Chapter Twenty Two

He had to work on the day of the Life benefit. He couldn't possibly ditch Tammy on one of their busiest days of the week, and so, given his work commitments, he couldn't help Oliver and the others set up the venue. Maureen's parents were due to pick Libby up from school before setting off to Jersey, and so he said his goodbyes while dropping her off at school. Maureen herself left at the crack of dawn for an urgent meeting with fabric suppliers downtown, but she had nothing else planned for the rest of the day as her assistant was due to take over. It meant a lot to him that she was willing to put her work on hold just to make sure his evening was a success. He realized he was grinning like a fool, and shook his head. He couldn't wait to show her off.

Thinking of the benefit ahead was nerve-wrecking, and so he embraced the distraction provided by the busy morning. He also cherished the opportunity to hang out with Tammy, something he felt he'd neglected ever since Maureen and Libby arrived and the preparations for the benefit got into gear. Tammy didn't seem to hold any grudges, but he made a promise to himself that once the benefit was over, he would make an effort to spend more time with his best friend.

At some point in the afternoon, one of the students in his recent photography course walked in, and he left Tammy with a potential buyer as he showed him around. He could feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket. Maureen's name flashed across the screen. He excused himself and walked into his office.

"Hi," he said, closing the door. The only reply on the other end was a dramatic sigh. "What's wrong?"

"My baby is gone," she replied miserably.

She actually sounded as if she was about to cry. This was a side of Maureen he'd never dreamt of seeing. He laughed softly. "She's literally a river away, Maureen, and she'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

"I know, I just... I've never been away from her for more than a few hours. And I just got home and there's no one here and it's lonely and weird." His smile widened an inch. She sounded as if she was pouting. "When are you coming home?"

"Umm... Seven-ish? I'll try to come earlier. I booked the car for eight."

"You know what I realized?" she asked then, and thankfully there was a smile in her voice.

"What?"

"Today will be our first proper date."

She was not wrong. Back in the day neither of them could afford anything fancier than a movie or the occasional dinner at the Life Cafe, and when their paths crossed that winter, things happened kind of fast. This would be the first time he would see her properly dressed up. He couldn't wait.

"Will you dance with me?" she asked when he didn't reply.

"As long as it isn't the tango." A knock came at the door, and Maureen's reply went unheard as Tammy peeked in, her expression urgent. "Gotta go. See you tonight." He hung up and looked at Tammy questionably. She looked unusually serious, uneasy even. "What?"

"Your sister is here."

Well, that was a surprise. Cindy had only been to the gallery once, when they opened. Given her dislike of Manhattan, he felt quite honored. His mother came that evening, too. Now it felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn't spoken to his sister in weeks.

Cindy was looking at the photographs on the opposite wall, but as if she could sense his presence, she turned to face him just as he came from the hallway. There was something unusual about her smile, this stiffness in the way she'd carried herself, visible even from a distance. He pretended not to notice as he moved closer to embrace her and kiss her cheek.

"You're far from home," he said, keeping his tone light enough so he wouldn't offend her. It wasn't hard to deduce the reason for her visit.

"I was hoping we could talk," she said, her eyes fleeting around at the busy gallery. "Unless this isn't a good time...?" she added more hesitantly.

"Go ahead," said Tammy, who was standing behind him. "I'll hold the fort."

"Thanks, Tammy. Let's go in my office." He led the way down the hall again. In his office he took a seat at the chair he'd just vacated, and Cindy sat across the desk from him. He eyed her curiously. She hadn't said anything yet. She looked sort of hesitant, as if she didn't know where to begin.

"How is everyone? Dan, the boys, Natalie?" he asked casually, hoping it would put her at ease and make her speak up.

"They're all doing fine, thanks," she replied but didn't elaborate. Her gaze suddenly fell on the framed photo he'd brought there earlier that week. In it he was holding Maureen who was holding Libby. Benny had taken it for them during their picnic after they managed to pry the camera away from him (some struggle was involved, he was ashamed to admit). His sister stared at it intently, but said nothing for the longest time.

"Why are you here, Cindy?" he asked a bit more seriously. A tiny gasp escaped her, as if she knew he was onto her. Not that it was hard, really; his older sister was the least conniving person he'd known.

And still, she hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she lifted her eyes to meet his. Deep brown, just like both their parents'. His blue eyes were somewhat of a mystery in the family. "Next month is Mom's birthday," she started carefully. He tensed in his seat, visibly, apparently, for it motivated her to speak on. "Dan and I thought it would be nice to surprise her with a small family gathering."

He'd heard all about those small family gatherings. Usually they consisted of dozens of aunts and uncles whom he hadn't met since his Bar Mitzvah.

"We'll host it at our place. I'd love it if you could come," she finished swiftly, as if she was afraid she'd lose her nerve.

"No." The single word was soft and resolute, but uttering it broke his heart nonetheless. He didn't want to cut himself off from his family; not again, not over this. But his mother didn't leave him much choice.

"Please just think about it, Mark. That's all I'm asking."

"I won't pretend everything is fine when it's not," he insisted, even though every inch of him knew how wrong this was.

"But if you come, she'll see how much you care, and maybe then the two of you could – "

"If she doesn't know I care by now, that's her problem." He couldn't believe how cold and detached his voice sounded. Looking straight at her was getting difficult. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

"Maybe if she actually meets Maureen and her daughter – "

"Her name is Libby. And the answer is no. I won't do this to them. I won't give her the satisfaction of publicly shaming them."

Cindy looked outraged. "Mark, Mom is difficult, but she would never do that!"

He didn't have the energy to recount what Maureen had to endure when his mother had called their place by mistake several weeks ago. He shuddered to think how much worse would a face to face encounter be. "I'm sorry," he said, hoping she would drop it. But to his surprise, his usually softly-spoken older sister was unrelenting. Her expression turned pleading, almost desperate.

"You and Mom had a couple of good years since Dad died. Do you want to go back to the time before that, Mark?"

"Honestly, she doesn't leave me much choice!" He sighed, making enormous efforts to control himself. Cindy didn't deserve an outburst. His rage was aimed solely at their mother; his sister was just the unfortunate conduit. "Cindy, I get that you want to help and I appreciate that, but this is between Mom and me."

"No, it's not, Mark, this is between everyone!" his sister contradicted him brokenly. "If Mom comes to dinner and all she talks about are your mistakes, it stops being a private matter. It's become everyone's problem by now." Her eyes were filled with tears, and her lips began to tremble, which shocked him. Cindy was usually so reserved. It was one of a few things they had in common. This must be really weighing on her.

She paused to take a breath, after which she seemed slightly more composed. "I'm not blaming you, Mark. But you don't know what it's like... Her, constantly ranting about it. Honestly, sometimes I find myself wondering if maybe she has a point. But then I look at you, I look at this," she gestured at the photo that had caught her eye earlier. "And look how happy you all look. How can this be a mistake?"

"Exactly," he said, reaching across the desk to take her hand. "This is exactly what she refuses to see. I tried, Cindy. Maureen tried, which was an epic disaster, by the way."

"I know, I heard."

"I bet my version will be slightly different." They exchanged a crooked, knowing grin. "But I can't be there for her birthday. And it's fine if you resent me for me, but I can only hope you'll understand."

His sister said nothing for the longest time. Then, slowly, she let go of his hand and offered a weak smile. "Well, you can't blame me for trying," she said as he handed her a tissue. He couldn't bear to see her so upset.

"Look, why don't you come over for dinner sometime? I really want you to know them." To see for yourself, was what he didn't say, but she seemed to understand either way.

"I'd love that," she nodded. And some time later, when she hugged him goodbye and told him to not be a stranger, he allowed himself to feel slightly more optimistic. He may not be able to patch things up with his mother, but he could still win his sister over.

It was almost seven when he arrived home. He was still breathless as he dropped his keys on the counter and left his bag by the door. He was starving, but he didn't have a lot of time to get ready, so he figured finding food would have to wait. It was quiet in the apartment; the living room was awash in a soft golden light from a lamp Maureen had left on. Soft sounds came from down the hall, and so he figured she was getting ready. But to his surprise, upon walking into the bedroom, he found it empty. Peeking into the hallway, he now noticed a note stuck to the closed door of Libby's bedroom. Meet you in the living room at 7:55. He smiled to himself at her mischief, then knocked on the door. "I'm home!" The only reply was the roar of the hair dryer. He shrugged, then ventured back inside the bedroom. After showering and shaving in record time, he got dressed, then returned to Libby's bedroom, only to find the door locked. He jiggled the doorknob. "Maureen?"

"Is it 7:55?" she asked, her voice muffled by the door.

He glanced at his watch. 7:42. "Uh… no."

"Well, what does the note say?"

He shook his head, staring at the door cluelessly. "Uh… I'll just wait in the living room, I guess," he said, suddenly exhausted.

He went to the kitchen and tried to think what he could eat that wouldn't deem his tux useless so early in the evening. Eventually he settled on a cookie, knowing he didn't have time for something more elaborate. In the living room he turned on the TV, only to quickly turn it off after he didn't find anything interesting. He closed his eyes, leaned back and listened to the silence. It felt weird. He wasn't used to things being so quiet, not since Libby and Maureen had moved in. No wonder Maureen was so weirded out when they spoke that afternoon. Now he wished he remembered calling her parents earlier just so he could tell Libby goodnight. Maybe if he called now he might still catch –

He opened his eyes to the sound of heels softly clicking against the hardwood floor, and squinted in the softly lit room. Had he dozed off? For how long? He hoped he didn't wrinkle his tux. Then he remembered the sound that shook him awake, and turned to look over his shoulder. He felt more awake by the second as he slowly stood up, taking her in. Maureen was a vision in taffeta and satin, in a strapless black dress that complimented her pale skin. Her hair was tied back in an elegant bun, making her cheekbones more prominent, her eyes larger. Her makeup was subtle, almost undetectable. The only jewelry she wore were small ruby earrings, and her engagement ring.

Then he realized he was staring at her, and he tried to pull himself together. He knew she was expecting some sort of reaction, but he was completely speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but it felt as if he had forgotten how.

She smiled meekly and somewhat uncertainly. "If you don't like it, I'll go and change," she said, and he wasn't sure if she meant it. Was she kidding him? Couldn't she see how he was practically drooling all over the floor?

He slowly approached her, took her hand and brought it to his lips. "You look stunning," he told her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

"I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends," she said playfully, strengthening an invisible wrinkle on his jacket.

"I have a feeling I'm the one who will embarrass you," he chuckled nervously. He couldn't stop looking at her. He felt so dull in comparison. He pushed his conversation with Cindy to the very back of his mind. There would be time to dwell on it, but not tonight. Tonight he had his fiancée all for himself, and he was going to make it count. They were going to have a great time. After all, it was, as she'd pointed out, their first proper date.

They arrived at the venue with a few minutes to spare. Oliver was standing in the lobby in the company of some of their colleagues, and an unfamiliar redhead who – given the startling resemblance – could only be his sister. But his wonderings would have to wait for now; Oliver looked up and his eyes lit up as their gazes met.

"As I live and breathe, you're on time!" he said in mock-shock.

"I felt so guilty for not being able to be here to help out today, so I thought I'd make the effort," he grinned. The energy was palpable; everyone was excited. "Guys, this is Maureen Johnson, my – "

"Oh my God, you're the poor girl who's going to marry him!" exclaimed Oliver as his hand shot forward to shake Maureen's, who chuckled at his enthusiasm. He cringed; the memory of how he told Oliver of his engagement still filled him with dread. It was at the end of a meeting back in March, and Oliver was so excited that he stopped everyone at the door. It wasn't as low-key an announcement as he'd hoped. And now they all eyed Maureen curiously, probably thinking she could do so much better.

"Maureen Johnson?" asked an unfamiliar man who was standing next to them as introductions were made. He was eyeing her curiously. "Aren't you Stan Anderson's replacement?"

"Yeah," she replied slowly. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"You're about to, I hope. I'm Paul Stevens with the Village Voice," he handed her a card. "Mind if we chat for a few minutes?"

"Oh." Maureen seemed surprised, then glanced sideways at him uncertainly. "I'm here in an unofficial capacity I'm afraid."

"She'll love to," he cut in, giving her waist the tiniest squeeze. Tonight was supposed to be a no-work zone, but how could he possibly resent her under the circumstances?

"Are you sure?"

"Are you kidding? Go ahead, I'll find you later."

She still seemed unsure, but then nodded and followed Paul to wherever he had intended to lead her. She turned to flash him a grin, mouthing Oh my God before she disappeared in the crowd.

"And he's here to write about tonight," laughed Oliver. "Come on, let's keep you busy for now."

He wasn't really listening to the speech one of their benefactors was giving onstage. He was standing at the back, looking at the setup of the room. Every table surrounding the small dance floor was full, already a good sign. He started when something touched his hand. Maureen, suddenly by his side, flashed a crooked grin at him as she laced their fingers together. "Sorry," she whispered.

"How was it?"

"Amazing, I'll tell you later." She squeezed his hand, and turned her attention to the stage. He knew he should probably find their table, but he enjoyed the anonymity of their location. He let his eyes fly around the room, suddenly realizing he hadn't seen Andy anywhere. When they last spoke, he said he'd be here, and now he couldn't help but wonder if everything was alright.

Onstage, the speech was ending, and one of his colleagues was introducing his film. He cringed inwardly, wondering if it would be inappropriate to leave the room. Watching his own work always made him uncomfortable, and painfully aware of its flaws. But Maureen was having none of it, and she led the way to the table where she'd spotted Oliver.

He was grateful for the darkness, for it allowed his gaze to wander yet again. Mostly it meant he could watch Maureen. Her profile was striking in the flickering light; he wished he had a camera with him. She was staring intently at the screen, and that somehow was worse than having an entire room judge him, because her opinion was the only one which mattered to him. But as the credits rolled she turned and beamed at him proudly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He took advantage of the commotion before the beginning of the auction to get more drinks, with the actual intention of fleeing the table before people could find him and compliment on the film – another pet peeve of his. Maureen shook her head as if she knew exactly what he was up to, but didn't try to stop him. While he was waiting for the bartender to return with the drinks, a familiar voice came behind him.

"I'm hearing everyone is looking for you."

He turned to find Andy standing in front of him, grinning mischievously.

"Oh, I thought you weren't coming." He wondered if Andy could pick up on the relief his voice carried.

"I actually got here a while ago, we must have missed each other. So am I not supposed to congratulate you on the film we just saw?"

"Please don't," he said, his cheeks beginning to burn. "That's why I'm hiding." Then, attempting to shift the conversation as far away from him as possible, "How are you doing?"

"Good. Better. You know, getting there." He looked at the two glasses the bartender placed in from of him. "Do you need to get that for your date?"

"My fiancée. Come with me, I really want you to meet her." Andy trailed after him as he led the way back to his table; it was too noisy to speak anyway. He noticed Maureen huddled with a woman who wasn't sitting there earlier, deep in conversation. As he moved his chair back she turned to smile at him, but then she sort of froze. Her stance turned more guarded somehow, her smile now plastered uselessly on her lips. He shook his head, dismissing it. He must have been imagining things. Too much wine and all that.

"Hey, I want you to meet someone," he told her. Her hand was clutching the napkin she was fumbling with earlier; her knuckles turned white with the effort. "This is Andy, the guy I was telling you about. Andy, this is my fiancée Maureen." There was a moment of awkward silence, in which neither of them made an effort to shake the other's hand. They just sort of eyed one another in what could only be described as shock. Andy seemed equally shaken, although slightly more composed than Maureen. But just as he was about to question the meaning of this, he heard Oliver call his name.

"So sorry to interrupt, I need you backstage asap, something's wrong with the sound system." He didn't even get a chance to protest as Oliver all but pushed him forward. He murmured an apology under his breath, and as he followed Oliver backstage, he couldn't help but wonder what was that all about.

The auction had already started by the time he returned to the table, only to find Maureen gone, and Andy nowhere to be seen. Maureen's glittery black purse was on her chair, which was weird. Her cell phone was inside, an extra limb as far as she was concerned; there was no way she would have left it behind like that, even if her assistant was taking care of things tonight. The woman she'd spoken to earlier said she left quite abruptly a while ago, saying something about getting some fresh air. Now genuinely worried, he grabbed her purse, excused himself and went looking for her.

There were a few smokers out on the adjacent balcony, but she was easy to spot, at the farthest corner, staring into the horizon. The city served as gorgeous backdrop to her statuesque form as it stretched majestically in all directions, bejeweled and magnificent. If he squinted, he could spot the Statue of Liberty.

There was alarm in her eyes as she suddenly turned and saw him approaching her, as if it hadn't occurred to her he would find her. He smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease, and then registered the bourbon glass she was holding, still half full. Her hand was visibly shaking. "What's the matter?" he asked, but before the tip of his finger even grazed the small of her back, she already shifted, taking the tiniest step back. The rejection didn't offend him, just filled him with concern. He remembered the last time she'd physically recoiled from him; he was pretty sure this time it had nothing to do with his mother. "Maureen?"

"I… want to go home," she said; whispered, really. She looked beyond distressed. Her eyes were gleaming, as if with tears. Then she looked away as if she didn't want him to see.

"What – "

"Please?" her voice broke on the single word; she bit her bottom lip as if it would stop it from trembling.

He hesitated, but only for a second. Whatever this was about, she didn't look well, as if she would faint any second. His conversation with her replacement in San Francisco came to mind. He shook his head as if to shake the memory away. He could make sense of it later. First, he should do as she had asked. "Of course. We'll go home."

All the way home he didn't take his eyes off her, even though she didn't as much as glance in his direction. She stared through the window of the taxi, as if she was under some sort of trance. His concern quickly shifted into panic as he'd played back the evening, trying to pinpoint when exactly it had started.

By the time he locked the door and turned off the light, she'd already disappeared in their bedroom; he could hear the door closing softly behind her. He followed down the dark hallway with trepidation, anxious about what awaited him inside. She was sitting in front of the mirror, absentmindedly taking bobby pins out of her hair, which tumbled down her back in dark waves. She let her gaze meet his through the mirror for a split second. She still hadn't said a word since their brief exchange on the balcony.

The distance between them felt enormous. He longed to stride across the room and make her face him, tell him what was wrong, but after last time, he knew better. So he took his time changing out of his tux. Meanwhile she disappeared in the bathroom, reemerging just minutes later in a nightshirt and her face clean of makeup.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he said finally, because he couldn't stand one more second of this. Her face wore the same stoic expression, not a single tear shed. She shook her head, and walked past him to sit on the bed. He knelt on the floor right in front of her. "I know something's up," he insisted. "No more secrets, Maureen, you're the one who asked it, remember?"

She sighed, as if she realized he wouldn't let it go. She took a deep breath, but said nothing for a long moment. He almost thought she'd bottle up again when suddenly she softly asked, "That guy you introduced me to, is he the one who is HIV positive?"

"Andy?" She visibly flinched. He got up and came to sit on the bed beside her. "Yeah. Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Could Andy have done something to her, offended her in any way? He left them alone for barely ten minutes. "Maureen, talk to me," he pleaded with her. This time, when he touched her knee, she didn't recoil. She looked away, but quickly turned her gaze back to him. Her tearless eyes met his. She looked strangely terrified.

Before he could question it, though, she spoke again. Her quiet words echoed in the deathly silenced room, catching him completely off-guard. "He's my ex-husband."