Page 81 of The Love We Make

“What do you mean?” My heart shrinks in my chest, like it wants to physically shy away from the question.

“I’m not blind and I don’t hide in my trailer between takes like you do most of the time. I notice things.”

“Yeah, well, whatever you might have noticed is no more.”

“Oh.” Stella scrunches up her lips. “I’m sorry. Did something happen?”

“I need to prepare, Stella. I don’t want to talk about this. There’s also nothing to talk about.”

“If you say so.”

“Sorry. It was nothing,” I lie. “Between Mimi and me. It fizzled out before it could turn into anything.” I should get an Emmy for saying that line alone—but acting’s the opposite of lying.

“Are you going to be okay?” Stella sounds genuinely worried.

“Of course.”

“If you need cheering up, you’re always welcome at our house.”

“Thanks, Stella.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t invite Mom.” She grins at me. “Iwilltell her you loved the hell out of that piece of pie, though.”

Stella and her perfect mother. The kind of mother who accepts her daughter falling in love with her son’s wife. The kind of mother who heads a family that can get through that and have everyone over for Thanksgiving without them being at each other’s throat. We may not get to pick our family in life, but we damn well can choose who to spend our time with—and thank goodness for that.

“I think your mom is absolutely wonderful, Stella,” I say. “Be sure to tell her that I love every minute in her company.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Stella says. “That would make you her favorite daughter, and you’re not even related.”

I’ve spent too much time contemplating my own family since Mimi so bluntly made me. But I can think about them all I want, it doesn’t change anything. When I spoke to my mother on Thanksgiving, the call went exactly as expected. Polite, distant, and with that sad, uncomfortable undertone of all we lack between us. The feeling that there should be more than there is because we’re family, but there just isn’t.

Stella and I are being called, and as I exit my trailer, I glance warily around me, terrified to run into Mimi.

* * *

Juan texted me earlier to say that, even though it’s a Monday, he would be coming over, and no further protests could stop him. He took a page right out of Mimi’s playbook there, by trying to preempt my arguments before I can make them. But I don’t want to live at odds with him, nor Imani, for too long. It will give us a chance to hash things out now that we’ve all calmed down. To get back to our true selves and just be friends again, no questions asked, no expectations to live up to.

Juan usually lets himself in, but for some reason he’s ringing the doorbell today. Before I can ask what his deal is, I stand face-to-face with Mimi.

“As you can see, I’m not alone,” Juan says. “I am going to leave you alone, though.”

“Hi, Nora.” It’s probably a coincidence, but Mimi’s wearing the same stark, white suit she wore when I first met her. I’ve always remembered—maybe because she irritated me so much that day. “Can I come in?”

Juan ambushed me. Smart move, I have to hand it to him. But I don’t have time to consider Juan’s tactics. I have a decision to make.

“Please, Nora.” Juan presses his palms together. “Say yes.”

“Okay.” I take a step back to let Mimi in. “Yes.” I can’t believe she has come to my house after everything I said to her. She must really be a sucker for punishment.

“Thank you.” Mimi walks past me.

“Call me if you need me.” Juan gives me the slightest of nods before heading back to his car.

“You have very persuasive friends,” Mimi says when we’re in the living room.

“They are—yeah.” Juan could have given me a heads-up so I could have prepared for this. But who am I kidding? He had to spring this on me so I couldn’t say no.

I look at Mimi and now she’s here, all the things I haven’t allowed myself to feel since last week come flooding back. It’s not only regret that I feel. There’s a hefty dose of raw, acute desire at the sight of her mixed in as well.

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