Chapter 2 - Come To Mommy
The chandelier light didn't move but everything under it did. I could feel the heat of the ballroom settle on my shoulders, on the lace at my throat, on the curve of the belly I'd worn so long I'd stopped noticing its weight until that second. Lily stood with her back to me, her little navy dress still, one arm lifted and pointing past Marcelo toward the staircase. The crowd noise had dropped into that low, listening kind of quiet.
Marcelo didn't look at the crowd. He looked at me. His jaw was tight and his eyes were flat in the way they got when a donor said something inconvenient right before a photo.
"What is she talking about?" he said. Not loud. That was worse.
My smile was still on my face from a second earlier and I couldn't get it off. I heard myself laugh, short and wrong. "She's only three, she must have misunderstood."
Lily turned her head. Her curls had pulled loose under the navy bows and stuck to her cheek. "I didn't misunderstand."
Someone behind us stopped walking. A glass clinked and then didn't clink again. From the edge of my vision I saw Maya frozen two tables over, the silver dome cloche balanced on her tray, her eyes fixed on us. I realized my hands were clasped too hard in front of the gown.
I did the only thing I could think to do. I bent a little and opened my arms.
"Lily, come to mommy. Marcelo, I can show you."
Marcelo's brows pulled together. "Show us what?"
Lily looked up at him, completely serious. "Where she hid it."
For a breath nobody moved. My heart was beating so hard I was sure the lace was moving with it. I kept my arms open and kept my voice low and steady, the voice I used for bedtime and parking lots and doctor's waiting rooms.
"Come here, baby," I said. "Hold my hand."
She hesitated, then crossed the two steps to me. Her fingers were warm and a little sticky. I folded them into mine and straightened, feeling the pull of the gown at my lower back where the prosthetic strap always dug in by the end of the night.
Marcelo was watching our hands. "Elena."
"If we stand here we're making it bigger," I said quietly. I tilted my head toward the side of the room, past the tables, to where the carpet met the marble and the staircase went up toward the suites. "Let's just step out of the light for a minute. I'll show you both. Okay?"
He didn't say yes. He glanced toward the head table where two board members were openly staring, then toward the small group near the bar that had gone silent. A photographer lowered his camera.
"Two minutes," Marcelo said. "This is our gala."
"I know," I said.
I started walking. It took everything not to rush. Lily matched her steps to mine, her Mary Janes tapping against the ballroom floor, then going soft when we reached the runner near the edge. The air felt cooler there, away from the bodies and the chandeliers. Maya shifted back as we passed to give us room, tray still level, and I saw the pity flash across her face before she looked down.
Marcelo fell in on my other side. He didn't touch me. He put his hand lightly at Lily's shoulder as we threaded between the last table and the draped wall, guiding her without looking down.
"Mommy?" Lily said.
"Right here," I said. "Stay with me."
The staircase rose in front of us, cream carpet and brass rail glowing under the wall sconces. Music from the quartet started up again behind us, too bright, covering the space we'd left. My legs felt strange going up the first step in heels, with the extra front weight and Lily's hand in mine pulling slightly back because the steps were tall for her.
May you like
Marcelo paused at the bottom. He looked back once at the ballroom, at all those turned heads, then at me.
"After you," he said.
