Page 127

I am way past wanting normal. Why would I? Laszlo ruined me for anyone else. He ruined me each day, more and more, until I finally became his.

I craved to be utterly destroyed by him. My body recognized what was happening. With him, it's always been easy to fall all the way to hell. I'd have died happy while being consumed by him.

Till death do us part. It isn't a simple vow. Not even divorce can override it.

Not even death, I am beginning to think.

Some would call that unhealthy. Maybe it was, from the outside looking in. But I know better now. With Laszlo, I've known a love few people experience in a lifetime, and I threw it all away because I couldn't handle the darkness.

I make it a point to speak to my mother regularly, even if it's just a phone call. The conversation is always safe, skirting around difficult topics, but it's like chicken soup on a cold day. Whatever we have between us, I'll take that bit of comfort. Tonight I need more than a phone call. I just need to talk to someone before my head explodes.

When I get to the house, my mother opens the door herself. She must have seen me pull up in my car. She steps back to let me in, then gives me a tight hug. She doesn't release me for a long while.

"Papa?" I ask when she pulls back and smiles at me.

"In the city until Thursday." She leads us into the kitchen. "Sit down. I'll make tea."

For a while, we both sit in silence, until I am ready to break it.

"I lost a patient today," I say. "It happens, and I know it's part of my job, but I'm not sure why, I couldn't sit this one out alone."

"You drove here because you haven't been taking care of yourself, my sweet baby." She reaches out and hooks a loose strand of hair around my ear. "You're exhausted. I can see it. All skin and bones." I don't deny that because it's true. My sleep schedule is totally off, but what's new? It's the nature of my job. Then again, it's not only that, is it? "Daphne phoned me before your trip, you know. She was worried about you. I didn't call because I told myself you'd come when you were ready. I thought maybe going off somewhere would do you good." Her tone is quite despondent, and I hope I can get through this conversation without breaking down. "I should have reached out sooner, Manon, and I'm sorry I didn't."

I shift uncomfortably in the chair. My mother loves me, I know. But she's always lived in my father's shadow, a passive attitude that bleeds into every aspect of her existence. This is how it's always been between us. If I were honest, I'd say we were never close where it mattered, although she's never been purposely cruel. I think her loveless marriage has weighed her down and in the end, how much of an emotional beating can one get before caving under the pressure? If "affectionately distant" were a term to describe a person, that would fit her to a T.

"I owe you an explanation, Manon," she says. "I've owed it to you for a long time, and I was too much of a coward to just call you and explain it over the phone, but you need to hear it now." She turns her cup a slow quarter-circle on the saucer. "At your wedding, I knew what family you were marrying into, and I should have said something, should have intervened. I'm sorry I didn't stop it. Your father has a certain influence over me, and I was too afraid to cause a scandal."

"Maman—"

“There’s something you don’t know. About Kazik, your father-in-law, and me.”

“You’re wrong,” I say softly. “I do know.”

Her eyes widen and I shake my head. “You remember when I told you Laszlo lied to me and I couldn’t stay with him? I found out he knew about it. There was a picture of you and Kazik, when you were in your twenties. I put two and two together, and Laszlo told me. He also told me…” I swallow, hesitating.

“Told you what?” I hear the mortification in her voice so I squeeze her hands.

“I confronted him about the picture. Made him tell me everything. Apparently, my father had a hand in splitting you up. Kazik never cheated on you.”

She nods as a tear forms at the corner of her eye and trails down her cheek. “I guessed that, but by then it was too late. She keeps her eyes on the cup. "I was twenty-two, and I believed my grandfather, the man who raised me, over the man who loved me. I was raised to be that way, never questioning any man's word. Except Kazik. I thought he had betrayed me at first, but then I kept thinking about things. Meanwhile, I was married to someone else. Everything was so fast, and I could see it was intentional, so I wouldn’t change my mind. What else could I do?"

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I didn't realize what was happening until your father told me you were getting married," she says, giving me a small smile. "I saw him for the first time in almost four decades at your wedding. I spoke to him for a few short moments, as long as I was able. I didn't dare look at him for the rest of the day, but I felt like I was young and in love with him all over again. That is when I understood I'd thrown my whole life away for being sensible, for obeying the men in my family. I never gave Kazik a chance to explain himself. Fact is, even if he’d done all they accused him of, I probably would have taken him back. I know the truth now…"

I look at the tea and still don't touch it, not saying a word. I have so many questions, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. My mother reaches across and puts her hand over mine. Her hands are freezing.

"Manon, you love this man. You don't need to say a word; I can tell. You've been torturing yourself for a year, and I'm begging you, don't do it for another thirty years. I'm not blind. If you love him, go to him. You don't need to prove anything to anyone. Being strong is not the same as being happy. I have been extremely strong all my life, and I was miserable."

"It's not the same." My voice comes out rougher than I want. "You didn't know what your man really was, Maman. I do. I know exactly what he is."

"You should choose him for yourself, which is more than I ever got." She says it matter-of-factly. "I'm not saying he's the perfect man for you because I don't know him, but from what I've seen, he adores the ground you walk on. I'm telling you that you've been dead for a year, and I know it when I see it because I've been dead for almost forty. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Least of all you."

After that, we talk about other things, trying to rebuild a connection we lost years ago. I stay for another hour, and my mother tells me about the garden, a cousin's divorce, and a restaurant that closed in our neighborhood. At the door she holds on to me longer than she used to. "Think about what I said."

"I will."

I mean it, yet I still don't know what I'm going to do.