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Aunt Mimi smiles fondly and returns her attention to the sweater she’s knitting. I pick up the TV remote and start to flip through the channels. I can feel Aunt Mimi’s eyes on me, but I decide to avoid the questions in her eyes for as long as I can.
“Are you all right, dear?” Aunt Mimi finally asks. “You’ve carried this sullen look ever since you returned from New Orleans. I thought you’d be excited about the recent development.”
“I am… excited,” I replied with a small shrug.
“Oh please, Victoria,” Aunt Mimi says, rolling her eyes playfully. “If this is excited, I wonder what sulking looks like.”
“I’m not sulking.”
“Yes, you are,” she counters, setting the sweater in her hands aside to give me her full attention. “You used to talk to me a lot as a girl, you know. You’d get what was bothering you off your chest and be done with it. It didn’t matter if I comforted you or didn’t say a word. You always felt better immediately after a good rant. Do you remember that boy you were with in high school? Was he Bob or Ben–the one that panicked when he found out you were a virgin?”
“Oh, please, Aunt Mimi,” I said, covering my face in embarrassment as I recalled the memory she had mentioned. I’d suddenly started ranting to her one night at the dinner table about getting naked with a boy and how everything went down. Aunt Mimi had gaped at me with a horrified expression the whole time, a forkful of pasta suspended on the way to her mouth. I’d finished my food by the time I finished the story, so I thanked her for the food, picked up my plate, and headed to the kitchen. That was the end of the discussion. And I did feel better after.
“You had no idea how surprised I was back then,” Aunt Mimi says, shaking her head amusedly. “You were so detailed, yet so indifferent. I sat there for hours after you left, trying to process everything you told me while curbing the rage I felt toward that insensitive boy. I didn’t even know him.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Mimi,” I say quietly, realizing once again that it’s the first time I’m apologizing to her. And I think she knows I’m apologizing for more than that embarrassing moment. I’m apologizing for my Mama, who robbed her of her youth. It must have been awfully difficult being saddled with an autistic child. I’d witnessed a few of her past arguments with some of her boyfriends. More often than not, I was always the subject of the argument–I was the reason they always left. Aunt Mimi never once complained. She was more of a mom to me than my biological mother.
“You don’t have to apologize, Victoria,” Aunt Mimi says with a kind smile. “I mentioned it because I think this is also a matter of the heart. Am I wrong? This time, I promise not to be so shocked.”
I chuckle softly and take in a deep, steadying breath. I wonder if I have the strength to talk about Seer without giving in to the gnawing pain in my chest. I wonder if I would have started anything with Seer if I’d foreseen the guilt and heartache I feel now. If I’m down this bad, I wonder how he’s doing. But then I remember that I have no right to wonder.
“I fell in love, Aunt Mimi,” I say, smiling sadly through the tears in my eyes. “He’s the kindest and the most amazing man. His name is Nicholas. He makes me happy.”
I think Aunt Mimi’s expression is a mixture of excitement and empathy. She stands up from her place by the window and comes to sit beside me on the long couch. She takes my hands in hers, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “If he makes you happy, why are you here, then?”
I shrug uncertainly. “I… I have these plans of traveling the world and living my dream.”
“And does the thought of doing that make you happy?”
I shake my head. “No. Not without Nicholas.”
Aunt Mimi’s smile grows wider. “There, you have your answer.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter as realization dawns on me. “He’s my dream.” I laugh wildly, grasping tightly onto Aunt Mimi’s hands as the joy of realization fills me up. “I have to return to NOLA.”
* * *
“You’ve got the wrong number,” says the chirpy voice on the other end of the phone.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Please, have a nice day.”
I throw the phone on the table with a muttered curse. I close my eyes, trying to think of anything to help me calm down. I didn’t find any.
“Another dead end?” Pocus asks.
I open my eyes with a heavy sigh. “I just wonder how many Mimi Cromwells I have to call before I actually get through to the one I need.”
“Damn right,” Pocus says, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “I’ve called less than fifteen people and I feel like I’m going to punch the wall the next time someone tells me I’ve got the wrong number.”
I chuckle quietly, crossing off the last number I dialed from the list. “We have less than thirty numbers to go. I hope one of them comes through before I finally go crazy.” I pick up my phone again and dial the next number on the list. “By the way, did you catch the news this morning?”
“Rugal’s arrest?” Pocus asks with a small snort. “Serves the bastard right.”
A distant “hello” brings me back to the task at hand. I hold a hand up to Pocus to excuse myself. “Hello, Miss Cromwell?”
“Yes. How may I help you?”
The person on the other end sounds calm and pleasant.
