It’s barely noon, but if ever a glass of wine was in order, it’s now.
Maisy kicks the fridge shut, then fills two small water glasses with the colorless wine. After handing one to me, she tosses a pile of clothes off the recliner beside the couch and sits down, unstaples the delivery bag. Inside, a burrito as large as a sub is sliced diagonally in two. She holds one half toward me.
“Jackfruit carnitas?” I must cast her a funny expression because she adds, “I’m vegan.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” I tell her, realizing I’m famished. Still, I’m not about to take half this girl’s lunch.
Maisy folds one leg under her and regards her burrito like she, too, is uncertain it’s edible. Another black tear trickles down her cheek.
The wine is either corked or really terrible. Possibly both.
Maisy drops the burrito onto the coffee table. A little splatters on the smudged glass, which she doesn’t bother to wipe off. “I still can’t believe about Reggie.”
I’ve never heard anyone call Regina that before.
She leans back in her armchair, runs her hand through her short hair, and wipes the tears from her cheeks, leaving more black lines across her freckled skin. “Sorry, I’ve been such a mess. I just keep thinking what I could have done differently. We couldn’t have stayed together. Maybe if I hadn’t ended it, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say. Then I brave, “When did you break up?”
“Which time?” She half laughs, half cries. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do this.”
“I don’t know how to do this either.” My eyes water, and I blink, letting the tears fall. “Maybe we just talk about her?”
When Maisy doesn’t say anything, I go first.
“I saw her in March. Before that ...” It’d been seven years. What kind of mother doesn’t see her daughter for seven years? “It was the most time we’d spent together since she was a teenager.”
Maisy grins, sniffling. “She was really excited you were visiting. It meant a lot that you were working on your relationship.”
“It meant a lot to me too. Can I ask—when was the last time you saw her?”
“I definitely passed her in the lobby last week, but we hadn’t spoken in like two.” Sadness mists her face, making her appear so young, so lost. “Things didn’t end so well the last time.”
Maisy chews her nail. She glances at her wineglass, now empty, and her burrito, untouched.
“I don’t want you to worry about my feelings. Anything you tell me is a big help. Even if it hurts,” I say. Everything hurts. The good. The bad. The sweet. The ugly. I want to know it all, even if it will break me.
“We were dating on and off for almost a year. Full-on the last six months. It was the longest either of us had been in a relationship. You know that joke: What do lesbians bring on a second date?” I’m unfamiliar with this joke, and my lack of response must convey this to Maisy, because she explains, “A U-Haul. That wasn’t Reggie. It totally freaked her out. I mean, we both have friends who’re married with kids. It’s different here. Everyone in Venice is young or pretends to be young. It’s not a place to raise a family. God, not that either of us was thinking about a family. Reggie told me on our first date she never wanted to have kids.” Even though I knew this, Maisy’s words blast through me, a gaping hole in my midsection that stings from the ocean air. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I suppose it isn’t a secret that her father and I had an unpleasant divorce.”
“Reggie didn’t talk much about it, just that her dad cheated on you with your best friend, which is a total asshole move.” I never said anything to Regina about Isaac’s infidelity, allowing her to believe his relationship with Anna had started after we divorced. At some point, though, she’d realized. “If it helps, she dodged his calls way more than she did yours.”
A week ago, I would have relished this news. Now, knowing that she had fraught relationships with both of us doesn’t feel like a win.
“I told myself she was just scared of relationships because she’d never seen a good one. I knew it couldn’t last, but I was so in love with her.” Her voice cracks.
I start to push myself off the soft couch to comfort her. I can’t get up. It’s better, though. It’s not my place to console this woman whose heart my daughter broke.
“Can I ask what happened?”
Maisy pulls her knees to her chest, curling into a ball. “She was always secretive, whispering on the phone, having to run out at odd times. And she always had way more cash than any other wannabe screenwriters I know. She said her dad helped her.” I wouldn’t put it past Isaac to pay her rent, to give her a credit card, without telling me. “I made some joke about it, and she got super defensive. That’s when I knew she was cheating. All the sneaking around, the nice stuff. Instead of denying it, she would make it my fault. ‘Why don’t you trust me? Why can’t you take me at my word?’” Maisy snorts, stands up, and walks over to the counter where the wine bottle rests. She fills her glass to the brim, spilling a little as she walks over to refill the glass I’ve barely touched. “I saw them together. A few times.”
Them.I force myself to exude calm as I ask, “Did you tell the police?”
“They came around asking for my alibi. After that, they couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I need to leave as well. The room’s overly warm, and I’m not sure I like Maisy. Her brokenness is palpable. I don’t like thinking that Regina was drawn to her because my daughter was broken too. Only, I have one more question I need to ask, one I know will hurt her. At some level I want to hurt her. She’s alive, while my daughter’s dead. “Do you know who she was having an affair with?”
