Isabelle went to work. She had been freelancing as a graphic designer since David died building a client list. One project at a time with the same patient, methodical determination she brought to everything. Nadia went to school and came home and sat at the kitchen table and drew in her sketchbook and occasionally looked up to say things that were so direct and so true that both adults would go quiet for a moment afterward. On day five after the interview, Ethan's mother came to dinner.
She brought sweet potato pie because she always brought something and sweet potato pie was her version of I love you said in a language that didn't require vulnerability. She came in and hugged Nadia and kissed Ethan on the cheek and then looked at Isabelle for a long moment and opened her arms. Isabelle walked into the hug without hesitating. Ethan watched his mother hold her. This woman who had lost a husband and left a country and built a life from scratch and then built it again.
Standing in his kitchen being held by his mother like she had always belonged there. And he felt something inside him that had been bracing for a long time finally quietly let go. At dinner, his mother looked across the table and said "How are you doing? Really? " Not to Ethan, to Isabelle. Isabelle set down her fork.
"Honestly, I keep checking my email every 20 minutes and then hating myself for it. " "Good. " His mother said simply. "That means you care. The people who stop checking have given up. You haven't. " "I'm trying not to. " "Don't try. Just don't. " His mother cut a piece of pie with the authority of a woman who had raised a a alone and had opinions about everything.
Trying is what you do when you're not sure you mean it. You mean it, so you just don't give up. No trying required. Isabelle looked at her for a moment. Then she said quietly, "I see where he gets it from. " His mother smiled.
The particular smile of a woman receiving a compliment she considers accurate. That night, after his mother left and Nadia was in bed, Ethan and Isabelle sat on the couch in the living room. Not at the kitchen table. Not in the practical position of two people managing a situation. Just on the couch.
Close enough that their arms were touching. The television was on, but neither of them was watching it. At some point she said, "Tell me something about you that the interview didn't ask. " He thought about it. "I wanted to be an architect. " She turned to look at him. "Seriously? " "Before photography.
I was going to study architecture. I had the application in and everything. And then my senior year of high school, I borrowed my uncle's camera for a school project, and I just stopped wanting to build spaces. I wanted to capture them. " "Do you ever regret it? " "Never. " He paused. "You? " She considered.
"I wanted to be a marine biologist when I was 12. " "What happened? " "I got on a boat for the first time and got so seasick I couldn't move for 2 days. " She said it so flatly that it took him a second to realize it was funny. He laughed. A real laugh. She smiled at it the way she always did when she had made him laugh. Not proud exactly, but pleased in a quiet way, like she was collecting something small and valuable.
"So, design? " He said. "So, design. " She agreed. "I still love the ocean. I just love it from the shore. " They sat with that for a moment, then he said, "Tell me something about David. " She went very still. Not a bad still.