Page 151 of The Otherworld

Mama’s apartment is unlike the lighthouse in every way. There is nothing cozy or quaint about the suite of rooms that unfurl around us in a flawless show of sleek, modern efficiency. Everything is sharp and glossy. Marble and stainless steel. Cold and impersonal. Massive glass doors at one end of the living room open up to a sprawling balcony that overlooks the city skyline. I wonder how anyone can feel at home in this place.

“I have a work meeting at two o’clock,” Mama says, gliding into the shiny, perfect kitchen to select three shiny, perfect glasses from the counter. “So I’m afraid I only have twenty-five minutes to talk. Would you like something to drink?”

I wasn’t expecting a tearful, heartfelt welcome.

But I wasn’t expecting this, either.

Adam glances at me, trying to read my expression. But I hardly know what to feel. Last night, I pondered the worst- and best-case scenarios, predicting that today’s visit would be one extreme or the other. But to my surprise, the mood is neutral. Painfully, startlingly neutral.

Mama snatches a decanter of pale golden liquid from the counter and splashes a small amount into her glass. She fills the other two glasses with water and sets them on the low table in the living room.

“So,” she begins briskly, taking a seat on the edge of the stiff-looking chair. “You finally ran away from Lawrence. Everybody runs away from him in the end. It’s just a matter of time.”

“I didn’t run away, exactly,” I explain, sitting on the opposite couch beside Adam. “I wanted to see the mainland.”

“The mainland? So the mission wasn’t to seek me out.”

I shake my head. “As I said, I didn’t know you were alive until yesterday.”

“So Lawrence made you believe I was dead,” Mama says with indignation, taking a sip of her drink. “The man is more deranged than I thought.”

I shift uncomfortably, smoothing my sweaty hands over my linen skirt. “Papa isn’t deranged. He just… misses you terribly.”

At this, Mama laughs. Not a genuine laugh, but a short, contemptuous sort of bark. “For god’s sake, it’s been sixteen years. How long is the man going to stew in his own self-imposed misery?”

“You talk about him like he’s your enemy.”

“Do I?” Mama tips her glass back and swallows the rest of the drink. “I’m sorry. I have no hard feelings against Lawrence anymore. Honest, I don’t. He chose his life, and I chose mine. Don’t look so horrified, Orca. Surely you know more of the world by now—look, you’ve gone off on your own and met someone.” She gestures at Adam. “Are you two living here in Seattle?”

“What? No.”

Adam clears his throat awkwardly. “We’re not… living together.”

“Oh.” She gives an elegant shrug. “Well, in any case, you know what I mean. We all have to be free to make our own choices.”

I peer at her, taking in the details all over again. Her wristwatch. Her sparkly earrings. Her ugly high-heeled shoes. It’s all beginning to look like a facade to me—a beautiful outer shell meant to disguise something hollow underneath.

“Do you still work at the magazine?” I ask, my voice small and strained.

Mama nods. “Mm, yes. I’ve recently been promoted to senior creative director. It’s my dream job. I’m surrounded by the things I love every day—fashion, art, culture, the life of the city.” She gestures around her at the glamorous, empty apartment. “What more could I ask for?”

Papa, I think. Ocean waves roaring outside your window. Orca pods singing in the distance. The forest, the beach, the cove, the lighthouse. Me.

Mama watches me for a silent moment before saying, “I know it must be hard for you to understand. You’ve spent so much of your life on that tiny island. But I couldn’t live like that, Orca. If I’d stayed, it would have killed me. Your father and I would have ended up hating each other.”

“Papa would never hate you. He loves you—even still. He gets so sad every time he thinks about you. I always thought it was because you died.”

Mama presses her lips into a prim frown, tipping her chin up. “Lawrence doesn’t know how to love. Only how to possess.”

The word is a fishhook—sharp and unexpected. It catches on my heart and pierces something tender, something bruised.

Mama swiftly rises to her feet, taking her empty glass back over to the counter and pouring herself another drink. “Something about him was appealing to me when I was young. A handsome, mysterious older man who lived alone on an island. Well, you couldn’t get more controversial than that in my family.” She hums a discontented laugh, dropping the top back onto the decanter with a clink! “I didn’t want to follow the path my parents had planned for me. I wanted an adventure. And Lawrence was that adventure… for a while.” She paces across the room to the big glass sliders, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “But I wasn’t prepared for that sort of life. The isolation, the boredom, the same thing day after day after day… I began to see I’d been too hasty in my decision to get married and move away from everything I knew and loved. Lawrence could see that I was unhappy. He could see that he was losing me a little more each day. And do you know what he did?” She cuts me a look over her shoulder. “He decided we should start a family of our own.”

The hook pierces deeper this time, not just from her words but from the icy disdain in her voice, the sharp edge of her glance in my direction.

“Lawrence knew that I never wanted children, and we were always careful to take precautions… At first, I thought it was an accident when I got pregnant with you,” Mama continues, lifting the glass to her mouth and taking another sip. “But after you were born, I realized that it was all part of his plan—to keep me there, with him. If I had stayed, there would have been more children. I’m sure of it. My life would have spiraled into a never-ending cycle of cooking, cleaning, and taking care of babies. I wasn’t prepared to throw away my life like that. I wasn’t prepared to be miserable so that Lawrence could be happy.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I sit frozen on the uncomfortable couch, Mama’s words twisting inside me like small doses of poison.

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