He looks at my father. He looks at me. Then he shifts on the sofa, one smooth unhurried movement, and his hand closes over mine.
"I love her," he says.
My mother's face crumples and smooths in the same second. My father's eyes do something I have not seen them do in years. My throat closes.
It is a lie. It has to be a lie. But he says it the way he says everything that matters to him, flat and certain and without decoration, and it lands in the room like something true.
My father nods slowly. "She hasn't said yes yet."
"No," Adrian says. "I've given her time."
"Good." My father looks at me. "Lena."
"I know," I say.
He nods and picks up his cup and my mother presses both hands to her mouth and Adrian's thumb moves once across the back of my hand and I look at the coffee table and tr
