Chapter 2
Mom didn't run. That was worse somehow. She just pushed her chair back slow, the legs scraping soft against the carpet, and stood. Her napkin was still folded on the table next to her half-empty water glass. She didn't look at the stage. She didn't look at me. She just started walking toward the side exit by the bar, her shoulders back like she was trying to hold something in.
I sat there for maybe three seconds with my silver clutch clutched so tight the beads dug into my palms. My chest felt too tight to breathe. Around us people were clapping for whatever Dad had just said into the microphone. I could hear Vanessa's laugh through the speakers.
I shouldn't have followed her. I knew what it would look like — the girl in the blue velvet dress getting up and leaving in the middle of the foundation gala. But I thought if I let her get to the hallway alone she would just keep walking to the parking lot and drive away and leave me there. So I pushed my own chair back and went after her.
I had to weave between the round tables and the gold chairs. A server with a tray of water glasses had to step aside for me. I kept my eyes on the back of Mom's dark dress. She didn't stop until she was past the double doors and into the hallway where the air was cooler and quieter and smelled like hotel carpet cleaner.
The hallway was long with sconces on the walls and a little alcove by the coat check where they kept an extra podium. Mom stopped there, just out of sight of the ballroom doors, and pressed her fingertips against her eyes. Her teardrop earrings caught the light. She was breathing hard, not crying loud, just that shaky inhale you do when you're trying not to.
"Mom," I said. I was standing a foot behind her.
She dropped her hands and I saw her makeup had smudged at the corners. "Lily, you need to go back in there."
"I'm not going back without you."
She looked at me then, really looked, and her face did this tight thing like she was trying to smile and couldn't. "Sweetheart, I can't sit in there and watch that."
I stepped closer. The music and the polite applause from the ballroom were muffled through the doors now, like we were underwater. "Why are you crying about a necklace?"
She stared at me for a second and then let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. She reached up and touched her own bare neck, her fingers lingering where pearls would sit.
"Those aren't just a necklace," she said, her voice low. "Those were my mother's. The double strand. She gave them to me when I turned thirty. She wore them to my wedding. They were supposed to be in my dresser at the apartment. In the little blue box. I checked them last week."
I felt my stomach drop. "In your apartment?"
"Yes. In my top drawer. Where I keep my jewelry. Your dad knew that. He knew what they meant."
That was the first time she said it that plain. He knew. It wasn't that Vanessa had found them somewhere or bought something that looked like them. He had taken them from Mom's room and given them to her to wear tonight, on stage, while Mom had to sit in the audience and watch.
Before I could say anything, the ballroom side door opened and a woman in a black headset came out holding a clipboard. She had that tight gala-coordinator smile.
"Ma'am? Are we okay out here? We need to keep this hallway clear for catering," she said, then her eyes flicked to Mom's face and to me in my blue dress. She softened a little. "Do you need anything? Water?"
Mom straightened instantly. She wiped under her eyes with one quick swipe and pulled her shoulders back again. That dignified thing she did.
"We're fine, thank you," she said, her voice suddenly even. "Just need a minute of air."
The coordinator nodded but didn't move right away. She looked between us. "There's a family restroom around the corner if you want more privacy."
"We're fine here," Mom said again, polite but firm. The woman finally nodded and slipped back through the doors, letting a burst of amplified voice spill out — Dad's voice — before it shut again.
As soon as she was gone, Mom leaned against the wall of the alcove like her legs were tired.
"Are you going to leave?" I asked. My clutch was still in my hands. I'd been holding it the whole time.
She closed her eyes. "I wanted to. I was going to get my coat and wait in the car."
"Please don't," I said. "Just five minutes, please. Don't leave me in there."
She opened her eyes and looked at me. I could see her deciding. If she left, I'd have to go back alone and sit at that table while Dad stood on stage with Vanessa in Mom's pearls. If she stayed out here, people would notice anyway.
"I'm not going back in that ballroom," she said finally, quiet but certain. "I can't sit there and smile while he shows her off like that. I won't do that to myself. And I won't make you watch me do it."
I nodded fast because I understood that part, even if I didn't like it.
"But I'm not driving away either," she went on. She reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, her hand a little cold. "I'll stay right here. In this hallway. You can come find me if you need me. Or we can leave together after his speech is over. Okay?"
I felt tears prick at my own eyes then. "You promise you'll stay here?"
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"I promise I'll stay in this building," she said. "I'm not leaving you here alone. Five minutes turned into as long as you need."
She slid down just enough to sit on the little bench in the alcove, her dark dress pooling around her. She patted the space next to her. I sat down, my blue velvet skirt puffing up, and leaned into her side. Through the wall we could still hear the faint murmur of the gala continuing without us, and Mom's hand found mine and held tight.
