Page 132 of The Tryst

“That’s wonderful. Would I know him?”

As a matter of fact…

“Yes,” I say, then square my shoulders. “I’m with Nick Adams.”

She jerks her head, her mouth open like a fish. “Rose’s ex?” she finally gasps.

“Yes. And he’s David’s father,” I add so we don’t have to go through everything one by one.

Her eyes widen. Her voice dips. “Darling. That’s…”

“Scandalous?”

“Layla.” It’s a chide, like I’ve misbehaved.

“Well, is that what you mean?” I’m not holding back anymore. Her feelings matter, but mine do too.

“No,” she says. “That’s not what I meant.”

But she doesn’t elaborate. I didn’t expect her to throw me a party for seeing her friend’s ex-husband. I only want her to stop playing matchmaker and to start respecting my choices. “Look, you don’t have to like him. You don’t have to play tennis with him. But I’m in love with him, and he’s in love with me. And that’s that.”

She grips her racket tighter. “Okay,” she says, but it’s harsh, like a bite, and it irritates me.

“Fine. You don’t like him,” I add. “I get it. That’s your choice. But he’smychoice. And you need to know that so you can stop setting me up.”

She grabs my arm desperately, like she thinks I’ll jet off. “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with me. I feel foolish. I wish I’d known sooner. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to be set up?”

Take care of Mom. Dad’s last words echo daily in my head.

“Because I wanted you to be happy,” I grit out past the inevitable swell of emotions. “That’s what Dad would have wanted. For me to look out for you.”

There. That’s the truth. That’s honoring him and her.

Letting go of me, she lifts her fingers to cover her mouth like she’s holding back a deluge of tears.

I go on. “And I know you wanted me to be with a man from a family you know. With a pedigree. Who went to an Ivy League school and is a member of a country club.”

Sharply, she says, “Stop.”

I’m taken aback. She doesn’t usually speak to me that way or stare at me with fierce fire in her gaze. This is boardroom Anna.

“That’s not what I want. Do not conflate the two.”

“But it seemed that way?”

“I want you with a man I trust because I want you to be safe,” she says tightly, in a way that keeps her tears in check. “I don’t care about a man’s money. You don’t need to marry a rich man. Like Cher said,I am a rich man. I make enough to take care of you if you ever need a thing. I want you with someone I trust because…” She takes a deep breath, perhaps for fuel. “I never trusted Joe. I had a feeling, and Ineverdid a thing about it.” Her voice wobbles, teetering on the edge of a sob. “I couldn’t put a finger on it, so I never said anything, and that regret lives with me.” She pokes her chest for emphasis. “It’s not because of where he came from. It was a gut feeling, and I did nothing about it.”

The guilt she must be carrying. The needless, misplaced guilt. It’s heartbreaking.

I grab her arms, hold her tight. “Mom, it’s not your fault,” I say softly, full of emotion.

Tears run down her cheeks.

We’re both sweaty from the game and messy from crying, but I don’t care. I hug her, both of us needing the contact. “Don’t carry that with you, Mom. No one could have known. Dad and Joe had a fight the week before, and Dad didn’t know what Joe was capable of.Joeprobably didn’t know what he was capable of. I certainly didn’t know when he walked past me into our building. It happened, Mom. It just happened, and only one person is to blame,” I say, squeezing her hard, trying to give her some of my strength, my certainty.

She sniffles.

I let go but keep a grip on her shoulders as I look her in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault,” I repeat.

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