Chapter 8 - Flowers Left on the Kitchen Counter
I woke on the pullout with my hand pressed flat against my belly and the light coming in thin around the blackout shade. My gown hung over the bathroom door where I had left it. The diamonds on my left hand caught that strip of light when I turned over.
That morning I was still Emily, and I was still pregnant, and I was still married. That was as far as I got.
My phone buzzed at eight fourteen. Mason's name lit up the screen. I let it go to voicemail. Then it buzzed again. I sat up slowly, feet on the cold wood floor, and answered on the third ring because my mother-in-law was already up making tea and I didn't want him waking her.
"Em?" His voice sounded too awake. "Are you okay? Mom texted me you stayed with her."
I rubbed my eyes. "I'm okay. The baby's okay."
A pause. I could hear traffic behind him, his car Bluetooth. "Good. Good. I was worried when I couldn't find you after the speeches. Look, I got you something. Can I come by? Ten minutes. Please."
I looked toward the kitchen. Helen stood at the counter in her robe, watching me without pretending not to. She mouthed, your call.
"Ten minutes," I said.
He knocked at nine thirty with a paper-wrapped bouquet and a coffee carrier. White roses. The kind the gala florist had used on the tables. He smiled like he was trying to reset the whole night with it.
"For the prettiest girl in the ballroom," he said, stepping in. His tux was gone, replaced by a navy sweater and jeans. He looked younger like that, and tired around the eyes. He set the coffee down and held the flowers out with both hands. "I'm sorry about last night. I hated how we left it."
Helen took the flowers before I had to decide. "I'll put these in water," she said quietly, giving us the living room.
Mason sat on the edge of the armchair across from the couch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The foundation board kept pulling me into photos. And the auction went long. By the time I came back to our table, you were gone and Mom looked like I'd committed a crime."
I pulled the throw over my legs. My ring felt heavy. I turned it once around my finger and then stopped myself.
"I asked Mom not to make a scene," I said.
"You didn't need to disappear on me, Em." His voice stayed soft, reasonable. "You could have texted. I spent twenty minutes looking like an idiot checking the terrace."
I breathed in and out. The baby shifted low, a slow roll that made me press my palm down. Mason saw it and his face changed.
"Can I?" he asked, nodding at my stomach.
I shook my head. "Not right now."
He sat back. The hurt flashed across him fast, then smoothed out. "Okay. I get it. Hormones, late night, sore feet. I should have stayed closer. Next time I will."
That was when I asked it. One question. I had practiced it in the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth, trying to keep my voice level.
"Who were you dancing with when I left?"
For half a second he didn't blink. Then he laughed a little, short. "God, the dance floor? That was all duty dances. The chair's wife, two donors. You know how these charity galas are. I have to keep everyone happy or we don't hit the pledge number."
He said it easily. Too easily.
Helen set the vase on the counter behind us. The stems thumped glass. I didn't turn around.
"Which donor?" I said.
Mason stood and picked up one of the coffees, holding it out to me. Decaf, the way I took it now. He remembered that much. "Em, come on. It wasn't like that. I was working the room. You were talking to Mom. I figured you were fine."
I took the coffee because my hands needed something to hold. It was warm through the sleeve.
"I wasn't fine," I said.
"I know," he said quickly. "That's why I'm here. Let me make it up to you. Come home tonight. I'll cook. We'll watch something dumb."
I looked at the roses on the counter, already opening too fast in the warm apartment. White petals against Helen's chipped blue vase.
"I need another night here," I said.
May you like
His mouth tightened. Then he nodded. "Okay. If that's what you need. Just — don't shut me out."
After he left, the coffee sat untouched until it went cold. Helen didn't ask what I thought of his answer. She didn't have to.
