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“What?”
I pull out my phone and read from the online version of the paper, and when I finish, I put it down, beaming.
“Congratulations,” he says. “I’m really happy for you.” And to his credit, he looks like he means it. He smiles at me, runs his hand through hair. “Okay if I have a shower now?”
“Sure.”
Later, when I have the dish in the oven, I go upstairs and find Charlie in the bath and Bronwyn rubbing conditioner into Charlie’s hair.
“Wow! I didn’t hear a thing! No screaming! Who are you and what did you do with Charlie!” I fake a smile. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a little pang of jealousy, no big deal, just a sewing needle’s worth. Because if I was doing that to her, there wouldn’t be any water left in the bath. She would have sprayed it all over me.
“Hi, m—, Laura,” she says, her little face scrunched up, her eyes tightly shut.
I sigh.
“Mama’s fine,” Bronwyn says, smiling at me. I’m so grateful I find myself getting a little teary. I chuckle to cover it up.
“I told Charlotte how beautiful and silky smooth her hair will be after a treatment,” Bronwyn says, squeezing the product down the length of Charlie’s hair. “You know what they say in Italy? You must suffer for your beauty. Or maybe that’s in France, I can’t remember. But you understand the idea, don’t you, sweetie?”
Charlie nods and I wince. Firstly, Charlie’s hair is absolutely perfect as it is, crinkles and all. And secondly, I don’t know that teaching Charlie about suffering for your beauty or whatever is the rousing inspirational speech Bronwyn thinks it is. But I don’t say anything. I do see Charlie’s eyes are covered with soap suds. I grab the washcloth and rinse it in the sink. I was going to put it in Charlie’s hand, but instead I give it to Bronwyn.
“I think she needs to wipe her eyes,” I say.
She takes it from me. “Ah yes, here you are, Charlotte.”
“Thank you, Mommy,” she says, in a tone so polite it’s like she’s morphed into a different child. She rubs the washcloth hard over her face and leaves it there, sighs into it.
“You two have fun, Laura, okay? That’s an order,” Bronwyn says.
I smile, tell them about dinner in the oven and go get myself ready, shaking my head at how grown up we’ve become, Bronwyn and I.
“This is nice, Jack,” I say as the waiter brings our wine. We’re a little awkward but that’s to be expected, I think. “It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks, right?” I say.
Jack smiles, nods, lifts his glass to check the wine against the light, tastes it. “It’s good,” he says. The waiter pours, leaves.
I raise my glass. “Cheers. You look nice, by the way.”
“Thanks,” then he adds, “So do you.”
I smile. “There are a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about,” I say. The image of Bronwyn, her back to me,Who is Beth, Laura?pops into my head, making me sweat. God, I wish I’d never conjured her up. It’s not like I expected I’d end up with Jack when I invented her. Two little notes, that’s all. Two little notes, a spray of perfume and a smear of lipstick, and now because of those small, stupid, actions I am tittering on the edge of losing my family forever.
“Forgive me?” I say softly, eyebrows drawn together.
He looks at me, frowning, head tilted. “What for?”
God he looks good. We’ve spent so little time together, I forget how good he looks. “You look great,” I say with a sigh.
He smiles. “You said that, but thank you. And you do too. You look beautiful.”
I reach for his hand over the table but he’s turned his concentration to the menu so for a second my hand hangs there limply, so I loop to the bread basket instead and take a little roll, like that’s what I wanted to do all along.
“So, should we talk about next week?” I ask. Because Beth can wait. “We’re having that meeting at Sodo Park for the wedding, remember? Remember the wedding?” I laugh. It sounds forced. A pretend laugh. I want to swallow it back. I take a breath. “You know it’s around the corner, right? How did that happen? One minute we had all the time in the world and the next—”
“Should we order our food first?”
“Yes, good idea.”
I look around the room, smile at the other guests, touch my hair, then I tell myself to relax and read the menu. I make a selection among the least expensive items: a chicory salad with grapes and a prawn risotto, while Jack has no such qualms and orders sautéed crespelle and braised rabbit.
