“I love you. Don’t do that again.”
As much as I’d hoped to, I could not avoid the inevitable. The humiliation, the disgrace awaiting me at what I assumed wouldbe every turn. It started with Lulit, who was relieved but not terribly warm when I reached her on the phone.
“I just want to know that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. I mean, I haven’t turned on my computer yet or listened to any messages, but I’m okay.”
“Call me if you need anything,” she said.
“I will. And thank you, for getting out of your bed on a Sunday morning to do a wellness check.”
“Your boyfriend was very insistent. I told him you were not the suicidal type, but he would not take no for an answer…” She drifted off, and then: “I think he loves you.”
“I know,” I said. I imagined she wanted to ask what my plan was, what I was thinking, how much longer could I let this go on. But she bit her tongue. And that, for Lulit, was no small thing.
My mother, who could not hold her tongue, lectured me in rapid-fire French. She used words I’d never heard from her mouth, and I’d heard quite a bit. She closed her tirade with her customary “Je t’adore avec tout mon cœur.” But telling your daughter “I love you with all my heart” is much less effective after just having called her “une pute.”
Amara checked in to make certain I was not falling apart. To assure me the photos were not that bad. “They’re blurry. You can’t see your face. You can’t really see his. You can’t see any detail.” And then, finally, to make me laugh: “It could have been so much worse, Solène. You could have been the one going down, and he could have been the president.”
The brief levity she had brought to the situation died the second Daniel and Isabelle arrived. My daughter could barely look at me.She walked in tan and taller and beautiful, and she would not look at me. Worse yet, she would not mention it.
“Was Hawaii amazing?”
She nodded, fiddling with her backpack. We were in the entry, Daniel still retrieving bags from the car.
“Was Eva’s dress nice?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you do your hair yourself?” I reached out to tuck a wayward lock behind her ear, and she tensed.
“They did it at the Four Seasons. I’m going to my room.”
“Okay … Okay.”
Daniel summoned me outside once he’d brought in the luggage. And we stood there, beside the BMW, the relentless California sun glaring, mocking, like a joke. Just once I wanted the weather here to not be perfect. Just once I wanted it to mirror my mood.
“Congratulations,” I said.
He nodded, slow. “Thanks.” His hair was lighter, almost blond, the lines around his blue eyes soft. He looked rested.
“So you’re married again?”
“I’m married again.” He was twisting the shiny platinum band on his finger with his left thumb. It was narrower than the one I’d placed there. The moment still clear. The invitation mounted in a frame.
“I didn’t bring you out here to discuss this—”
“I know you didn’t.”
“This is appalling, Solène. This is so…fucked up. I don’t think you realize how big a deal this is—”
“I do.”
“I know it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life, but I’m still Isabelle’s father. And when you do dumb shit like this, it has consequences.”
“‘Dumb shit’? Is that what it is?”
I watched him stew for a second. His thumb flicking his ring.
