Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Ivy lets out a low sigh. "Oh. That's delicious."
Mom smiles. "Maybe you do have good taste after all."
"She must. If she's with me," I say.
Mom laughs. "Yes, sweetheart, you are god's gift to women." She shakes her head. "His father was the same way, you know, god rest his soul. Certain he was the most handsome man in the world. Not that he was wrong. And certain he was the most skilled lover. Not that he was wrong there either."
"Mama!" I object, mainly out of routine. I've heard this enough I'm numb to it.
"But I told him none of that mattered to me. Only love," she says.
"You lied," I say.
She laughs. "Well, not exactly. It did matter he was so guapo, and so generous too.” She continues her old tradition of describing dad in his language, not hers. They always tried to meet each other halfway there. “But it was always love first. Do you read poetry, Ivy?"
"Mama, at least wait until she's had a drink to break out the poetry," I say.
"Why? It's always time for poetry." Mom stands and recites to the room in Italian. One of her old favorites. Thankfully, she spares Ivy the English translation. When she sits, she looks to me. "Now that I've horrified my son, we can move onto other topics, huh?" She looks to Ivy. “Tell me about your job. Daniel says you’re a therapist. What is that like?”
"Rewarding but challenging," Ivy says, with a practiced tone. A default answer. She doesn't want to talk about her job. Because she doesn't want to reveal the true nature of it. Or maybe because she's not happy. Or both.
"Do you hear people's darkest secrets?" Mom asks. Her tone is polite enough, but her interest is obvious.
Ivy's eyes flash with a tiny hint of annoyance. The sort I recognize in myself, when clients ask dumb questions about my work. Like me, she's able to push past it quickly.
She smiles. "You do. And there is a certain appeal to that. Sometimes, you don't even realize you like it. Have you read The Body Keeps the Score?"
Mom shakes her head.
"There's a section where the writer—he's a therapist—learns the EMDR technique. It's a modality where you use the movement of the eyes to integrate trauma. It can be done without a lot of back and forth. The patient recalls the experience in their mind."
Mom nods, following, or at least pretending to. She's like me. Good at playing her part.
"When the writer first tries it, he's disappointed he isn't able to talk with his client, and one of his colleagues chides him, tells him to go listen to drunks confess if he wants to be a voyeur. Or something to that effect," Ivy says. "It's harsh, but he needs to hear it. I enjoy some clients more than others, of course. It's like any job. But I'm not there for my enjoyment or entertainment. I have to remember I'm there to support people. I can't push them to share before they're ready, even if their story might be exciting."
Mom takes a long sip.
"It was hard to learn that, of course," Ivy says. "I have to fight the impulse sometimes. There is something appealing about learning people's secrets, isn't there?"
Mom nods. "But there's a weight to it too."
Ivy's eyes fill with surprise. She sits up a little straighter. "There is."
"That must be hard. To always carry other people's secrets," Mom says.
"It can be," she says.
"My brother used to ask me to keep secrets from our parents," she says. "At first, I liked being responsible for the information. I liked the trust. But when they were bigger secrets, he roped me into his deception, and the weight of that was heavy."
"It is hard to lie," Ivy says. "Thankfully, that doesn't come up."
"No." Mom smiles. "I suppose it's good, everyone knows you're supposed to keep things confidential. You don't get husbands calling to check up on their wives."
"Not often," she says.
"But here we are talking about work again," Mom says. "I've become such an American." She laughs and shakes her head how could I. "It's getting late, but before I show you to your room, tell me, how did you two really meet?"
Chapter Fourteen
Ivy
"What did Daniel say?" Romeo jumps in before I have a chance to remember our story.
"Do you always speak for your girlfriend?" Amara asks. "Give her a chance, huh?"
"What did Daniel say?" I repeat the question. "I'm curious."
"You know Daniel." Amara throws her arms in the air as she shakes her head. The gesture of an old friend. As if we've both known her other son a long, long time. "He assumes you met the way you meet most girlfriends." She doesn't quite say he assumes you roped some poor one-night-stand into pretending she's your girlfriend, but she comes close.