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I pull the arrangement closer and unfasten the clear cellophane. Purple lisianthus and daisies set in a white cube.
Luis turns around and peers over my shoulder as I open the card. “Who’s it from?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Who do you think? My mother.”
Congratulations, Anna. I’m very proud of you.
“That’s nice,” June says.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Not really. She could have come. I invited her, you know. It wouldn’t kill her to make the trip once in a while.” I point at the flowers with my chin. “She always sends the same whenever there’s a birthday in the family. When she remembers them, anyway.”
June helps herself to the jug of water. “You’re not close?”
“You could say that. I never see her. She doesn’t even come to visit her grandchildren.”
“No!”
I shrug. “She’s not a caring person, not in that way. And she’s become a recluse of sorts in her old age.” I fan myself with the card. “That’s beside the point anyway, as we were never close. I know this is going to sound strange, but my mother didn’t like me very much.”
June scoffs, shocked I think. “I doubt that.”
“Please. You don’t know her.” But I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Maybe she thinks I’m exaggerating, or that I’m put out because my mother hasn’t shown up for me.
I bring my chair closer to hers. “The thing is, both my parents were scientists. Physicists, to be exact. That’s all they thought about. Science. And they had ambitions for me, because they believed—unscientifically, I might add—that all of their talents would be funneled into me. That I would beTheir Best Work. My mother especially. I think my father just went along with her because it was easier for him. She, on the other hand, had this idea that I would be some kind of Marie Curie or Rosalind Franklin. She was obsessed with turning me into the perfect scientist. When I was eleven, she told me not to have children. I’m not kidding, June. She said ‘They only interfere with The Work.’ She always talked aboutThe Worklike she was devoting her life to humanity or something. ‘Children serve no purpose,’ she said, ‘other than the survival of the family tree.’ And just to reiterate here, my mother said this to me, her only child.”
June is watching me, mouth open. “Oh, Anna. That’s awful!”
I shake my head. “I could never be like that to my own children. I smother them in hugs and kisses every day just to balance her out.”
June takes the card from me. “You are their best work, Anna.” She points to the words. “And she is proud of you.”
“Oh, yeah.” I take the card from her and throw it on the table. “Imagine waiting your whole life forthiscrumb.” But I feel a prick of tears and pinch my nose. I want to tell June about my mother forcing the Pentti-Stone on me at such a young age, all the pain she put me through with her hare-brained ideas, but I don’t. “You’d think she would have come, for this,” I say.
June is silent for a moment. “What does Luis think?”
I check over my shoulder to make sure he’s not listening, then lean closer to her. “He’s so angry with her. She didn’t even come to our wedding, can you believe that? He says I should just drop contact altogether. Not that we have much of that.” I laugh.
“I’m very sorry Anna. That’s—”
But we’re interrupted by Mila. “You are a bit of a dark horse, Anna!” she slurs. She grabs my arm to drag me off. June laughs and waves me away and I get up, glass in hand.
“I just wanted to say congratulations!”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” We clink our glasses. Her gestures are a little exaggerated.
“I wish you’d said something. I would have loved to help!” she says.
“I just wanted to wait until I was sure,” I say.
She wags a finger at me. “You are a bit of a dark horse!” and I say, “Yes, you said that,” and she laughs, congratulates me again. There’s been a lot of congratulations lately but there’s something in her eyes that doesn’t match the smile. For a terrifying moment I think that she suspects something, and my heart leaps into my throat. I try to picture Alex and Mila together, confiding, chatting, plotting, but no, it doesn’t resonate. I don’t think Alex even liked Mila much, anyway. Then I tell myself that I have to stop this second-guessing of everything everyone says to me or I’ll really go crazy.
Mila lifts her glass of champagne in my direction and says, “You kept it secret so I wouldn’t try to worm it out of you. You think I would have stolen it for myself.” She leans forward again. “You’re right. I would have. Well done, you!”
Then Geoff appears and puts his arms around both of us.
“I told Mila to write up a story on you for the website,” Geoff says. “We want a big splash page thing. Photos, quotes, the lot. Did she tell you?”
“Not yet.”
