Carol smiles. She touches my arm. “Well, that’s certainly not true.”
I leave her in the living room and go into the kitchen. I put on the kettle. I open the cupboards. I see three different teas—green, English breakfast, and peppermint.
I take out three tea bags. I pop two into hers, the way I know she likes, and then I take out another and add two to mine, too. When the water boils, I fill the mugs three-quarters of the way up.
“Here you go,” I say. I set the hot cup down on the coffee table.
Carol peers inside the mug. “Two peppermint,” she says. “How did you know?”
I shrug. “It’s how I like it, too.”
We blow on the tea silently.
“Now tell me, who is this hotel guy?” Carol asks.
I take a small, scalding sip. It does taste better with two; she’s right. “He’s American.”
Carol cocks her head to the side. “And? What’s going on there? You’ve spent a lot of time with him recently. You just said he took you to the San Pietro. That place is romantic.”
“Nothing,” I say. But that isn’t true, of course. And here my mother is, alive, present. If I can’t be honest now, I’ll never be able to be. “I mean, we kissed.”
Carol’s eyes go wide. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I set the mug down and rub a hot hand back and forth across my forehead.
“I’m not divorced. I’m not even really separated, I don’t think. I just told Eric I needed some space on this trip.”
“Does it matter?”
Mom, I want to say. But instead I say, “Carol.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. You’ve told me you don’t know if you’re happy. Isn’t seeing if you can be happy somewhere else a good way to figure that out?”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
“Maybe it should.”
“Eric is a good person,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve this. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me.”
I think about Adam’s hands on my back by the pool. I think of his eyes looking at me down by the water’s edge. The trip to Capri, the afternoon in Naples.
“It’s possible actions only have the weight we give them,” she says. “We can decide what something means.”
I look into my cup. The tea is so heavy it’s nearly opaque. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Carol nods. “I guess it doesn’t matter, because it’s clear you think that cheating is unforgivable.”
“Isn’t it?”
Carol lifts her shoulders, slowly, to her ears. “I don’t know, is it?”
“We made vows, we made promises. I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive him if he did this to me.”
“Maybe Eric doesn’t exist right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean maybe this trip isn’t about him. Maybe it’s not about whether or not you love him or whether or not he’s a good person and a good husband or does or does not deserve this. Maybe this is just about you.”
