Come to your senses. Go back. Settle down. Stop chasing things that take me away from Atlanta. She said it without bitterness, which somehow made it worse.
The absence of bitterness meant she'd had a long time to make peace with it. My dad built everything he has in one city, one neighborhood, one life. He thinks leaving means you lost something. He thinks staying means you won. Andre turned on to Peach Tree.
The restaurant was three blocks ahead, its entrance lit with warm light. A valet stand at the curb with two young men in black jackets waiting. "Did you? " he asked. She looked at him. "Lose something? " he said.
When you left, the silence lasted almost exactly one full block. Yes, she said. But I also found things I didn't know I was missing. She paused. I'm still figuring out which list is longer.
He pulled up to the valet stand. One of the young men in black moved toward the truck. Andre didn't move yet. He looked at Clare. Ready?
He said. She straightened, lifted her chin. The vulnerability he'd seen for the past forted organized itself back into composure with the efficiency of a woman who had practiced this transition many times. "No," she said. "Let's go anyway. " He got out, walked around to her side.
The valet had already reached the passenger door, but Andre was there first, not performing, not thinking about it, just there opening the door, offering his hand the way he would have done for someone he'd been with for 2 years. Instead of someone he'd been lying to himself about for approximately the same amount of time. Clare took his hand and something that had been very carefully balanced between them for 22 months shifted slightly, just slightly, just enough to notice, like a picture frame moved an inch on a wall. Neither of them acknowledged it. They walked in.
The Hawthorne room was the kind of Atlanta restaurant that didn't need to advertise. It had white tablecloths and low lighting and a menu with no prices on the lady's copies, which was in tradition. Clare's grandmother considered it correct, and Clare considered absurd. The flowers on each table were fresh. The servers moved with the quiet efficiency of people who understood that at this level of the restaurant business, the goal was to be helpful without being present.
Clare's family was already at the table. Andre saw them before they were seen a moment that he would remember later as important because in that moment before the performance had to begin. He got to see Clare's face in its unguarded state. Her mother looked up first. Patricia Morgan was 61 years old and had clearly been beautiful in the same way Clare was beautiful.