Chapter 8: What Our Mother Said
My mother answered on the third ring.
"Clara." Her voice was already careful.
She had been waiting for this call.
"I've been thinking about last night."
"I know, Mum.
That's why I'm calling."
Andrew sat beside me on the sofa.
Close enough that I could feel his presence without having to look at him.
"That box Andrew brought out," my mother said.
"Eliza's face.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."
"I know what was in the box," I said.
"And there's more than that.
I need to tell you some things.
I need you to listen without interrupting until I'm finished."
A pause.
"All right."
I told her.
Not everything — not the notebook, not every detail — but the shape of it.
The letters.
The things Eliza had written to Andrew.
The letter of mine she had kept.
The fact that it had been going on, in one form or another, for over two years.
My mother didn't interrupt.
She had promised she wouldn't, and she kept that promise, which cost her something — I could hear it in the silences between my sentences.
When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"How long have you known?" she finally asked.
"Andrew told me last night.
After everyone left."
"And you went to see her this morning."
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"She admitted it.
She said she was ashamed."
Another silence.
Then my mother said something I hadn't expected.
"I owe you an apology."
I looked at Andrew.
He raised his eyebrows slightly.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"I saw it happening," my mother said.
"Not the letters — I didn't know about those.
But the flirting.
The comments about Andrew.
I thought it was Eliza being Eliza.
I thought it was harmless.
I told myself it was just her way of coping with the divorce — latching onto what looked stable and safe." Her voice was steady but tight.
"I should have said something to her.
I should have said something to you.
I let it go on because I didn't want a conflict in the family, and that was wrong of me."
I sat with that for a moment.
"Mum," I said.
"You didn't know."
"I suspected more than I admitted to myself.
There's a difference."
"Yes," I said quietly.
"There is."
We were both silent for a moment.
Outside, the afternoon light was going flat and grey.
"What are you going to do?" my mother asked.
"About Eliza."
"I don't know yet.
I told her I needed time.
I meant it."
"Do you want me to talk to her?"
"Not yet.
Please.
I need to handle this myself first."
"Of course." A pause.
"Clara — is Andrew all right?
Are you two all right?"
I looked at Andrew beside me on the sofa.
He was watching me with the particular kind of attention he had — quiet, steady, not performing anything.
"We're working through it," I said.
"He should have told me sooner.
He knows that.
But yes.
We're all right."
"Good," my mother said.
And then, more softly: "I'm glad he gave that box back."
After I hung up, Andrew and I sat together in the quiet living room for a while without speaking.
The light outside shifted.
The house settled around us.
"She saw it," I said eventually.
"My mother.
She saw the flirting and she let it go."
"People do that," Andrew said.
"They see things and they decide it's easier not to."
"I did it too," I said.
"Every time Eliza made a joke about you being her backup option, I told myself it was nothing.
I told myself she was hurting and I should be patient." I looked at my hands.
"I kept the peace so well that I nearly lost everything behind it."
Andrew put his arm around me.
I leaned into him.
"You didn't lose anything," he said.
"No," I said.
"But I came close."
We sat like that until it got dark.
Neither of us moved to turn on a light.
Neither of us needed to.
But in the morning, I knew, there was still one thing left to do.
The notebook was still on the counter.
May you like
And Eliza's phone was still going unanswered.
That couldn't stay that way forever.
