Page 78 of The Infinite Light of Dust

The two women share a look. “I wonder why.”

“What is this, you two are ganging up on me?” I can’t help but be slightly thrilled that they have gotten so close. Even if Karina doesn’t allow me in her life, at least she has my ma and my ma has her.

“Yep. So just take it.” Karina sticks her tongue out at me while my ma isn’t looking.

A wave of relief, happiness, and familiarity washes over me.

“Let’s get some food?” my ma suggests. “Mikael, you can drive us, right?”

I nod, happy to have a little more time with Karina, even if her and my ma are planning on giving me shit the whole time. I’ll gladly take it.

We end up at a small Cajun spot outside Midtown that I’ve been to a few times. I think Karina will love it, and her expression while reading the menu confirms it. Over the meal I let the two of them chat, my ma mixing up names and places while Karina listens to stories I know she’s already heard. Watching them makes me fantasize about a different life. One where Karina is my wife and we’re living in Atlanta, her owning a spa and me flipping houses. Going to lunch with my ma is a regular thing in my fantasy world, and I wake up every day to Karina’s beautiful face and forgiving soul.

The meal goes by too fast, and I consider telling the server to slow the hell down and not give us the bill yet, but I’m too late. I try to take everything in, knowing I likely won’t see Karina again for a while, if ever, though she’s warmer toward me now than she was at the coffee shop; the façade of anger and her pretending to be a stranger has faded and her mask is slipping more and more by the minute.

“Should we get coffee somewhere?” I suggest, trying to prolong our time together.

“I’m tired, but you can drop me off at your house before you take Karina back to her car,” my ma suggests. It’s the opposite way, but I’m sure as hell not going to point that out.

I look at Karina for her consent, not wanting to pressure her to be around me, but hoping like hell she will agree.

“Sure. I’m not in the mood for coffee, but you can take me back to my car after we drop her off. Plus, I want to see your house anyway. Your ma showed me pictures but I’m dying to see it in person.”

I nod, trying to remember if I made my bed or put away the dishes in the sink. I had no clue that Karina would end up in my house today, or ever, but I wasn’t going to let some dishes get in the way of that happening. We drive to my house in near silence, and I hold my breath as we pull up. Karina’s eyes widen as the three of us get out of my truck, she and I both going to either side of my ma to help her out and up the porch.

My ma hugs Karina, telling her she’s going to wash up and will call her tomorrow. I wonder how long Karina’s staying in Atlanta but decide to wait to ask.

“Do you want a tour?” I hesitate, unsure if it’s a good idea or not. My ma has been around us the last couple of hours, acting as a buffer so we didn’t have to worry about how awkward it would be if we were alone.

“I would, actually,” she agrees, her eyes on the double-sided staircase that took me months to remodel.

“It’s stunning.” Her voice trails off as we walk through the sitting room and into the kitchen.

I wonder if she’s going to notice that I designed my entire home for her. Every decision I made was based around what I knew she liked, from the color of the aged wooden floors, to the vaulted ceilings, to the tile in the bathroom and the shade of beige I chose for my bedsheets.

“This is my dream home,” she finally says as we finish the nearly silent tour.

My heart is racing, burning, and turning in my chest. “I know,” I admit.

Confusion flashes across her face. “Why did you—if you knew I would never come here, why did you do that?”

“Do you want the truth or some excuse to make you less uncomfortable?”

She huffs, stepping closer to me. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

I take that as a slight opening, a tiny sign that her dislike of me has gotten smaller during our time apart.

“I hoped you would see it someday. If you ever needed me, or somewhere to go, or stopped by, I wanted you to know that this house could be yours. I desperately wanted to believe that you would be here someday, even like this.” I wave my hand into the space between us.

As she studies my face, I do the same, trying to read her mind the way I usually could. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally says.

In an attempt to lighten the mood for her sake, I say, “That’s a first.”

Her hand moves to her hip and she glares at me, no anger in her skeptical eyes.

“Was this your plan? To use your ma against me and get me to come to your house to forgive you?” Her tone is light, airy, and almost playful. I’m confused but roll with it.

“No, but if it’s working, I’ll take credit for it.” I lean against the wall, giving her a little more space even though that’s the last thing I want.

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