Then we'd better get ready. She stood, picked up her bag, moved toward the bathroom with the efficiency of someone who had just closed a meeting. She paused in the doorway, and without turning around, said Malcolm. Yeah, thank you for not making this smaller than it is. He didn't have an answer for that.
She didn't wait for one. The bathroom door closed, and Malcolm stood alone in the room with the enormous bed and the sound of the ocean outside and the weight of everything that was just beginning to settle across his shoulders. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his side, he'd already assigned himself the left for no reason except that Diane always slept on the right, and the habit was apparently permanent, and pressed his hands to his knees and breathed. One evening, he thought, then the next one. He changed into the charcoal dress shirt and the navy blazer.
Checked his phone. Lily had sent him a voice message. 22 seconds of her explaining something about a monarch butterfly cocoon with the urgency of breaking news. He played it twice. The sound of her voice in that room in that situation did something to the inside of his chest that he was not going to examine right now.
He sent her back a voice message, kept it normal, told her he'd call in the morning. Told her he loved her, told her to listen to grandma. He didn't tell her about the bed. When Vanessa came out of the bathroom, she was wearing a dark green dress that he was certain had been chosen with military precision. Elegant, but not trying the kind of thing that said, "I dressed for a family dinner, not I dressed to impress my ex."
Her hair was down. He hadn't seen her hair down before in 18 months, not once. It changed her face in a way that was difficult to look away from. She looked at him looking. Don't, she said.
I didn't say anything. Your face said something. My face said, "You look appropriate for a family dinner." She gave him a look that could have meant several things. Then she picked up her small bag, checked the contents, and said, "They're going to want to see us arrive together.
My mother will be watching the entrance. She watches everything." Then we arrive together and when Trent sees us, we don't react to Trent. Malcolm stood, straightened his jacket. We don't perform for Trent.
He's background. He's furniture. She stared at him. Furniture. He doesn't get to be the main character in any scene we're in.
Something moved in her expression. Something settled. Furniture. She repeated quieter like she was trying the word on. Ready, he said.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. The armor went back on, but differently this time, Malcolm noticed. Not all the way. Like she'd left one window cracked. "Ready," she said.