Sue wanted Theo's opinion of the shoes, although she had already decided which answer she could use.
“The gold,” he said.
“Really?”
“You asked.”
“They're rather a lot.”
“It's rather a lot of dress.”
She looked down at herself, pleased despite her effort not to be. Theo stood in his parents' room on Friday morning while his father sat on the edge of the bed examining a fan whose batteries he suspected had been removed before purchase.
His mother had taken the outfit out of the bag. The dress was a deep bright blue, fitted in places she'd spent months worrying about and entirely successful in all of them. A short jacket hung on the chair. She had two pairs of shoes lined up beneath it, one sensible and one beautiful in a way which would probably begin arguing with her feet after ten minutes.
“Gold,” Theo repeated.
Bill looked up. “She's been saying that since March.”
“I haven't,” Sue said.
“You said the sensible ones looked as though you were about to conduct a meeting.”
“They do.”
“Then I've saved the meeting,” Theo said.
She smiled. She took off the plain pair and put on the gold, resting a hand on his arm while she did it. He steadied her. Once both shoes were on, she went to the mirror and became quiet.
Theo watched his mother looking at herself in the outfit she'd bought for his wedding. The room was full of small signs of their holiday: Bill's shorts on a chair, opened packets of biscuits, an inflatable travel pillow which Sue had not yet found a dignified place to put. Against all that, the dress seemed suddenly more serious than he'd wanted it to be.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She lifted the jacket from the chair, held it against herself and put it down again. Bill shook the little fan, pressed the button and discovered it worked. He looked surprised, then aimed it at his face with such satisfaction Sue told him not to ruin the batteries before she needed it.
“I thought it was for me,” he said.
“I thought it was for people who were hot.”
“Well, I’m hot now. Let me have it till you need it.”
Theo laughed. His father looked at him and nodded toward the door.
“There's cold water downstairs.”
“I'll stay a minute,” Theo said.
Bill stood, put the fan down and collected his room key. He wasn't escaping on anybody else's behalf. He had a whole hotel in which to avoid holding a shoe discussion, and he meant to use it.
When he left, Sue sat in the chair and bent to adjust a strap.
“You'll be happy with Mara's dress,” she said.
“I've seen it.”
“For tomorrow?”
“When she bought it.”
“Lovely choice.”
He nodded. It was. He remembered Mara coming out of the changing room and pulling a face because a button at the back was impossible to fasten alone. He'd done it for her. She'd looked at their reflection afterward and asked whether he thought it was too much. He'd said probably, which was why she liked it.
“Is she staying Sunday as well?” Sue asked.
Theo looked at the jacket rather than at his mother.
“We haven't talked about it yet.”
“But you've booked the room.”
“Yes.”
“Well.”
She smiled, and he could have stopped it there. He knew where the conversation had arrived.
“It's just a night,” he said.
“Nights can be very nice.”
He looked back at her. She had not made the joke quite deliberately enough to know whether she ought to be embarrassed by it. He wanted to laugh. He also wanted to go outside and find the woman whose presence in a bed had made him buy another one.
“We've had a good week,” he said.
“I can see.”
“Really good.”
“I'm glad, darling.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. His mother remained in the chair, ankles crossed, gold shoes visible beneath the hem.
“I didn't want it to be awful,” he said.
“Neither did I.”
“Everybody watching us.”
“People care about you.”
“That's the difficult bit.”
She looked hurt, and he regretted the sentence immediately, although he hadn't meant that caring was wrong. He rubbed his hands together, then stopped because it made him look like a man preparing an explanation he didn't want to give.
“You've been generous,” he said. “I know how much you wanted this.”
Sue looked down at her shoes.
“I do still want the party.”
“Yes.”
“And I want you happy. Both of you.”
He nodded. He could believe all of it. That was how she made the rest so difficult to refuse.
“There was a lovely introduction planned,” she said. “Before your song.”
“The first dance.”
“Yes. You'd chosen it very carefully.”
“We did.”
“I thought if things were feeling different, you might want that part after all. You don't need a ceremony to let people know.”
His throat tightened. For a moment he saw the version she meant: Mara's button fastened at the back, his hand at her waist, the people they loved watching them make the room happy. There was no effort in wanting it. He'd wanted it for eighteen months.
“We haven't decided how the music will start,” he said.
Sue leaned forward slightly. “I could speak to the band.”
“No. I'll do that.”
“Of course. I only thought—”
“I know.”
She sat back. He had refused the action, not the hope. He could feel her waiting for the rest, and he couldn't find the sentence which would let him keep Sunday's room bright and empty without allowing her to furnish it for him.
“Let's see how tomorrow feels,” he said.
It was not an answer he had any right to give for Mara. He knew that while he said it. His mother smiled anyway, pleased with the small space he'd left.
“That's sensible.”
He almost laughed at the word. Instead he looked at the jacket on the chair and asked whether she wanted him to take a photograph of the outfit so she could decide about the shoes later. She stood immediately, delighted to have a practical use for all the preparation.
He took the picture. The dress looked beautiful. The gold shoes looked exactly as ambitious as she'd hoped. She examined the screen, said the angle was dreadful and asked him to take another from higher up.
“You taught me to stand straight,” he said. “Now I'm at a disadvantage.”
She laughed. He took another picture. This one pleased her more, though she spent a minute enlarging a part she insisted needed attention. Then she asked him to send it to her and not to Bill, who would make an unnecessary remark about the cost.
“He already knows the cost.”
“I’d rather have one photograph without him reminding me.”
Theo sent it. Sue took her phone and held the picture out beside the mirror, comparing the two versions of herself.
“Are you happy?” she asked suddenly.
He looked up.
“This morning?”
“Yes.”
He thought of Mara half asleep, her hair across his face, the laugh when he looked for his shorts. He thought of Adrian telling the chair story and the ridiculous bowl on the boat and the sound of everybody laughing with him instead of looking sorry.
“Yes,” he said.
His mother nodded. She wanted to put her arms around him; he could see it in the small movement of her shoulders. He stood and went to her before she had to ask. She held him hard, a hand at the back of his neck.
“I'm glad,” she said.
He shut his eyes for a moment. He had made her happy by giving her part of an answer. The rest remained with him, waiting outside the hug.
Downstairs he found Bill with Patrick, who was arguing that he would never again pack clothes he didn't like before he left home. Bill greeted Theo as though they'd spent the morning together and asked whether the shoes were decided.
“Gold.”
“I said gold too.”
“Did you?”
“At some point. I've tried most answers.”
Theo laughed. His father handed him a cold glass, and he accepted it because it was there and he wanted something without a future attached.
His phone lit up with Mara's message about dinner. She was arranging something lovely for tonight. Did he want to come?
He read the message twice. Tomorrow's whole enormous room pressed toward him suddenly, the dress, the first dance, his mother looking pleased. He'd wanted one private night. Now he could see all the people who would place themselves inside it if he let them.
He wrote yes to dinner, then erased it. He wrote probably and erased that too.
I'll find you at the photographs, he sent.
Then he put the phone in his pocket and drank the water. He had bought a night and encouraged a hope, and somehow made Saturday feel larger than when it was a wedding.