Chapter 4: His Mother's Long Game
He didn't lie to me.
That was the thing I kept coming back to afterward — he didn't lie.
"It was my mother," he said.
I stared at him.
"Why would your mother be calling you right now?"
"She calls most evenings."
"You never told me that."
"I know." He picked the phone up and set it on the carpet beside him, face-down again.
"I answer when you're not around.
I didn't want you to feel like she was still—" He stopped.
"Still what?"
"Still a problem."
I stood up from the floor.
Not because I was leaving — I just needed to not be sitting down for this.
"So she's been calling you regularly.
For how long?"
"Since the wedding."
"That's seven years."
"Yes."
I walked to the window at the end of the hallway.
The street outside was ordinary.
A neighbor's dog.
A car pulling in.
"What does she say?"
He was quiet.
"What does she say to you, on these calls you take when I'm not around?"
He stood up too.
"She asks about us.
Whether things are good.
She asks if I'm happy."
"And what do you tell her?"
"I tell her yes.
Every time."
"Does she believe you?"
He hesitated.
"No."
I turned around.
"Why not?"
"Because she doesn't want to." He ran a hand through his hair.
"My mother decided a long time ago that our marriage was a mistake.
Nothing I say changes that.
I stopped trying to change it.
I just — managed it.
Kept it away from you."
"You kept your mother's opinion of our marriage away from me for seven years."
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what?
From knowing that your mother spends her evenings calling you to ask if you're happy yet?
From knowing she's been waiting for this to fall apart?"
He didn't answer.
"Does she still talk to Diane?"
The pause was its own answer.
"They never really lost touch," he said carefully.
Something cold moved through me.
"Does Diane know you're married?"
"Of course she does."
"Does she know what your mother thinks of me?"
He looked at the ceiling briefly.
"Probably."
I picked up the letter from the floor.
"You wrote that you didn't know if your mother ever stopped trying to get you back together with her.
That was the night before our wedding." I looked at him.
"It's been seven years.
Has she stopped?"
He met my eyes.
"No," he said.
"She hasn't."
The phone lit up again on the carpet.
Face-down, but the edges glowed.
Neither of us looked at it.
"I need to know something," I said.
"And I need you to think before you answer."
"Okay."
"Has Diane ever contacted you directly?
Not through your mother.
You."
His jaw moved.
A small, careful shift.
"Once," he said.
"About a year ago."
The hallway felt narrower.
"What did she want?"
"She said she was in the city.
She asked if I wanted to meet for coffee.
To catch up."
"And?"
"I said no."
"Did you tell me?"
He looked at me steadily.
"No."
I folded the letter once more and held it against my chest.
"Why not?"
"Because I knew how it would sound.
And because nothing happened.
I said no, she didn't push it, and I didn't hear from her again."
"That you know of."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your mother is still calling you.
It means she never stopped.
It means Diane reached out a year ago and you didn't tell me." I looked at him.
"What else don't I know?"
May you like
His phone went dark.
In the silence, he said: "There's something else."
