“I will, Mom.”
They said their goodbyes and he let the screen go dark, staring down at his reflection as he tried to regain some semblance of dignity. He could pretend the call didn’t happen and sit through the rest of the cab ride in silence. But even he wasn’t that petty.
“My parents say hello,” he murmured.
Anne nodded, barely biting back the small smile on her lips. “How are they?”
“Good.” He leaned back and sighed. “Happy their son is finally back in the city to pick up platters of cured meats and cheeses.”
She laughed, the sound so light and familiar that it almost hurt.
“I’m surprised they didn’t convince you to move back home to Queens,” she said.
“They tried,” he said, focusing on where his fingers were laced together in his lap. He should have left it at that, let the silence return, but in the periphery, he could see her waiting for him to continue. She used to do that, as if more information was guaranteed if she gave him time. And after a moment, he found himself obliging. “I used to stay with them when I was in town. In the beginning it was once a year, if they were lucky. I told myself it was for them to make up for the fact that I left. But it was for me, too. Then, when I was looking for a place, I was there almost every weekend and I just…”
“You just?” she asked.
He let out a frustrated sigh. Why was he telling her this? Theyhadn’t had a conversation in years. She probably didn’t even care. But it still felt like a heavy weight around his neck, this thing he just needed to offload. “It felt like they were trying to freeze time. Yeah, I had been trying to freeze a bit of my life there, too, but it was like they almost resented who I am now and wanted me to fall back into that old version of myself from before I left. Like who I am now doesn’t matter as much as that twenty-year-old meddling with Dad’s toolbox in the basement.”
Her gaze flitted down his suit, but her expression had lost a bit of the judgmental edge he had come to expect in recent weeks. In fact, she looked almost contrite.
“That doesn’t sound like such a bad problem to have,” she said.
He threw her a wry grin. “It is when you come in on the red-eye and the first thing your mom needs you to do is stir the Bolognese for three hours.”
She laughed again, but this time she turned to the window as if it could hide her smile.
Another memory hit him, the way she used to turn away from him to hide her smile. How he had always used it as an opportunity to lean down and steal a kiss. He hadn’t let himself recall that in years, and even though he tried not to linger on it now, the image still took up residency in his brain and refused to budge.
But it was still just a memory, he reminded himself.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “How’d you know how to handle all that back there? With the police.”
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a long story.”
He nodded to the traffic ahead. “It’s a long cab ride.”
“Well, I’ve been working at my dad’s TV production company for the past few years. He really only has one show,Divorce Divas, and one of the stars can be… confrontational.”
Freddie remembered her father’s company and the show,mostly because Anne had always talked about how ridiculous it was. He wanted to ask what had changed, about the steps between business school and reality TV, but it felt too intimate, trespassing on territory that wasn’t his anymore. So instead, he asked, “How so?”
“She’s been arrested eleven times.”
He blinked. “Eleven?”
“Wait. Twelve,” she said, eyebrows stitched together. “I forgot about New Orleans during Mardi Gras.”
He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
“Disturbing the peace,” she answered his unvoiced question.
“Isn’t that the point of Mardi Gras?”
“It was ten a.m. on Bourbon Street, and she flashed a cop car for some beads. When they told her they didn’t have any, she threw a beer bottle at their windshield.”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s amazing.”
Anne laughed softly. “And expensive when you have a production schedule and a very limited budget.”
