Chapter 7 - A Mother Without an Audience
Celeste requested a meeting through Rebecca’s attorney.
Rebecca nearly refused.
Then she set three conditions.
A neutral location.
Her attorney present.
No discussion of the foundation investigation.
They met in a small conference room overlooking a public garden.
Celeste arrived without diamonds.
Rebecca noticed the choice and refused to interpret it as proof of anything.
For several seconds, Celeste studied her.
“You look better.”
“I’m recovering.”
“I’m glad.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable enough to expose how rarely they had ever spoken honestly.
Celeste folded her hands.
“I didn’t know you were the donor.”
Rebecca waited.
“If I had known—”
“You would have left me in the photograph?”
Celeste looked down.
“I would have understood why you were unwell.”
“You could have believed me when I said I was hurting.”
“I don’t remember you saying that.”
Rebecca’s attorney remained still.
Rebecca kept her voice level.
“I told you I needed to sit down before the photographs. You said everyone was tired.”
A flush rose beneath Celeste’s makeup.
“I was afraid for my son.”
“So was I.”
“You don’t understand what it is to be a mother.”
“No,” Rebecca said. “But I understand what it is to be a person standing in front of another person.”
Celeste turned toward the window.
Outside, a man helped a child zip a coat.
For the first time, Rebecca saw how badly Celeste wanted the room to contain somebody who would rescue her from discomfort.
No one did.
“Lucian won’t answer my calls,” she said finally.
“That is between you and Lucian.”
“Elliot asked me not to visit this week.”
“That is between you and Elliot.”
Celeste’s mouth tightened.
“You have all the power now.”
Rebecca felt a familiar weariness.
“No. You’re experiencing other people making choices.”
The words landed.
Celeste sat motionless.
Then her eyes filled.
Rebecca had seen those tears before.
At holiday tables.
After arguments.
Whenever a boundary threatened to become real.
She did not assume they were false.
She simply stopped treating them as instructions.
“I came to apologize,” Celeste whispered.
“Then apologize for what you did.”
A long minute passed.
“I pushed you away from the photograph,” Celeste said. “You stumbled. I saw it, and I kept arranging everyone.”
Rebecca’s throat tightened.
Celeste continued.
“I told people you were difficult because it made them less likely to question how I treated you.”
The attorney’s pen paused.
Rebecca had not expected that sentence.
Neither, apparently, had Celeste.
She covered her mouth.
“I don’t know why I said that.”
“Because it’s true?”
Celeste began crying in earnest.
Rebecca waited until she could speak again.
“I am sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we start over?”
“No.”
Celeste looked up sharply.
Rebecca’s voice remained gentle.
“We can decide what happens next. But we can’t make the last two years disappear.”
“What do you want?”
“No uninvited contact. No messages through relatives. No comments about my marriage or my medical care. If I ever agree to another meeting, it will be because I choose it.”
Celeste nodded slowly.
Rebecca stood.
At the door, she paused.
“The donor you toasted was a stranger. You promised that stranger everything.”
Celeste looked stricken.
“I know.”
“You didn’t need to promise me anything. You only needed to let me stand beside my husband.”
Afterward, Rebecca sat on a garden bench while her attorney arranged the car.
She called Lucian.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“She apologized.”
He was quiet.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so. I’m sadder than I expected.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She finally told the truth, and it didn’t fix anything.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t do that by itself.”
Rebecca watched the child in the red coat run toward the fountain.
May you like
For the first time, Lucian sounded like someone learning the same difficult language she was.
She stayed on the phone until the car arrived.
