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“Hollywood?” Ma rears her head back like Chrissy slapped her with the word. “Why, that’s even worse than New York!”
“How come?” Chrissy asks, blinking innocently. “It’s nice out there. Sunny. Open spaced. Everyone’s a health fanatic. And I’ll tag along for a few months, Mrs. Towles. Make sure our girl is all settled.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out.” I eye my superagent. I wish I had made a pit stop at the bar. I could have used a glass of something strong and preferably poisonous for this conversation. “But I’m not sure about it at all. What about the apartment—”
“You can lease it,” Chrissy butts into my words, and by the glimmer in her eyes, I gather pulling me out of the space I shared with Paul is a part of her elaborate master plan. She wants me to get rid of his things. To move on.
To make it on my own and stop apologizing for who I am.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“Think about what?” Lucas strides to our corner of the room and hands me a glass of wine. “A knight in shining armor thought you needed one and sent me over to save the day.”
“A knight, you say?” My heart leaps in my chest, and I feel my neck flush. “Who would that be?”
“Rahim, of course. Who else?” Lucas laughs, giving me an are-you-okay? look. “He didn’t want to interrupt this little reunion. Isn’t he darling?”
Disappointment slams into me. I’m so stupid. Did I actually expect Arsène to notice? To send me wine? The man brought a date here after kissing me silly, minutes after I saved him from death. He is a train wreck and the last person I should be warming up to.
“Rahim’s great,” I mutter, taking a generous sip. Gosh, it is a bad wine.
“Mrs. Towles, your daughter is an absolute gem!” Lucas explodes. “The best Nina I’ve seen with my own eyes, and that includes Saoirse Ronan and—God help me—the love of my life excluding my dear husband, Carey Mulligan. I cannot wait for the reviews to pour in. She was stunning, stunning. Even if she didn’t cry.”
Because she can’t, I want to scream. Tears are beyond me.
“She was always like this,” Ma boasts. “Did I ever tell you how she cried her eyes out the first time she listened to ‘Space Oddity’?”
A happy, loud conversation ensues among Lucas, Chrissy, and Ma. At some point, Rahim, Renee, and Sloan join us, along with their partners. The jolly, victorious mood is addictive, and I forget myself for the next hour, until everyone fades to their own corner in the bar, and Ma and I are alone again. She tilts her head, the dreamy smile wiped clean from her face.
“Now that everyone’s gone, tell me—how’ve you really been?”
“Honest to God, Ma, better than you think. Working hard on the play, of course, but it’s been a welcome distraction. And the paycheck!” I rave. “I might be able to keep the apartment now. Things are looking up, Ma. I swear.”
“What about going to the doctor?” she persists, her eyebrows puckered. “Please tell me you have an appointment. You’ve been neglecting it for months.”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water. I’ve done my best to ignore this subject—this problem—since Paul passed away. Everything took a back seat after the funeral, my health included.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I mutter.
“What’re you waiting for?” She tries to catch my gaze, to no avail. My eyes are firmly stuck on an invisible spot behind her.
“I’ll do it next week.”
“No, you won’t. You haven’t done it so far!”
“It doesn’t even matter right now.” I roll my eyes, feeling like a teenager again. “I feel fine. Healthy. Good.”
“Says who?” The plea in her voice undoes me. “My lord, sugar plum—”
“Ma, not here.” I stomp, desperate. “Please let it go!”
My last words come out more harshly and loudly than intended, drawing a few curious looks from people around us. Ma looks around helplessly, like she is waiting for someone to step in, to talk some sense into me. Usually, that person would be Georgie. She always likes to club me with the truth stick. But Georgie is not here to tag team me.
“This conversation ain’t over.” She wiggles her finger in my face. “Not if I have to drag you to the doctor myself. Now, let’s talk about something else before you tell your momma goodbye. Something pleasant. Oh, did you know Jackie O’Neill had a baby? A good-lookin’ one too. I have a picture on my phone somewhere . . .”
We talk about other things, but the damage is done.
I can’t unthink about what she said. Because she is right.
I’m not well.
I do need to go to the doctor.
Sooner rather than later.
Ma leaves in a flurry of kisses, tears, and hugs. We stand on the curb outside the pub. I insist on coming with her to the airport, but she refuses. This goes on and on until the cab driver interferes and says, “Ladies! Please just say your goodbyes so I can carry on with my shift!”
