“Yes.” My mother wrapped her delicate fingers over her coffee cup. “I went through IVF treatments. When I fell pregnant, it was with triplets. But your father only wanted two children, and it was a high-risk pregnancy, so the doctors sided with him. You were supposed to have another sibling.”
My head flew up from my present, my eyes widening. “You never told me that.”
She shrugged. “You never asked.”
“What were you expecting? Hi, Mom, what’s for breakfast today? Oh, and by the way, did you ever have a selective reduction when you were pregnant with us? Yes, pancakes are fine.” But before she could answer, I frowned. “Wait, Conrad didn’t want any more kids?”
I had always thought it to be weird that my mother hadn’t fallen pregnant again in the years after losing Aaron.
“No. I could barely get him to agree to have you two. Of course, it worked out well, as you are his pride and joy now.”
Was,I was tempted to correct. Surprisingly, I didn’t have any trouble believing my mother about Conrad controlling the number of kids they’d had. It was just another horrific revelation to be added to the chain of evidence mounting against him.
So I guessed we were having this conversation now.
“Forgive my bluntness, Mother, but you didn’t exactly act like you were eager to raise the one child you had left.” I took a sip of my coffee. Noticed my hand was shaking.
My mother put her cup down, snatching my hands across the table. “Look at me, Arya.” I did. Not because I wanted to but because I had to give her the chance to explain herself after all these years. “It was a defense mechanism, okay? Your father would often threaten to take you away. In fact, whenever he and I fought, whenever I wanted to walk away, he would use that card against me. He said he’d have full custody over you, because I was such a bad parent, before I even had the chance to become a bad parent. Then I realized it wasn’t going to matter. He’d have done as he wished with or without my efforts. It was a catch-22. I was conditioned not to become too close to you, because I never knew if he’d let me keep you. And he is a very persuasive and manipulative man, as I’m sure you’re starting to see. I didn’t want to get attached to you. Didn’t want my heart to break even more after Aaron.”
My chest was hurting so bad I was surprised I could still breathe. I felt like my walls were crumbling down brick by brick, and I had no way to stop it. I’d always carefully constructed my reality into a digestible picture. Dad was the saint, Mom the sinner. She was the villain in my story, not the victim, and my reality, the one thing I’d thought I had that was stable and true, no longer made sense.
“I thought you didn’t love me,” I said, my hands limp between her fingers.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I wanted to hug you every day. Sometimes I physically stopped myself from reaching out and embracing you, because I knew it would make him mad. He’d say that I was trying to manipulate you. That I was making a point. I wanted us to run away together. But there was always a threat hanging over my head. I didn’t want to lose you entirely.”
“You did anyway.”
“I did,” she agreed. “But at least I got to see you every day. And then when you left for college, and after that, I tried convincing myself that I didn’t care.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I pulled my hands from her grasp. “Out of the blue. What’s changed?”
She shifted in her seat, smoothing her dress over her knees demurely.
“Yesterday,” she started, fumbling with her pearl necklace, “I tried reaching you all day to wish you a happy birthday. You didn’t answer. I wanted to go to your apartment to surprise you and realized I don’t even know where you live. I found out your office address because your father had one of your business cards in his study. I called your office and asked for your address, but Jillian said you weren’t there. That you had . . . a date. It struck me then how little I know about your life. About your hobbies, likes, and dislikes. The things that make your heart sing and your soul weep. I went back home, sick with shame. Your father was in one of his never-ending meetings with Louie and Terrance. I made myself a cup of tea, contemplating how I no longer had a Ruslana to do it for me, because ever since she left, I was too afraid to bring someone else into our house from fear he would sleep with her too. I took my tea to the balcony, overlooking Mount Hebron Memorial, and saw you visiting Aaron. You weren’t alone.”
A pensive smile played on her face. “There was a man with you. You looked . . . close. I saw the way you leaned your head against his shoulder. How you talked. And I thought . . . how I wanted to be that person for you. This rock. Someone you could count on, speak to. Someone to spend your birthday with. Then I thought back to all your birthdays over the years. At five, with nanny number eight. Or your fourteenth one, where we forgot about it until three days later, because Dad was in Geneva. I missed so much. I know that. A simple apology wouldn’t do . . .” She inhaled. “But I think, maybe, seeing as our world is shattering and everything around us is collapsing, we should at least try? What do you say, Arya? Please?”
There were so many things I wanted to say. To ask. But I started with the obvious one, and it had nothing to do with me.
“Why are you letting him stay with you, still?” I frowned. “Conrad. Why not divorce him? It’s a bad look. You standing by him after everything he did.”
“I don’t even go to court with him. He’s asked plenty of times. Apparently, his lawyers think it is good optics.”
When she saw I was waiting for her to elaborate, she moved her hand from her necklace to play with her earring. “Well, I suppose I’m scared of what’s next. You have to understand, I spent the last thirtysomething years in a form of isolation. A prison. He managed to mess with everything in my life—even my medication. A few years ago, I found out he was in close contact with my psychiatrist and told him what to prescribe me. I cut the psychiatrist off immediately, but the damage had been done, and these days, I can’t even take a Xanax without wondering if the people who prescribed it to me have ulterior motives. Whenever we went to social events, he would get deliberately chummy with my female friends—normally the ones whose company I enjoyed the most—and disappear with them for long periods of time. Making me wonder if he slept with them. He conducted very short, very efficient, very strategic affairs with anyone he thought could help me break free from the golden cage he’d set for me. I don’t have any real friends, associates, lawyers, or family. Conrad is my only family, albeit a very bad one.”
“You have me,” I ground out, not exactly sure why these words were leaving my mouth.
My mother’s eyes lit up. “I do?”
“Yeah. We’re not close, but I’ll still be there for you when you need me.” Although I could see why she didn’t know that, seeing as I had been ghosting her for a couple of weeks. Since news had broken about Conrad and she’d started calling me.
“Life is so short.” She shook her head. “I think about all the kisses I didn’t give you. All the hugs we didn’t share. All the movie nights and shopping sprees and fights that made us want to throttle each other and yet love each other more. I think about all the what-ifs. The almosts. How they pile up in the empty room of my memory bank. And it kills me, Arya. It hurts so much more than what’s happening with your dad.”
My pulse thrummed against my inner wrists. I thought about all the moments I’d shared with Dad. Precious and small, like individually wrapped chocolates. I wouldn’t exchange them for the world, even after everything that had happened. And maybe especially because of it.
And Christian. I thought about Christian too.
How much I wanted him. Craved him. Every fiber in my body knew he was going to break my heart. No easy feat, considering no man had accomplished that since Nicholai Ivanov.
“We can create new memories, maybe.” A soft smile touched my lips.
“Oh.” Her voice shook. “I would like that so very much.”
I stumbled out of the coffee shop, fumbling for my phone. It took me a second to find his number and another two to pull myself together and call him. He answered on the first ring, his voice clipped. “Yes?”
The background noise was telling. Documents shifting; hushed voices discussing the EEOC, mischaracterization, and burden of proof. He was obviously at a meeting. Why had he picked up the phone?
“Christian?” I asked.
“Evidently.”
“It’s Arya.”
“Is there anything I can help you with, Arya?” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as I’d thought he’d be.
Had I expected him to fall to his knees and beg to see me? Maybe not, but I hadn’t thought he’d sound so . . . unsurprised.
“You sound busy.”
There was a lull. Maybe it finally clicked that I’d called.
“What’s it about, Ari?”
Ari. The nickname made my heart stutter.
“Never mind.”
“I do mind.”
“You’re obviously doing something important.”
“I’d rather do someone important,” he stressed, just as I heard the soft click of a door closing. At least he hadn’t said that in public. I wheezed. There was not enough fresh air in Manhattan to make me breathe properly. But Mom had said it perfectly—life was too short. If tomorrow never came, I wanted to spend today with him.
“Arya.” Christian’s voice was much warmer now. I realized he’d sounded terse before because he’d been among people and had a certain air to uphold. “Are you contemplating what I think you’re contemplating?”
That was the trouble with good lawyers. They sniffed the truth out of you from miles away.
“Maybe.”
“What’s changed?”
“My perspective.” I closed my eyes, swaying from heel to heel in the middle of the street, feeling completely ridiculous. “My entire life, I’ve avoided messy. Yet messy still found me. I’m starting to see that maybe it’s time I take what I want, seeing as some consequences are inevitable.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You mean right now?” This gave me pause. Things were moving too fast. “It’s midday. My schedule is jam-packed. I’m sure yours is too.”
“I’ll shift things around.” The line got cut. “. . . on my way.” Another cut. “. . . over. Hello? Can you hear me?”
“You’re losing service,” I mumbled, wandering toward the subway in a stupor. Was I really skipping work? That was a first. I hadn’t even skipped a class in high school. The last time I’d taken a sick day was six years ago. I didn’t do spontaneous.
The bustling life of Manhattan seeped through the line. Ambulances wailing, cars honking, people shouting. “Sorry. I was in the elevator. Just hailed a cab. I’m on my way.”
“You’re crazy. This could wait.”
“No, it can’t. Oh, and Ari?”
“Yes?”
“Your checkbook better be open, because all those meals you’ve stood me up on weren’t cheap.”