“Got you covered right here,” she says. “Chocolate peanut butter ice cream and White Russians.”
“You are literally the best.”
We’re curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace a few minutes later, digging into the peanutty, chocolatey goodness of our favorite ice cream. Neither of us says a thing, obeying our code of indulgence whenever we share a pint of this stuff. She eventually lets out a satisfied sigh and sets her empty bowl on the coffee table, then picks up her drink and leans back. Her brown eyes narrow on me as she takes a sip, then smacks her lips and hums in enjoyment while she waits for me to finish.
As if on cue, her first question pops out the second I set down my bowl. “He was fucking around, wasn’t he?”
I don’t know why my instinct is to defend Barnaby. Maybe because I’m an idiot. But even worse is when that feeling passes, I get choked up and have to take a long swallow of my drink before I can answer. Nina waits patiently for me to find my voice.
“Yeah. I don’t know specifics, but he sent me a text meant for someone else this morning. A very suggestive text. I think he intended to skip out on me to go meet someone in Aspen. I didn’t exactly give him time to explain. It was just . . .” I huff, still near tears. “He does this every year. Nina, am I really that stupid that I didn’t figure it out until now?”
She shakes her head and spears me with an intense look. “You are not stupid. Maybe a little misguided, but that’s on me, and maybe on your mom a bit too. You always had this vision of a perfect life with a man who’d put down roots, so I think you just had blinders on to the truth.”
“That he was always unfaithful to me? If you saw signs, why didn’t you say something?” The words come out sounding shrill, and my insides go even more brittle at the mention of my mother, that she and Nina might have agreed on something for once and never bothered to share their opinions with me.
“That’s not what I mean. Barnaby might be the kind of guy who will stick around, who is happy to stay put in one place, but that isn’t who you are. I think you’ve been so wrapped up in this picture-perfect ideal that you’ve lost sight of what you really want.”
“What I want? It’s not that complicated. I want love and mutual respect, and a partner who challenges me intellectually.” She starts shaking her head and I stare at her. “What? You think I don’t know what I want out of a relationship?”
Rolling her eyes, she sets down her glass and leans toward me. “Sure, you want that from a relationship. We all want that, plus mind-blowing sex. What you describe is exactly what your parents had before they split up. You still hold their marriage up as some pinnacle of perfection, but honey, in case you haven’t noticed, they’re divorced. Your dad left.”
I bristle and sputter an objection until she holds up a hand to stop me.
“I know, Adrian Nicolo is a saint among men. Both your parents are amazing pillars of humanity, and there’s nothing wrong with aspiring to greatness like them. But their relationship fell apart when things got bad, and none of the things you listed that supposedly make a great relationship could have held them together.”
“Nina, they lost a child. My brother died. Most relationships would be strained after that.”
I don’t miss the flash of pain that crosses her face before she continues. “Yes, and rather than try to stay and make it work, your dad left to follow his dream, and your mom, bless her, realized she couldn’t stay tied to a man who couldn’t be present. The way I remember it, they didn’t lie about what they needed; they maintained enough mutual respect to recognize that it wasn’t going to work.”
I grit my teeth. “You weren’t there for the fights. After Chris died, it got bad. Violent.”
I wince, recalling the sound of breaking glass during one particularly volatile fight when Mom threw her drink at Dad, who narrowly dodged being hit on the head. I’d just finished med school and was home for the summer, regrouping and taking time off before beginning my residency. Chris had been gone almost a year by then, and I thought the three of us were close to finding a new normal.
But I can still hear the argument, the yelling. Dad blaming Mom for what happened, and Mom repeating that Chris had chosen his job and knew the risks. But that Dad was as complicit in encouraging his choice of career as she was. It was not a new argument, but every couple has a breaking point, I guess.
I hated Mom in those moments, despite recognizing how unfair Dad might have been. She was a powerful woman even then and could have made a difference, could have pulled strings to get my brother’s DEA assignment changed. I still didn’t know all the details about how he died, which is one of many sticking points between Mom and me, but as a DEA agent, he frequently came into contact with dangerous people. Still, if Mom could have done something to change things, why wouldn’t she?
When Dad finally left, I hated her even more. I’d lost both my big brother and my father in the span of a year, men who were heroes in my eyes. Dad’s still alive at least, but I rarely see him because he’s too busy flying into war-torn countries to treat the wounded and sick. I can only hope to live up to the heroic ideals he and Chris instilled in me.
Meanwhile, Mom and I barely speak. As a senator, she’s in D.C much of the year, and when she’s home, she typically stays at the Englewood estate,
