Mother sticks her head in the doorway, I can smell the pot and Sambuca from 10 feet away. "I'm going away for the weekend" she says. "With Hernan". She sounds different, like she's implicitly asking for my permission. When I don't answer she laughs nervously and blows me a kiss.
In her diary:
We've landed in Moscow, all our papers seem to be in order but the security personnel have to check everything at least twice. I can talk to them in Russian, I think it makes T feel inadequate or useless. He likes to be in control, just like me, and I can see it's hurting him. I'm trying my best to be careful, for the first time in my life I guess. I don't want to step on him, he's way too beautiful. He's like a butterfly, those delicate wings ready to take him of the ground any time now.