Chapter 8 - Her Hand Never Left Her Chest
Mom didn't move us toward the doors right away. I felt that first. Her arm stayed locked around my side and her feet stayed planted on the marble, and the cold from my dress kept bleeding through her sleeve.
The floor was slick under my shoes. Every light in the room felt too bright on my wet hair. Water kept dripping off the ends onto my shoulders and down the back of my light blue dress. I tried to hold still so it wouldn't make noise.
Eleanor was still by the dark wood doors. Her hand hadn't left her chest. The pearls caught the light from the chandelier every time she breathed in. She wasn't looking at the phones anymore. She was looking at Mom.
Then she started walking toward us. Not fast. She smoothed her champagne dress with her free hand as she moved, like she was fixing herself before she spoke. The sound of her heels was small and sharp on the marble. A couple guests stepped back to let her through, but they didn't lower their phones.
I felt Mom shift her weight. She turned her body half a step, just enough that her shoulder came in front of me. I was still against her side, but now her arm moved a little higher, up around my back. Her navy sleeve was damp where I'd been pressed against it.
Eleanor stopped about three feet away. Close enough that I could smell her perfume. Close enough that I saw the gray strands pulled tight in her updo and the way her lipstick had feathered at the edge.
She lowered her hand from her chest and reached it out, palm down, toward me. Not all the way. Just enough.
"Come here," she said, very quiet. "You're freezing."
It wasn't loud like before. It was the voice she used when servers were standing too close. Low and even. I felt my stomach tighten because that voice always meant I was supposed to move without anyone noticing I moved.
My fingers twisted in Mom's dress. The fabric was warm from her body. I didn't lift my head.
Mom didn't step back. She stepped sideways. One short step to her left. It put her fully between Eleanor and me. I could see Eleanor's hand now past Mom's shoulder, hanging in the air.
"She's with me," Mom said.
Her voice wasn't raised. It was flat. I felt it in her ribs more than I heard it, because I was pressed so tight against her.
Eleanor's eyes flicked down to my wet hair, then back to Mom. Her mouth pressed together. She let her hand drop to her side and then brought it back up to her pearls, touching them once.
"You're making a scene," she said, even quieter. "Let me take her to dry off. We'll talk about this after."
The chandelier hummed faintly above us. Behind Eleanor, the dark wood doors were closed. The wall sconces threw warm light down both sides of them, and I could see our reflection warped in the polished marble — Mom's dark blue shape in front, my smaller light blue shape half hidden behind her.
Mom didn't look at the doors. She didn't look at the phones. She looked straight at Eleanor.
"No," Mom said.
Just that. Nothing after it.
Eleanor blinked. Her hand tightened around her pearls for a second, then released. She glanced to the side, like she expected someone to step in. Nobody did. A phone light swung across her gold dress and stayed there.
May you like
I pressed my forehead against Mom's arm. My hair left a wet spot on her sleeve. I waited for her to move us. She didn't. She just kept standing there, her body blocking Eleanor's path, her breathing slow and steady against my cheek.
Eleanor didn't reach for me again. She stood with her hand at her necklace and watched us, and the doors stayed closed behind her.
