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What will I do if Heath no longer has a reason to see me? He’s not going to want to put up with my drama if he’s not getting something out of it. Will he?
Yeah, I keep those questions to myself because I’ve promised to keep up the illusion that I’m not an idiot.
“This isn’t about the project,” she says. “It’s about your mother. I’ve been thinking about this for two weeks. Ever since our fight. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I fear I must.”
I knew that would come back to haunt me. “I’m sorry if she was awful to you. She doesn’t understand our relationship.”
“Oh, she understands it all too well. She knows exactly how I feel and what I’m doing. She simply hasn’t been able to stop it.” She leans forward. “Thomas, maybe you should take 3rd to 59th.”
That requires a hard right, and I hear the horns start up in angry unison. I also catch Thomas’s lips curling in satisfaction in the rearview mirror.
I clutch the armrest, but CeCe isn’t fazed at all. I manage to sit back up. “What do you mean she understands? I assure you she tells me all the time that she doesn’t understand anything about my life.”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t understand the technical aspects of your life, and what you have to accept is your mother is not a risk taker. Not at all. I’m sure that has everything to do with losing your father. Grief makes us act in odd ways. After I lost George, I took some crazy risks. I felt unmoored to reality and that things didn’t matter if he wasn’t around to enjoy them. It’s a common reaction in the first stages of grief. But your mother couldn’t do that. She had a child, and so her pendulum swung the opposite way. She tried to block out all risk.”
CeCe has a point, but I’m not buying it entirely. “I’m not going to die if a company goes under. I think I’ve proven that I can take that pain and still end up standing for the next round.”
“Risk is more than physical,” CeCe counters. “There’s a reason your mother’s stayed in the same place for over twenty years. She can’t risk losing the last place where she was happy. She can’t risk that if she tries to find something else, she’ll lose what little she has. After all, she lost you.”
A weary sigh goes through me. “She didn’t lose me. She pushed me away.”
“And that is a fear of risk, too.”
“How did she lose me?” I need someone to explain this to me. “And what do you mean she understands what you want from me?”
There’s more loud honking and some four-letter words thrown around as Thomas weaves the Rolls through traffic. We have to go through Midtown, which should give us plenty of time to talk through whatever we need to because it’s always a parking lot. Not for Thomas. He’s a master at wedging himself in and getting through lights right before they turn.
CeCe leans forward and opens the small panel in front of her seat. It’s a minibar, and someone has kindly left what looks like a gin and tonic sitting there. How that sucker didn’t spill I have no idea. I have a mental picture of Thomas playing bartender as he waited for CeCe outside Lydia’s building. She takes a long swig and then pulls her sunglasses off and turns my way. “There’s one for you, if you like. Or a bottle of water.”
I open the panel on my side and sure enough, there’s a second G&T and some water. There’s also my favorite candy bar sitting there along with single bags of Chex Mix and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos I shouldn’t eat but love.
She used to have a big tray of snacks at her penthouse when I would come to work after school and during the summers. She claimed they were always there for anyone who wanted them, but since when did CeCe have junk food around? When she served guests, it was whatever Chef had created, not deliciousness shoved into a bag at a factory.
She’d done it for me.
I’d been planning on taking the water, but this is a CeCe moment, so I pick up the Waterford Crystal glass. Sure enough it’s perfect and refreshing, with just the right burn to get me through a conversation that is turning decidedly emotional. “She thinks you wanted to make me your daughter.”
CeCe sits back, taking another drink. “Did it work?”
It’s my turn to sit back and search for the right words. Now I have to wonder if I haven’t failed all the mother figures I’ve had. “I should have called you. I wanted to. You can’t imagine how much I wanted to.”
She reaches out, and her hand covers mine. “And you can’t know how much it took for me to not ride out there and save you.”
