She realized too late her mother had asked her a question. “I’m sorry, I was thinking about having some strawberries.”

“You haven’t said a word about your vacation and it was so dramatic.”

“It was, Mom, and thank you again for the gift. It was very generous of you. In spite of everything, I had a great time.”

“I was hoping you’d meet someone interesting.”

“I did,” Marissa said before she thought better of it.

“Really?” Her mother’s eyes—eerily similar to those that looked back at Marissa from every mirror—glowed with intrigue. “What’s his name?”

So there it was, thirty-four years old, Marissa mused, and just a fawn caught in her mother’s Mack truck headlights. So she wasn’t all that close to her mother but she wasn’t prepared to be even more distant. Thirty-four, independent and still afraid of her mother—pathetic.

The waiter warmed up their coffee, allowing Marissa a few more seconds to evaluate her entire life, her father’s life, relive the terrifying early hours in the lifeboat and the feel of Linda’s hair on her thighs.

“What’s his name? Where does he live?”

“Mom.” Marissa cleared her throat. “There was this short time while we were abandoning ship that I didn’t think I was going to survive. I thought about what really mattered to me. Like I spent all that time trying to choose the perfect books to take with me and that ended up being completely unimportant. Sitting in a lifeboat with no land in sight made me realize that it’s not all that important what brand of rum is in my glass or whether my living room is Country French or Nouveau Deco.”

Her smile fixed, her mother said, “Please tell me it’s not Country French.”

“I’m not talking about decorating.”

Marissa saw the acceptance in her mother’s face before she spoke again. She knows, Marissa realized. She’s known all along. “I met a woman. I’ve always preferred women. And I want this woman to be in my life.”

There was a prolonged silence while her mother sat frozen in place. Only the fingers wrapped around the stem of her champagne glass moved slightly.

“I’m sorry if that disappoints you,” Marissa said. She had expected to feel relieved to have finally spoken the truth but her mother’s reaction mattered. It shouldn’t, she thought. You’re old enough for it not to matter. But it did. Yes, while hanging off that cliff face she had accepted that nothing but living the exact life her mother desired would ever gain approval. She knew she would never live that life. But that didn’t mean more proof of her mother’s disdain for the life she did lead wouldn’t hurt.

“Well, this is not what I expected to talk about over a nice brunch.”

“I just came out to you and all you can say is it’s not a good topic for brunch?”

“What do you expect me to say?”

Bitterly, but mindful to keep her voice low, Marissa replied, “How about I love you for who you are? But you never have, so that’s a pipe dream.”