After the End(80)

“No, I mean—”

“I know. You’re welcome. Come on. And bring a napkin.”



* * *





Mom can’t sit still. She’s cleaned the house twice, and she’s standing by the living room window, twitching the drapes every time a car goes by.

“You don’t need to be here, Mom.” I’m as restless as she is, pacing the house, looking for things that don’t need fixing, because I’ve fixed them all already. “I’m only signing the house papers. It’ll take seconds.”

I offered to meet Pip at the airport, or at her hotel. She’s working again—with Virgin Atlantic, this time. Early days, but it’s good to be flying again, her email said.

“It’s OK, I’ll come to the house. I’d like to see Heather.”

Looking at Mom’s thin lips right now, she might regret that decision.

Right at six o’clock, a cab pulls up outside. I open the door and step onto the porch, wanting to get to her before Mom does. My pulse races. I haven’t seen Pip for eight months, haven’t heard her voice since Christmas. I don’t even know how I feel about her anymore. I miss her, I know that, but do I love her? Does she love me? Is there still a chance?

The second I see her, I know that I do. The second she sees me, I know that there isn’t. The bitterness I saw in her eyes when she left me has gone, but her smile is sad. There will be no emotional reunion. This is goodbye.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Max.”

We hug, our bodies fitting together the way they always did, and my chest is crushed with grief that we might never do this again, that after everything we’ve been through, we’re going to live our lives apart. I think of what I heard Blair say that day, about two people with flu, and wish I’d heard the rest. What happens when the two people aren’t sick anymore? Can they look after each other then? Or is it always too late?

“I like the beard.” Pip’s hand moves toward it, then away again, like she was about to touch my face, before remembering we’re not together anymore. “It suits you.”

“How was your flight?” Mom’s tone is clipped but polite. Pip hugs her, too, and some of Mom’s stiffness eases.

“I’m so sorry,” Pip says, holding Mom’s gaze. I wait for Mom to lay into her, to share some of the things she’s said about her daughter-in-law over the last few months. But although her eyes narrow, and her disapproval is evident, Pip’s apology means Mom can’t bring herself to be impolite.

“So am I.”

There’s a pause, and then Pip opens her purse. She’s wearing a bright red skirt and jacket, with a crisp white shirt. I’m glad she’s switched airlines, that she’s not in the British Airways blue she was wearing when we met. She could almost be a different person. And then I realize that she is. That we both are.

“So, you need to sign here, and . . . here.” The house chain is finally complete, and our buyers are ready to move. Once I sign the contract we can proceed with the sale, and two weeks later the final tangible link between Pip and me will be gone. Just divorce left. She hasn’t said that yet, but I know it’s coming.

I find a pen. Mom’s looking out the window. She’s jumpy again, and as we hear a car outside, she catches my eye with an expression I can’t read. I sit on the sofa and find a magazine to lean on. Pip sits too, but Mom’s opening the door, and I’m wondering who’s there, when—

“Pip, this is Blair, an old friend of Max’s from way back when.” Mom won’t look at me. An old friend? Blair was a neighbor’s kid I only ever played with under duress, a girl who swam at the Y and could hold her breath as long as I could. We were never friends . . .

There’s a second’s silence, then Pip stands up. “Lovely to meet you.” They shake hands, and I find the page I have to sign, so I can get this over with.

“Excuse us.” Mom smiles. “Blair’s come over to help me pick out something for Bob’s seventieth.” The two women disappear upstairs. Pip raises an eyebrow.

“She seems nice.”

I shrug. “I barely know her.”

The corners of Pip’s mouth twitch, and I feel a rush of rage toward her, for not believing me, and toward my mother, for whatever game it is she’s playing. Is she trying to make Pip jealous? Is that it? Is Blair in on it too? I swear, if I live to be a hundred I will never understand women.

“It says my signature needs to be witnessed.”

“We’ll get your mum to do it.” Pip goes to the bottom of the stairs. She hesitates, then calls, “Heather!”

I sign the pages marked with yellow sticky notes, as Mom makes her way back downstairs.

“I’m sorry to disturb you—would you mind countersigning Max’s signature?”

She nods stiffly and sits next to me, and I flip the pages back to the beginning.

“Oh bugger.” Pip is reading the notes accompanying the contract. She holds up a hand, just as Mom takes the pen from me. “It can’t be a family member.” She looks up, apologetically. “Sorry, I should have read it properly. Do you think . . .” She looks up, toward the stairs.

“I’m sure she would,” Mom says smoothly. “Blair, honey! Can you come down here?”