Page 90 of The Unraveling

He nods, and when I take a sip of my drink, he follows suit.

“So we didn’t talk much in the last several years. She’s always trying to sleep with wealthy men to get the life she wants. Or—was always. And wanted. So she was driving on a road near our house, her house, on a road she’s driven a million times. And I have no idea what happened. She wasn’t drinking or anything. It seems like she just lost control of the car. It was late. They think it was maybe an animal she was avoiding or something. She drove off the road and hit a tree.”

“Terrible.”

“It is,” I say. Another sip of my drink. “She was hospitalized. I didn’t—”

Here’s the part I’ve really never said out loud. Jordan was with me, so I didn’t have to admit to it. He’d seen it. But I’ve never said it out loud. Especially to someone who might judge me. I don’t think Luca will, but it still feels scary to say.

“I didn’t go visit her,” I say. “I knew she was in critical condition. I could have gone. I wasn’t dancing at the time or anything, I can’t even pretend I had a conflict or something. I just didn’t want to go.”

“Why do you think that was?”

I think. “I…” I pause again, unable to say what I’m really thinking. How I thought she would recover, and we would have more time.

We’re silent for a moment, my gaze locked on a knot in the wooden table. When I look to Luca, I’m afraid I’ll see a cringe, a separation between me and this guy I barely know, wedged there between us by my selfishness. My inhumanity.

“How was your Christmas?” he asks.

Tears brim in my eyes as I laugh and say, “Actually, really”—I gasp as the tears start to fall—“really beautiful.”

He gives me a compassionate smile and then says, “Do you mind if I touch you?”

I sniff and shake my head, and he moves his hand to my shoulder. He rubs it and says, affectionately, “You got what you needed from her. She couldn’t give it to you without you taking it. I’m glad you stayed here. Took care of yourself.”

“You don’t think I sound like a monster for letting my mom fucking, like”—my breath catches—“die alone?”

He shakes his head. “It’s complicated. Life is complicated. You did the best you could. You listened to yourself. It’s the best you can do.”

I bite the tip of my tongue and nod. “I couldn’t imagine going. God, sorry, I’m such a mess!”

He laughs. “What ballerina isn’t?”

I laugh, relaxing a little. “You’re really amazing.”

“No.” He waves a hand.

“No, you know it. I mean seriously, how are you so perfect? It’s kind of unfair to the rest of the men on the planet.”

“I’m not perfect,” he says. “I spend all my money and I have a very small penis.”

The last comment is so unexpected that I burst out laughing in his face, falling forward into his chest. I can’t breathe for laughing, and I can feel him laughing, too.

A while later, he’s walking me home. It’s already dark out.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I say when we arrive at Ivory Towers.

“Of course,” he says. “I don’t live too far from here, but not in a place as nice as this.”

“It’s my donor’s extra flat,” I say. “I can’t afford something like this. I can’t afford anything.”

He laughs, and that makes me laugh.

“I’m glad you have a nice place to stay.”

“Do you wanna…see it?” I ask.

He looks down at me. He’s six foot two, so he stands a lot higher than me. I look up at him.

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