“What? What’s in Maine?” she asked again.
“Dad wants me to meet Jen’s family—her parents and siblings. Not that it matters to you, but he’s going to propose to her.”
Bianca was silent for a moment. She felt as if her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach. She’d always held on to a small glimmer of hope that she and Harry might someday reconcile—as silly as it was. Her heart ached as she repeated Mila’s words in her head:he’s going to propose to her. She eased down into the leather chair. Her head began to spin. It was as if the breath had left her body.
“Mom, are you there? What is going on with you?” She was becoming increasingly impatient with Bianca. She always had been. Most of the time their conversations were strained.
“Yes, I’m here.” Bianca wanted to change the subject—quickly. She tried to recover from the blow she’d been dealt. “How are things going? Classes? Did you pass your first final?”
“I won’t know until later.”
“That’s good. I’m sure you did well.” Bianca twirled around in her chair, reclined as she glanced out the window and watched as a street musician blew his saxophone for a group of tourists who had gathered in the French Quarter.
“Dad bought me a ticket to Maine, so as soon as I’m done with my last exam this week, I’m headed there.”
“Okay, I see.”
“Maybe after the proposal and everything he has planned; I can ask him if he minds if I fly out there for a few days … to Napa. I’d really love to spend some time with Aunt Remi and Zoe.”
No mention of spending time withher. She tried not to let it bother her, but it did.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll send you a ticket.”
Mila sighed heavily. “Mom, let me talk to Dad first, make sure he’s cool with it, and I’ll let you know.”
“So, you’re going to get permission from your dad to spend time with your mother?” She felt fury at the thought of it. She blinked her eyes rapidly and clenched her jaw.
“Mom, you know I spend my summers with Dad. We go through this every year,” Mila said softly.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t spend your whole summer with him. I mean, you’re old enough to make your own choices, but I haven’t seen you since spring break. And even then, we didn’t really spend any time together—you were gone with your friends …” Bianca sighed, trying to recover from the thought of Harry proposing to his much younger girlfriend. She composed herself. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Mom, you always want to fight when it comes to Dad. And I just really … I have to go. I have to get to class.”
“Call me later,” Bianca said.
“I’ll try to call you tonight.” Mila ended the call much sooner than Bianca was ready for.
She sat there for a moment, clutching her phone, contemplating making a phone call to Harry.What would she even say?She had no right to quiz him about his marriage proposal, though jealousy raged through her veins. He wasn’t hers anymore, and soon he’d be someone else’s.
Her mind drifted back to the day he asked for the divorce. He said it with no emotion and without any hesitation whatsoever.
“I’ve had the papers drawn up, and I would really like for you to sign them. You can keep the house. I don’t want to uproot Mila. And you can keep your Mercedes truck. I’ve made provisions for Mila’s tuition and I’m leaving you with a nice settlement.”
She’d felt a physical ache in the pit of her stomach when he said it. She hadn’t expected that. She thought they would talk, that maybe counseling could help. They’d discussed trying it and making one last attempt at saving what was left. But instead, he handed her a manila envelope.
“I’ll leave these with you. If you’ll just sign them, it will save us both a lot of time and energy …and money.”
The coldness in his voice cut through her like ice. This man, who had once adored her, who used to hang on her every word, was now distant—detached. He treated her like she was a stranger.
“We’ll work out the details of custody.”
“Custody?” she asked. “Ofmydaughter?”
“You don’t want to fight me on this.” Harry gave her a pointed look that told her he was up for a fight over Mila.
He was right. She didn’t want to fight anymore. It seemed they had been fighting relentlessly, and it was exhausting, not to mention unhealthy for their daughter, who was sixteen and completely heartbroken that her parents were falling apart. He had already moved out of their uptown New Orleans home and into the Roosevelt Hotel.
He had given Bianca a life she’d never dreamed of having. The daughter of Cuban immigrants, she’d grown up in chaos. Her father had fled back to Cuba when she was twelve to avoid arrest, and her mother soon followed—leaving Bianca and her younger brother, Antonio, to be raised by their grandmother. Her tumultuous childhood was the reason she moved through life so cautiously and guardedly. It taught her to keep secrets close and trust no one. She’d grown up feelingdisposable and unwanted. She acted out in school and landed herself in trouble more times than she could count—the juvenile detention center had felt like home because she was there so much.