Page 25 of All We Need

She’s silent for a beat before saying, “Ido not like your tone.Whatis wrong?”

I’d laugh at her impressive intuition ifIwasn’t about to unravel out of my skin.Myvoice comes out strained. “IthinkI’min over my head.”

Avoiding the happy couples and families as they pass me by in a blur, my footsteps slow asInear the restaurant.

“Alessandra, it’s you who decided to be there.Noone else.”Mymother isn’t lecturing me, just pointing out the obvious.ComingtoSuttonBaywas my idea.Andwhat haveIgot to show for my time here so far?

Zilch.

“Your father says you’ve been working a lot.Maybea break would be good?”

Annoyance flares.

“What else is there to do?Ican’t paint.I’vespoken to no one.Workis the only thing keeping me sane.”Thevolume of my voice gets the attention of a few passersby, andItug my scarf up over my chin.

“Keeping you sane or keeping you from doing what you went there to do?”

I hate that she’s always right.

“I’m going to be honest with you, thisavré mou,” she continues. “Yourdecision to go there surprised me.Especiallyafter what happened last year…”Shedoesn’t need to go into detail.Weboth know what happened.Itrusted a stranger with the most vulnerable parts of me and they tossed it aside without a second-guess. “Nobodywould blame or judge you for not wanting to searchfurther.Butyou did.Becauseyou are determined, strong-willed, and wonderfully courageous.SometimesIenvy you for it.”

My voice clogs with emotion. “But?”

“No buts.Thatis all.”She’sso matter of fact. “Youlike goals, targets, deadlines, yes?”

My brows scrunch. “Yeah…”

“One month.Youmake no progress, you come home.Thatis my final offer.”

There’s a huff in the background, letting me know my dad is a witness to my mother’s negotiation, thoughIwouldn’t be surprised if he had some involvement.

They were both weary of me coming here.Thistime however, my expectations are below ground level.Iwon’t be making the mistake of giving out my trust blindly again.

One month gives me until the middle ofJanuary.

Is that enough time?

I come to an abrupt halt whenIseeMartinWillisstep out ofOurPlaceacross the street.Ihaven’t seen him sinceThanksgivingevening.

In the light of day,Iproperly take him in.He’stall—well over six feet—and slender.Hishead is covered with an ushanka hat, hiding the thick, black hair peppered with grayIcaught a glimpse of the other week.Oneword to describe him: distant.Youcan see it in the way he walks, in his eyes, how he talks.Purposefully, he keeps himself detached from everyone else.Nottoo much that he’s completely aloof, considering he’s a property manager and produce supplier, but enough that tells a story.

“Are you still there?”Mymother’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Yes.Sorry, sorry,”Ireply, but my mind wanders again.

Martin stares at something through the window for a long while, piquing my curiosity, before walking away.Oncehedisappears up the hill,Icross the street, wanting to know what caught his attention.

“So, you will leave if nothing happens by then?”

“Umm…”I’mnot sure whyI’mhesitant, when the idea of leaving was so appealing minutes ago. “Mama, let me call you back, okay?”

“Hmm.Iwill hold you to that.S’ agapó.”Ilove you.

“Bye,Mama.S’ agapó.”

I hang up, stand in the spotMartinvacated, then snort whenIsee what he was looking at.

A menu.

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