Relief moves through Juliette instantly. I see it in the way her shoulders drop, the way her breathing evens out. I know they’ve had this conversation before, but this makes it feel more real.
“That means a lot,” Juliette says. I reach over and put my hand over hers.
Samantha looks at our hands briefly before softening her expression. “You’re my daughter. I want you happy.”
She looks at me then, direct and unflinching, but doesn’t say anything.
Juliette smiles, encouraged. “I’m glad.” Practically looking at her mother with hearts in her eyes. Before anything else can be said, Juliette excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
“I need the bathroom,” she says, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
She leans down and kisses my cheek again, quick and reassuring, then disappears down the hallway. The second she’s gone, the air in the room shifts.
Samantha’s smile fades, slow and deliberate, like she’s peeling something away. She looks at me across the table, eyes sharper now.
“So,” she says. “Now we can speak honestly.”
I don’t respond, mostly because my mouth is unable to open at this exact moment.
“This isn’t about you being a woman,” she continues. “I don’t care who Juliette loves.”
Now she doesn’t, but months ago she was berating me for being gay. Trauma aside, it doesn’t make it justifiable. I swallow these thoughts down, remembering to keep my promise to Juliette.
She leans back slightly in her chair. “It’s about you.”
“What?” I ask, bewildered.
“You’re intense,” Samantha says calmly. “You take up a lot of space.”
“I love her,” I say in response, which might not seem the best, but that’s all I have. It comes out as a protest.
“That’s not the same as being good for her,” she responds.
Good for her? I managed to turn her into someone who was actually thriving in her classes and exams. I practically taught her not to be homophobic, and I’m not good for her?
“She has always been stable,” Samantha continues. “My daughter is grounded, and you disrupt that.”
“How do I disrupt that? By loving her?”
“You come into her life,” Samantha says, “and suddenly she’s making life-changing decisions quicker than ever.”
Reality dawns on me when I realize what she’s implying. “This is about our apartment?”
“Her apartment. I don’t recall you buying it.”
There it is. What this is really about.
“You think I’m with Juliette for the money?” I almost laugh out loud. “She bought that apartment without telling me.”
“Yet you’ll be reaping the benefits soon.”
“I’m not with her for her money,” I grit my teeth.
Samantha tilts her head. “I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it,” I say loudly.
“Lower your voice,” she instructs. Has she still not realized I don’t take very well to being told what to do?
