15. Eve

CHAPTER 15

EVE

I picked up an ornament and put it back down, a little glass bauble with dried flowers inside. Mother took it in turn and held it up to the light.

"What would you call this?"

I squinted at the thing. "A suncatcher, maybe?"

"No, those are stained glass."

"I think it's the same, though. You hang it in windows." I took it from her and set it back on the shelf. Mother drifted among the sparkling displays.

"I always wonder who buys this stuff. It's so fun to look at. But what would you do with it once you got home? Look at this this, now. Where would you put this?" She held up a little blown-glass sculpture, made to look like a balloon animal. A giraffe, I thought, or maybe a camel.

"I'd buy that," I said. "I'd put it on that little table you got me, the one in the alcove in my front hall. People would see it when they came in, and we'd have something to talk about. Like ‘uh… what's that?'"

Mother laughed. "Then it's yours. I'll buy it for you." She took it up to the counter and the cashier wrapped it. We really had got away with it, or so it seemed — she and Father had bought us, hook, line, and sinker. I'd felt a prick of anxiety when she'd asked me out shopping, but the morning had swum by calm and relaxed, not a hint of any maternal suspicion. Now she was even buying me presents. Congratulating me, maybe, on my good taste with Marco.

"I had her gift wrap it," she said, when she came back. She held the bag open to show me the bow on top. "It'll be like a present when you get back. A housewarming gift for you and Marco. That is, if you're planning on moving him in."

Uh-oh… Where was this headed, out of the blue?

She handed me my package. "He's a lovely young man. But how serious is he? How serious are you? "

I gaped at her. "What?"

"Oh, come on now. I was born at night, but I wasn't born last night. I know you started seeing him to, what do you call it?" She flapped her free hand. "Control your narrative."

"Control my what?"

"Don't give me that face. You know what I mean. You wanted the world to see you and know you'd moved on. Now they've seen and they know, and you're still together. So, is there something more to this, or is it still all for show?"

I almost dropped my new glass giraffe. I should've guessed she'd see through me, but she'd seen so completely . Was I that transparent? Did the whole world know?

"Your father's a fan of his. Says he seems honest. You know that's high praise coming from him. But it isn't what we think that matters here. What are you thinking? Is this something real?"

Something real . I bit my lip hard. Lately, it'd felt that way, or at least there'd been moments. That protective feeling that grabbed me when he got in his car. That lift in my step when I knew I'd soon see him. The comfort of falling asleep in his arms. Sometimes, he'd tell me something new about himself, and I'd just want to preserve it in amber. Each discovery felt precious, something to treasure. I'd never felt that for Rafael, or anyone before him.

"It's still really new," I said. "I'm not sure where we're headed."

Mother's eyes sharpened. "That's not what I asked you."

"Then, what?—"

"You and Marco, right now. What do you feel for him? Is this just a game, or is it something more?"

I hadn't been thinking about the end of our deal, deliberately pushing it out of my head. But it was coming, in little more than a week. We'd have no reason to keep going once he beat Rafael, unless…

"Maybe," I said. "I'm not sure, but maybe. I know I feel something, and I think he does too."

"You think he does? You haven't asked him?"

I spotted another shop across the square, a clothing boutique full of bright summer fashions. "I need a new bathing suit. Some wraps for the beach."

"Don't change the subject."

I hurried out of the store and across the packed square, the chatter of tourists stifling conversation. Mother strode beside me, shaking her head. I felt childish running away from her, but what could I say? I couldn't talk to Marco. It was too soon. I needed a sign first, or time to prepare. I needed to run through it all in my head, every possible outcome, every way it could end.

Mother caught my arm. "You have to be honest."

"I'm not saying I won't be. I need time, is all."

"Time to do what?" She stopped me by the fountain in the center of the square. "I almost left your father a year into our marriage."

"Left him?" I quit trying to squirm away. I couldn't imagine my mother leaving my father, or even wanting to. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," she said. "And that was the problem. We didn't talk about anything important, not how we felt or what we wanted. I thought he wanted to move to the States full-time, and I'd be alone there with no friends or family. We had this huge fight one day over something so stupid — he'd brought home chocolates and not saved me any — and once we got started, it all came out. He did want to move. He missed his own family. But not if it meant me giving up mine. We came to a compromise, not right there and then. It took time, but we got there. You and Marco could, too. But you won't get anywhere until you start talking."

I looked down at my feet. "It's not like that with us. We don't have all that built-up tension. We're getting to know each other, and one day, when we're ready?—"

"No tension? Are you joking? You have all these feelings and you're holding them back. Are you afraid he won't feel the same? It's better to know one way or the other. The longer you wait, the harder it gets."

"But it hasn't been long. It's only been?—"

"Eve Hansley!"

I gasped and whirled at the sound of my name. A camera flashed, but I barely saw it. I barely saw the phones bristle out of the crowd, dozens and dozens, all pointed my way. I stood stunned and slack-jawed, no breath in my lungs, my whole field of vision filled with… Rafael.

"Eve, over here!"

"Are you here with Marco?"

My head spun. I grabbed Mother's arm. Rafael towered over us three stories high, a massive ad up the side of a building. He was in his driving gear except for his helmet, his head tilted back, his hair blowing wild. Lightning forked behind him, along with some slogan, but I couldn't read it. Couldn't catch my breath.

"Look at her face!"

"Get them both, get the shot!"

Mother tugged at my sleeve, but I was frozen, my feet rooted tight to the ground. Rafael was laughing, eyes sparkling with mirth. Cracking open a can of some energy drink. I flashed back to his note. To the day of our wedding. To my headlong flight through the house I grew up in, out the front door, and… humiliation. Cameras. Shouting. My tearing dress. Had Rafael laughed at that, like in his picture?

"It's all right, come on." Mother's arm around me. She was waving her other arm, shooing the gawkers. They weren't press this time, just people with phones, but that was worse. That spelled disaster. They'd get every angle, every stage of my shock. I'd be ten memes, a hundred. A jaw-dropping GIF.

"Go on, get out of here. Don't you have lives?"

"Mother…"

She hauled me away through the chattering crowd. At first, the phones followed, the shutter-snap sounds, but a mounted policeman came trotting up. He cleared us a path, blocked their shots with his horse, and then we were piling into our car.

"Vultures," said Mother. "It was never this way when I was growing up. The press was the press, not this… camera culture."

I hugged myself, shivering in the AC. All I could think was, I wanted Marco. I wanted him to hold me and tell me he had me, and it didn't matter what anyone thought. And Rafael looked like a douche in his ad.