The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient #3)(86)

I’m even more stunned when I buzz her in, and moments later, I open my door and see her standing there in white slacks, a cream-colored silk blouse, and an Hermès scarf artfully wrapped around her neck. She looks casual but stylish, but she’s aged since my dad passed away. The new lines by her eyes make me sad. Priscilla must have returned to New York by now. That means she’s been living in that giant house all by herself. She must be lonely.

“Hi, Ma. Uh, come in. Sorry it’s so messy.” If I’d known she was coming, I would have straightened things up more. As it is, I only had time to sweep my dirty dishes off the coffee table and stick them in the sink and haphazardly straighten the pillows and blankets on my couch. My bed’s not made. The laundry is overflowing. My bathroom is a disaster. I pray for her not to go into my kitchen.

She perches herself gingerly on my armchair and looks around, spending extra time on the pair of men’s running shoes in the corner next to an open duffel bag stuffed with clean workout clothes. There’s a small pile of business management books on the end table next to her, and she scans the titles with interest. “Your Quan moved in with you?”

I sit on the couch and look down at my knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re happy with him?” she asks, and the way she says it, I feel like she honestly wants to know.

I can’t help the soft smile that curves over my lips. “Yeah.” Without him, I’m not sure I’d be holding it together right now. As it is, I miss him the entire time he’s gone for work. When he messages me during the day, it makes me nauseatingly happy.

“Your music? How is that?” my mom asks. “How is Je je’s violin working for you?”

I avert my eyes and shake my head.

“So stubborn, Anna,” she says in a tired voice. “Here, I want to buy you this one.”

She takes her phone out of her purse and shows me an email that Priscilla forwarded from an instrument dealer. In the body of the email, there’s a picture of an elegant Guarneri violin. Guarneri was an Italian luthier during the 1700s who rivaled Stradivari, the creator of the famous Stradivarius violins. The most expensive violin in the world is a Guarneri. This is not that Guarneri, of course. According to the dealer, this Guarneri sustained serious damage on multiple occasions and has undergone extensive repairs, so its price reflects that. But it still costs as much as a house.

“Ma, it’s too nice. I can’t—”

She makes a scoffing sound. “It’s not too nice for my daughter. Priscilla said the sound is very good. You’ll like it.”

An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my skin, and I hand the phone back to my mom. Speaking in a soft, measured tone and keeping my demeanor the way I’ve learned to around her, I say, “I love that you want to get me this. It means a lot to me. Thank you. But—”

“You won’t play it if she picked it out for you,” my mom observes, seeing me in a way I didn’t think she could. “I was there, I heard what she said, it was not kind. But just forgive her already. Let it go. Let things go back to the way they used to be. She told me she’s sad that she’s losing you and Ba at the same time.”

I recoil as a sense of injustice engulfs me. “How do you forgive someone when they won’t say sorry? It’s been months. She could have called me at any time, messaged, or stopped by. But she hasn’t. She won’t.”

My mom makes a dismissive waving motion with her hand. “You know Je je.”

“I do. She thinks it’s okay to treat me that way. Based on how she’s acting, she’ll keep on doing it. That’s not fair to me,” I say, and I don’t even try to hide how angry this makes me. I let my mask completely drop away.

I expect my mom to chide me for having an “attitude” around her, for not listening, but instead, she says, “You have to see it from her perspective.”

“What about mine? I’m not being unreasonable. It’s not like I’m asking her to cut off one of her arms.” I’m asking for her to treat me as an equal.

“You’re breaking our family apart, and there are only three of us now,” my mom says, her eyes pleading with me to give in because Priscilla won’t. “I want us together. This Christmas, I want us to go on a nice vacation. You could bring your Quan. It’s what Ba would have wanted.”

“I don’t think he’d want that if he knew how hard it is for me to be what Priscilla wants, what you all want,” I say in a quiet voice. “I’ve tried to be different, to change for you, but it doesn’t work. It just hurts me. I—I—” I consider telling her about my diagnosis and the hell I’ve been going through, but I remember how Priscilla reacted and I know it’s hopeless.

“You’re autistic,” my mom says.

Surprise makes me freeze in place. I can’t speak. I can’t even blink.

“Faith told me. It’s probably from your father’s side. Like Uncle Tony,” she grumbles, and for whatever reason that makes a laugh crack out of me. “I’ve been reading about it. I think I see it now.”

She rests her hands on top of mine, but then hesitates, like she’s not sure if she can touch me now. I turn my hands around and hold hers tightly, telling her without words that this is okay.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she confesses. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”