Chapter 4 - A Quiet Call Out
I kept the chain on the door for a full minute while he knocked. Not pounding, just that steady tap-tap with his knuckles that he used at home when he thought I was being dramatic. Through the crack I could see the red drying on his beard and the front of his black shirt under the blue blazer.
"Maya, come on," he said. "Let me in before someone sees me standing here."
I slid the chain off because I didn't want staff walking by. I stepped back fast and put the vanity chair between us as he came in. My hands were still shaking from the soup bowl, and the champagne satin of my dress felt tight across my belly every time I breathed.
He shut the door and leaned against it. The little dressing suite smelled like hairspray and clean towels. Someone had left a tray with two glasses of water and a folded gala program on the counter. On the back wall, the mirror showed both of us - me with my ponytail coming loose, him with tomato red down his neck.
"I look ridiculous," he said, trying a short laugh. "You happy now?"
I didn't answer that. I crossed my arms over my stomach. I kept my distance.
He pulled a hand towel from the sink and started dabbing at his face. The red smeared instead of coming off. He looked at himself and shook his head.
"Your mother is going to kill us," he said. "We need to go back out there together. Smile. Say it was a joke that went wrong."
I had the foundation letter folded in my fist from the office pocket. The paper was soft from where I'd been holding it. I could hear the band starting up again in the banquet hall, muffled through the walls, and glasses clinking like nothing had happened.
I looked straight at him and asked it.
"Where's the money?"
That was all I said. Four words. My voice came out quieter than I wanted, but steady.
He stopped dabbing. For a second something crossed his face that wasn't anger. It was quick, like he'd been caught checking his phone too late at night. Then he tossed the towel in the sink.
"What money?" he said.
"The transfer," I said. "From the foundation account."
He laughed once, short and hard. "Jesus. You go through my desk at a gala? At my mom's gala?"
I didn't move closer. The chair stayed between us. My lower back ached from standing in heels, and I shifted my weight. I waited.
He stepped toward me and I stepped back until my hip hit the counter. He saw that and stopped. He raised both hands like he was proving he wouldn't touch me.
"Listen," he said. "That was operational. A bridge loan. Carol knows. You don't understand nonprofit cash flow."
"You said we were fine," I said.
"We are fine," he said. His voice got louder. "You're making a thing out of paperwork because you're embarrassed."
I felt my throat tighten. I picked up one of the water glasses just to have something to hold. The water shook a little.
"I wasn't embarrassed until you opened your mouth," I said.
He looked me up and down then, in the satin gown. The same look he'd had at the table before he said it. I knew what was coming and I still felt it like a slap.
"You need to control your temper," he said. "You throw food like a kid because I teased you about your weight? While you're pregnant? Everyone's filming, Maya."
I set the glass down hard enough that water spilled on the counter. My hand went automatically to my belly.
"Don't," I said. "Don't turn this on my body."
"I'm being honest," he said. "You can't take a joke anymore. The hormones, the crying, the checking accounts. It's too much."
The band got louder for a moment as a door opened somewhere down the hall. Then it faded again. I stared at the red on his blazer sleeve and thought about how I'd ironed his black shirt that afternoon in our apartment, how careful I'd been with the collar.
"I'm not going back out there with you," I said.
He blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," I said. "I'm not walking back to that table and pretending."
"Maya," he said, and his tone switched soft. "Baby, we have to. For one hour. Then we go home and talk."
I shook my head. I moved around the chair to the door and put my hand on the lock. Not opening it yet, just holding it.
"No," I said. "You go back alone."
He stared at me. The softness dropped.
"You're really going to do this here?" he said. "Humiliate me, then hide?"
I unlocked the door and opened it two inches. Cool air from the hallway came in. I could hear heels clicking past.
"Leave," I said.
He didn't move for a long three seconds. Then he grabbed the gala program off the counter, wiped once more at his beard with his fingers, and walked past me without touching me. He paused in the doorway.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
May you like
I closed the door after him and slid the chain back on. My legs gave a little and I sat down hard on the vanity chair. In the mirror, my face was pale except for two red spots on my cheeks. I laid both hands flat over my belly and felt the baby shift, slow and real under the satin.
I wasn't going back to that table with him. Not tonight.
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