Chapter 4

The next morning, I went back to my mother's house. My key still worked. My suitcase was waiting just inside, its handle raised, as if all I had to do was take it and leave.

I heard oil moving softly in a pan.

Adrian stood at the stove with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was easing the edge of an egg flat, leaving the yolk whole. At his apartment, he'd made breakfast that way for me and put pepper on one side of the plate so I could decide if I wanted it.

There were only two plates on the table today.

My mother sat by the window in a white shirt that was too large for her. It was Adrian's. I knew the pale blue stitching at the cuffs. I'd once folded those sleeves back twice because they were too long. Victoria had folded them now too, leaving her wrists bare.

She looked at me over her cup. She didn't pull out a chair.

"I'm here for my bags," I said.

"They're by the door." Victoria set her cup in its saucer with a small click. "Breakfast is ready. Stay a moment."

I stayed where I was. Adrian took the pan off the heat and turned. The red mark his ring had left in my palm last night was still faintly visible. He wore a ring too.

"Why did you tell me to wait six months?"

He stood with the spatula in his hand. My mother rose first and crossed the kitchen barefoot. The hem of his shirt brushed my arm as she passed me. She went to him, slipped an arm around his neck, and kissed him in front of me.

It wasn't a peck. Adrian set down the spatula and put his hand around her waist. He stayed with her until the kiss was over. When they parted, her lipstick marked the edge of his mouth. I gripped the suitcase handle until it pressed into my fingers.

"What was I supposed to be waiting for?" I asked him again.

His hand was still on Victoria's waist. He didn't say last night had been a mistake. He didn't ask her to leave so we could talk. He looked at me, his voice steady, as if he were assigning each of us a place at that table.

"We were together, Lenora. But I married her. Stop acting like you're the third person in our marriage."

I looked down. The spine of a book stuck out of the suitcase pocket. Three nights ago, I'd moved it there from the box Adrian had packed. I pushed it back inside. Its pages brushed my thumb, and I remembered the picture of a seaside hotel we'd tucked into it, somewhere we'd talked about going together.

Victoria rubbed the lipstick from his mouth with her thumb, the way someone might straighten her husband's collar. She faced me and lowered her voice so only the three of us could hear.

"Do you still want your answer about the six months?"

"I came for my bags, not to ask you what to think." I raised the handle and walked toward the door.

Victoria followed. As we passed the kitchen, she raised her voice. "You haven't eaten. Button your coat, sweetheart. Let me know when you get home."

She straightened my coat collar as if I were still a little girl who needed her help leaving the house. Adrian turned back to the stove. Oil hissed softly in the pan.

I opened the front door. My mother touched my shoulder and leaned close. Her face still held that worried look.

"The morning he asked you to marry him," she whispered, "he left this shirt in my bedroom."