“There is so much about you that I could never have predicted.”
“Happy I can still surprise you,” she says. She stretches out an arm along the back of the couch, and I see her hand, dangling only inches away from my face. It would be so easy to have her run it through my hair.
And so complicated.
I close my eyes. “Tell me more about your mother.”
“You’re sure?”
No. “Yes.”
She pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, settling in. “She had me when she was twenty-one. She’d dropped out of college and was road tripping with a few friends at the time.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, not the ideal time to get pregnant.” Cecilia’s voice doesn’t hold bitterness, though. Only fondness. “She’s not normal. Not in the sense that you and I are normal. If we even are, because in truth, what is normal? She’s special. Fearless, and obsessive. She’ll go deep and far in one direction and inspire everyone she meets about it.”
“Like veganism.”
“Like veganism,” she says, “or geology, or ocean conservation, or space exploration. It was tantric yoga once. She made me practice with her every morning and evening.”
I make a choked sound and look up at her. She meets my gaze, and then she laughs, reaching out to slap me on the shoulder. “Tantric yoga isnotthe same as tantric sex!”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure. God, Victor, no, she was not into that.” Cecilia frowns. “Well, not that I know of. But maybe she was when I was at school. Ugh. I don’t want to think about that.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Tantric yoga involves no sex at all. Just a lot of breathing, mindfulness, and praying to deities. This was at the same time she experimented with polytheism.”
I rub a hand over my eyes. “Christ. I can’t think of an upbringing less like my own.”
Cecilia chuckles. “It was different than most of the kids at school, too. But thanks to her I am excellent at trivia. I know a lot about most things.”
“Where’d you live?”
“We moved around a lot. The longest place we stayed in was Santa Fe.”
“New Mexico,” I mutter. “Figures.”
“Be nice,” she says, but there’s only fondness in her tone. “She loves very freely, my mother, and has no boundaries. We often had her friends sleeping on the couch.”
“I can’t imagine you in that household. How did you become… you?”
“Someone had to be the adult.”
“And that fell to you?”
“The first person I was ever personal assistant to was my mother. I organized our trips from the time I was twelve.”
The image of a young Cecilia with a clipboard and a patient expression rises before my eyelids. Something tightens across my chest. Fondness.
I really am sick.
“Is that why you want to start your company? So you can be the personal assistant to a whole country?”
She laughs. “I suppose so, yes. Since the model is subscription and task-based, it’s affordable. People in all walks of life will be able to buy some peace of mind from us. Helping people help themselves, in a way.” Her fingers drum softly against her knee. “So my childhood was different from yours, then. I’m guessing your grandfather didn’t bring you to any barns to pet cows for stress relief?”