It’s risky as hell, giving someone that power. But Cecilia had asked me to do this. So do this I will.
Cecilia looks at me with warm eyes. Like she’s glad I’m here. Like she hears more than just the words I’m saying.
I look down at the menu.
We order eventually. Marguerite and Cecilia decide to share dishes, something it seems they do often at restaurants. They chatter about options, and in my mind, all I can see is the timer.
Until I get rid of St. Clair.
Halfway through the meal, Marguerite clears her throat. “You clearly have an arrangement that works. I felt myself slipping into the territory of judgement earlier, and those are not the fields I like to wander.”
“Mom,” Cecilia murmurs.
“It’s a metaphor. Look, Victor, St. Clair, whatever you like to go by. If what you and my daughter have told me is true, then I’m happy for you. You’re both gaining from the experience. Perhaps gaining understanding and sympathy for the other, as well? But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“Thank you, Miss Myers,” I say.
“Call me Marguerite. Miss Myers is my daughter. Or I guess she’s Mrs. St. Clair now?”
Cecilia shakes her head. “I didn’t change my name.”
No, she never had. Her name wasn’t really Mrs. St. Clair, as much as I might tease her about it. Why would she change it legally, when we only have seven months and twenty-two days left.
“I’ll just tell the two of you one more thing. You should get out of the city for a bit. Both of you. You’re too pale, Victor.” She shakes her head again, reaching for her glass of red. “Working all the time isn’t balanced.”
“We have to work,” Cecilia says.
“No one has to. It’s a decision.” She shrugs, looking between the two of us with glittering eyes. “Maybe this little fake marriage of yours will even become real by the end?”
Cecilia gives a pained laugh and shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye. I look out at the other guests and pretend not to see. If she wants me to laugh with her at the preposterousness of the idea, I can’t.
Not anymore.
We’re quiet in the car on the way home. Cecilia has the air of someone about to speak, but whatever she’s working up to doesn’t emerge.
It isn’t until we’re back home that it does. Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry about that. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“It was fine.”
“No, she… she implied a lot of things, and assumed others.”
“She’s protective. I’m glad your mother is like that.”
Cecilia nods, eyes searching mine. “Okay. Thanks for dinner, and thank you for doing that. I know you had other plans tonight.”
I shake my head. “A function. Like I said, I didn’t want to go to it anyway.”
“No, instead you got to play twenty questions.” She smiles, looking at me. Waiting for me to reciprocate.
“Yeah. Survived it, though. It’s late. I should go to bed.”
“Oh, yes. Me too. It’s been a long weekend, and tomorrow I’m going with Mom to her friend’s pottery class.”
“Right. Well, I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow, then.”
She braces her hands against the kitchen counter, and for a moment, the expression on her face is lost. “Yes, of course. Goodnight.”
I take the stairs in two and close the door to my bedroom. My breathing comes heavy. My bedroom feels empty and alien without her in it. I want her here, but not if she’s waiting to get rid of me. Not until I know she’s really forgiven me for how I behaved during our year together at work. Her mother’s words ring in my ear. The assumption that I’ve exploited and used her. Cecilia’s own confession that I’d made her cry at work.