She had even taken out the qipao she'd treasured for over a decade.
I told her the weather was too cold, that it wasn't the right dress for New Year's.
She smiled and said it was fine. She'd just throw a coat over it, and since she'd be driven door to door, she wouldn't catch a chill.
Besides, that dress had been a gift from my father when they married.
Wearing it, in a way, meant carrying a piece of him along.
As she spoke, tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.
I fell silent for a few seconds, and let it go.
On the way to the old Swanson residence, my mother chatted and laughed with Quinn the whole time.
Then Lorraine's call came, and Quinn's smile vanished in an instant.
He suggested the two of us take a taxi ourselves. I refused.
In that heavy snow you couldn't flag down a cab, and my mother couldn't be out in the cold.
My mother saw the anxiety and urgency on Quinn's face, and shot me a look.
Dutiful as always, I didn't dare go against her wishes, and in the end I got out of the car.
But I never imagined that less than a minute after we stepped out, the cold triggered her illness, and her heart stopped.
The more I thought about it, the colder my heart went, the more it ached.
I wanted to slap myself across the face.
If I'd only stood my ground a little harder back then, maybe my mother wouldn't have died.
Seeing that I kept saying nothing, Quinn lost his patience.
"Miriam, you've disappointed me so much."
"Fine. If you insist on splitting hairs, then let's bring Mother in to weigh in, and see who was really right and who was wrong."
Just as he picked up his phone, it started ringing.
A very particular, dedicated ringtone.
Exactly the same one I'd heard in the car on New Year's Eve.
Quinn's expression shifted slightly. He strode quickly out onto the balcony before answering.
Fragments of the conversation drifted back.
"Who is this? What, Lorraine's drunk, passed out on the side of the road?"
"...Okay, thank you, I'll be right there!"
Quinn rushed off in a hurry.
He didn't even spare a word to explain to me.
Just as resolute, just as decisive, as the day he abandoned my mother and me on New Year's Eve.
A bitter taste rose to my face.
No matter when, Lorraine was irreplaceable in his heart.
That being so, it was time for me to leave too.
Before she died, the wish my mother longed for most, apart from seeing me married with children, was to take one trip to Luxembourg.
That was where she and my father had first met, a place holding so, so many beautiful memories.
All these years, taking care of Quinn had kept that wish out of reach.
I made up my mind. I would take my mother's ashes and go on a trip around the world.
The final stop would be Luxembourg.
As I was looking up information and hunting for travel guides, Lorraine's social media updated again.
I hadn't meant to look, but my finger tapped it open as if some force were guiding it.
The first photo: Quinn, who had never lifted a finger in a kitchen in his life, cooking noodles.
The second photo: Quinn feeding Lorraine those noodles, his face full of concern and tenderness, an aching softness I had never once seen him show me.
The third photo: Quinn carefully scrubbing the stains from the carpet and the couch.
My heart filled up all over again with bitterness and ache.
Last Thanksgiving, for an important Swanson Group project, I'd drunk three whole bottles of red wine with a client and thrown up until the world went dark.
Quinn had stared at me passed out on the couch, at a total loss, and in the end he'd called my mother to come help.
While she bustled around taking care of me, he stood far off with his nose pinched shut, disgusted by how foul and overpowering my vomit was.
Yet in front of Lorraine, there wasn't the slightest trace of disgust. He was more attentive than any real husband.
...
Quinn didn't come home all night, and he didn't show up for the next several days either.
