob. “It’s true. I married him, Mom. I married my boss.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Trina
I place a mug of Earl Grey tea in front of my mom. I added a sprinkle of sugar just the way she likes.
She glances at me as I take a seat across from her at my small dining table.
My mom hasn’t said a word since I admitted that I married Graham.
I know that she won’t. She’s waiting for me to explain all of this to her. I’ve spent the last five minutes gathering my thoughts while I prepared her tea.
“Lloyd is sick,” I say.
She pushes a strand of her graying hair behind her ear. “He’s sick?”
I nod. “He doesn’t have a lot of time left.”
Tears well in her eyes again. My mom’s heart is the softest I’ve ever known. She rarely proclaimed her love with words when I was a child, but I’d always feel it around me.
She’d help us with our homework. She never missed a parent-teacher conference or a school concert or play. Whenever one of us had a sporting event, she was front and center cheering us on. If we were sick, she nursed us back to health with homemade soup and hours spent giving up back rubs or putting cold compresses on our heads. She put her family first. Always.
“It’s his heart,” I go on, “Graham told me that Mr. Abdon wanted to see us married, so we decided to do it. We wanted to fulfill his dying wish. It was supposed to only be for a short time.”
“Graham is your…” Her voice trails.
“My boss.” I take a breath. “Graham is my husband.”
Her gaze drops to my hand. “Lloyd told me he gave you his wife’s ring.”
I look at my bare hand. “He did.”
“Can I see?”
Hesitantly, I get up from my chair and walk over to the potted plant. I grab the rings before I settle back down across from my mom.
“Why aren’t you wearing them?”
The question isn’t accusatory. I know she’s confused. I don’t think my mom has ever removed the plain silver band that my dad put on her finger on their wedding day.
