Chapter 8: Her Mother's Table

Tommy stared at me on the landing, and I watched him go back through two years to find something that proved me wrong.

"She said you'd cry if we brought it up," he said. "She said you made her promise to keep it quiet."

"I didn't cry, and I didn't make her promise anything."

"Why would she lie about that?"

"I don't know yet," I said. "I'm going to ask her."

He looked down at the velvet box in my hands and held out his own.

I gave it back.

"I'm going to Christmas Eve at my mother's," I said. "Tell the others, and tell Lucia to sit where I can see her."

"Pao, I didn't know."

"I believe you," I said. "That's the problem. You never had to know."

He nodded slowly, took the box, and went down the stairs without another word.

I listened until the street door closed.

Then I breathed out and realized my hands were shaking.

"Paola," Seth said softly, behind me. "Do you want me to leave, or stay?"

"I want you to say something."

"What kind of something?"

"Anything. I don't care."

He thought about it.

"That was the first time I have ever heard you tell someone where to sit," he said. "I liked it."

I laughed, and it came out wet.

Down the hall, the door of 3A clicked shut, very quietly.

"Will you come with me?" I asked.

"To your mother's?"

"On Christmas Eve. You can say no."

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