Dimple frowns and sits on her hands. It’s a childlike gesture. She does a lot of those around me. But she doesn’t like me to point out her regression any more than I like her to use her therapy voice on me. Besides, she has her own therapist with whom she can work through these things.
“Emily, be nice,” I say.
“Hmm” is all she replies.
“Thanks for putting the lamb in,” I throw back to Dimple, who’s chewing the inside of a cheek. “I know it’s stupid, but I felt like I had to cook something showy, and—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” A small smile.
I get us all something to drink. With each of us on our best behavior for various reasons, it’s a very small glass of white wine apiece. Not long after she finishes hers, Emily checks the time.
“I’m so sorry, Nat, but it’s time for me to head.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t want you to miss your scan.”
Emily smiles and cradles her stomach with her hand. I feel like I’vebeen kicked in mine, although it’s not like when I first got the news. When she first told me, I was winded. I’m not ashamed to admit that I went home and screamed into my pillow. But not because of what she has. Because of what I’m reminded I’ve lost. Beyond the selfish pain, the thoughts of “what if” and regret, I’m thrilled for her. I’ve no doubt she’ll make a great mom. And though I missed the years of her courtship and romance with Ash, on the few occasions I’ve met him, he strikes me as kind. That’s the most important thing, after all.
Dimple and I say our goodbyes, although Dimple’s is more mumbled than spoken. I usher Emily toward the door, hold her tight.
“I’m so proud of you for surviving everything you’ve been through,” she says, and I can feel that her cheeks are wet. And then mine are, too. We hold each other for a moment more, and then she adds, “And this isn’t anything at all like what she said.”
I laugh, dry my eyes. “You have to be nicer to her, Em. She’s trying.”
She makes a face. “I’m not making any promises.”
“Em.” A word of warning.
“Okay, fine. Although I thought you’d be above harassing a pregnant lady. Jeez.”
With an eye roll and a wink, she’s out the door.
When I return to the living room, Dimple stays where she is, even though there’s room beside me on the sofa now.
“How are things at the school?” I ask.
I suppose it was an inevitability that Dimple’s career would not survive what happened. Even without James’s claims about her provocation of my poor mental health, that she’d orchestrated her way to becoming her sister’s therapist was a significant issue. One the UK Council for Psychotherapy saw fit to strike her off their register for. It didn’t actually stop her from practicing, but it certainly didn’t help, and she took it as an invitation to reconsider her career. Now she wasworking as a teaching assistant while she weighed up pivoting into social work.
“It’s tough, and shit pay. God, the kids are having a rough ride of it.” Her frown transforms into something akin to a smile. “But it’s rewarding. I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to leave therapy behind.”
She waves away the apology she’s heard before. “I got into it because I wanted to help people, and I still am. Besides, I knew it was a risk when I chose to get close to you, irresponsible as I was in doing so. I made my choice.” A proper smile now. “We’ll see how things go. What about your work?”
“I’m still figuring out what to do with James’s shares. It’s…I don’t know. And Will’s gleefully swinging his weight around. I mean, he’s got his strengths on the business end, but I can’t let a man like that run around the business unchecked. I think I need to sell. Find someone smart and decent. Or just hire someone like that. I don’t know…. At the very least, we’ve hired a replacement for me in the office. For the best, really. And James’s parents have paid me the equivalent of what James stole. They needn’t have bothered. Turns out that, yes, he was putting a lot of his money back into the business, but he was hiding a lot of money from me, too. I’m not exactly sure what for. Maybe to fund one of his many illicit affairs. Turns out hewasshagging Molly, by the way.”
The doorbell buzzes and my body goes rigid. Somehow, it’s already time.
Dimple points an elegant finger into the hallway. “Do you want me to?”
I nod.
She gets up and walks into the corridor, saying a few words into the intercom. I hear the click of the door button. Some time passes andthen there’s a short knock at the front door. Before long, Dimple is reentering the room, my mother trailing behind her.
Years. It’s been years since we’ve been in the same room. Before she can say anything, tears are already springing into her eyes.
“My baby,” she says.
The skin around her eyes is a little more lined. Relaxed hair streaked a little more silver. But otherwise, she looks the same. And I tell her to come in, make herself comfortable. It’s quickly noticeable in the way she picks apart the meal I serve her—her favorite meal—that she hasn’t changed much on the inside, either. She spends a great deal of time talking about herself. I watch Dimple panic as she swings between a desire to intervene and a promise not to. A shake of my head tells her it’s all right. She’s here as facilitator and witness, but it’s not her fight.
