Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Thirty-Nine

"You can let me help you cook some dinner at least," she says once we've stabilized ourselves.

Fighting with her is worse than fighting me, so I nod. "Just let me get you a stool first."

She turns to make her way into the kitchen and I'm struck by the ease with which she did something for me instead of herself. For a woman who doesn't want help, she sure is good at giving it out.

Lord help me I'm turning into my mother.

When I get back from bandaging my leg, Mom has dragged a barstool over to the counter and started cutting some carrots into sticks.

I watch her work for a moment, her voice low as she sings a song I can't quite place.

"Mama?" I ask from the doorway.

"Hmm?" She turns to face me once again.

"What went wrong with you and Dad?"

I don't know where that came from.

Okay, I do know where it came from, I just have no idea why I'm blurting it out now when I've kept it locked inside all this time.

She places the knife down on the counter and her shoulders slump forward. "Why are you asking me this now, of all times?"

Why am I asking her this now of all times?

I want to answer, but I don't know how.

Her eyes meet mine and she pauses for a beat. Two breaths. Four heartbeats. And then she sighs. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I blurt instinctively.

You're not comfortable here, Bianca. You're still walking on eggshells.

"Actually. A lot." I sigh and take a seat at the stool beside her. "I'm having a lot of trouble being a wife, and I—"

"You are so used to being perfect at everything that you can't fathom having to learn how to do anything. Am I close?"

"And I feel like I'm cursed. Like there's no way for me to do this. Like I failed before I even began." I don't know why I can't bring myself to meet her eyes.

Okay, I do know. The idea of admitting my failings in front of anyone, but especially my mother, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

"And I didn't want to tell you because I really didn't want you to be right about this. I really wanted to prove you and everyone else wrong. I wanted to be that amazing girl who could stay married to her accidental Vegas husband and just make it work. But I messed it up. I messed it all up and he hasn't even called."

"Is that what you think?" she asks. "Do you think you are destined to fail because your father and I didn't remain married? Because your grandmother never found love?"

I can't answer past the lump in my throat, so I just nod, sniffles adorning my usually calm demeanour.

She sighs. "I think maybe it is time you and I had a talk, woman to woman." She pats the chair next to her and I fall into it, leaning my head on her shoulder and finally letting the tears fall.

* * *

"So you mean to tell me this whole time you've thought your father and I divorced because... why exactly?"

"Oh, please don't make me say it again."

"There is no curse on our family, Bianca. There's no promise that marriages will end in divorce because we have some kind of unbroken chain that is inevitable. We have some bad luck, that's all."

"And how do I know, then?" I can't bring myself to look into her eyes. "How do I know if my husband is someone who will continue the trend of divorce or not? How do I know I'm safe?"

"You don't."

Well, that's reassuring.

"Oh, honey. It's not what you think. You don't know for sure that a marriage will last. There are some signs, looking back, that I might have seen, but your father is a good man. He didn't do anything, really. We just didn't work well together. We were better apart."

"Maybe that's Enrique and I too, you know? Maybe we're just better apart."

"Are you?" she asks. "Are you better apart?"

"Maybe?"

I can hear her smile. "Is it possible—and I want you to listen to this whole thing before interrupting. Is it possible that you managed to find a husband you'd actually like to keep, even though—"

"I don't know, Ma—"

"I'm not finished. Is it possible you managed to find a husband you want to be with? Even though you met him how you did and married him how you did?"

I want to interrupt again, but I close my mouth.

"Is it possible that after all these years of carefully planning love, it might have found you some other way?"

Why does she have to be so much better at motivational speeches than she is at cooking?

"I guess, maybe, it could be possible."

"And is it possible that my shortcomings are making you fear for your own future?"

"No, Mama. It's not like that, it's just—"

"Everything falls apart."

"Yeah. And what if it falls apart, Mama? What do I do then?"

"My dear, it seems you are already in a position where falling apart will hurt. The question you have to ask yourself is whether he is worth falling apart for. I can't answer that for you. I can't tell you what to do, no matter how much you may want me to. But worrying about what the future holds is a surefire way to make sure nothing ever happens to you, Bianca. I do not regret marrying your father. Not even for a second. And I hope you live to see a day where you can say the same."

"Thank you, Mama."

I'm trying to process the information, but it feels like it's being pulled into my brain through cheesecloth. Very. Slowly.

"Now, let's get some supper." She offers me her arm. "You will cook."

Oh, so she knows about that failing, too.

"I have to say, the gusto with which your husband pretended to appreciate my cooking should have told you everything you needed to know."

"I have to fix it, Mama," I whisper. "I just don't know if I can."

"Everything worth having is worth fixing. Even if it takes us a great deal of work."

"Have you been reading fortune cookies again?"

"Only a few," she laughs. "Now let's go burn some rice and pretend it's delicious."

"We've survived burnt rice before. I'm sure we'll get through it again."

"I'm sure we will," she says, raising an eyebrow and pulling me into a hug. "I'm sure we will."

She's not talking about rice.