Chapter 11 – Brinley
brINLEY
I recognize Beau’s mother, of course. I’ve seen pictures of her before. She’s every bit as bright and effusive as Beau described her, her smile so broad she brightens the whole room, and her sharp gaze taking in everything.
I definitely don’t recognize the woman behind her, the one who looks like a green-eyed Monica Belucci.
The one who’s so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at her.
Maybe she’s his cousin. Or maybe I’m in hard-core denial, because she doesn’t resemble Beau in the slightest, and she’s far too gorgeous to just be a cousin. The universe wouldn’t be so kind.
“I’m so sorry,” Giulia says, in a slightly heavier accent than Beau’s mother’s. “We’re obviously interrupting your night. We can come another time.”
Please, go , I plead silently. Leave now, get back on a plane home, and fly right into the arms to the gorgeous Italian shipping magnate who I’m sure is just waiting to fall at your feet. Just don’t go for Beau. Not my Beau.
Of course, nobody picks up on my psychic request.
“No, please stay!” Cat–sweet, generous, doesn’t-know-she’s-ruining-my-life Cat—exclaims. “We’re celebrating, and the more, the merrier.”
“Yeah, Mama Bishop!” Ryan adds. “We haven’t seen you since graduation.”
“Come to my house anytime,” Mama Bishop says. “You need someone to feed you! Obviously my tesoro hasn’t done his job, because you look far too skinny.”
“I cook for Ryan plenty,” Beau mutters.
“Hello, Alessandra,” Nate says, standing and reaching out his hand. Beau’s mother scoffs at the handshake attempt and pulls him into a bear hug instead. Even though she only comes up to midway up Nate’s biceps, she squeezes so hard that Nate’s eyes bug out.
“Shush. Call me Mama, Nathaniel,” she says. “After all, I’ve known you since you wore Superman pajamas.”
“ You wore Superman pajamas?” Pippa snorts. “You, Nate Walsh, the man who even takes a shower in his Tom Ford suits?”
Nate raises his chin, ignoring her and putting a hand on Cat’s shoulder. “This is my wife, Cat.”
“I already know who she is,” Alessandra says warmly. “My tesoro showed me pictures of all of his friends’ wives. That’s Maura, and that’s Pippa.” She nods to each of them.
She doesn’t even look at me. My teeth dig into my bottom lip.
“Pippa and I aren’t married yet,” Ryan clarifies.
Alessandra waves a dismissive hand. “You will be soon. Boys, I’d like to introduce you all to Giulia, my friend Sofia’s daughter. She’s moving to Toronto for culinary school, and Beau has promised to show her the ropes.”
My cheeks hurt from the effort of smiling when my face would rather crumple into a hideous frown. Alessandra’s knowing expression reveals it all. She’s sure that once Beau sees the Italian goddess she had shipped over, he’ll fall at her feet and propose right there.
“Giulia, why don’t you take a seat here, by Beau?” Cat suggests sweetly, gesturing to a chair.
“ Grazie ,” Giulia says. My blood turns to ice when Beau gets to his feet and pulls Giulia’s chair out for her. I’m sure it’s because he has to play the gentleman in front of his mother, but really, couldn’t he be at least a little rude?
“So, are you going to George Brown?” Beau asks her.
Giulia nods. “Is that where you went?”
Beau snorts. “No way. I grew up in kitchens, and everything I know I learned by doing.”
“Beau was practically my sous-chef by the time he was eight,” Alessandra says proudly. “He always worked in the family restaurant.”
“Well, restaurants,” Beau clarifies. “My parents opened a few different restaurants. A food truck, a diner, even a catering business for a while. I saw it all, and I learned how to make a pretty decent burger by second grade.”
My hands clench into tight fists, my fingernails driving moon-shaped divots into my palm.
In front of his mother, Beau makes the story of his childhood sound more bohemian and charming than I know it really was.
As much as Beau loved it, his parents basically used him as child labor as they moved across the country, trying and failing to open restaurant after restaurant.
The food was never the problem—Alessandra taught Beau to make incredible dishes, just like hers. But Beau’s parents were never on the same page, and they fought constantly as opportunity after opportunity failed to pan out. Sometimes, I think I’m angrier about it than Beau allows himself to be.
“I worked in my family restaurant, too,” Giulia says. “When I left secondary school, I wanted to get far away from food. I was tired of chopping onions and washing off tables. I went to university for chemistry instead.”
“So how did you end up in culinary school?” Beau asks.
She shrugs. “You can’t really escape food. Not when you have to eat it every day. I got to thinking about the way that chemistry and cooking are the same.”
“Let me guess. Molecular gastronomy?”
“Exactly. That’s what I hope to do.”
Beau smiles, and I feel like I’m watching a great first date. They already have so much in common, and they’ve only been talking for two minutes. I must be in hell. The flames must be burning around my feet.
As much as I want to throw a glass of wine in Giulia’s beautiful face, I know I can’t.
The feminist inside me is too strong, reminding me that it’s not Giulia’s fault that she’s being thrown at my boyfriend like a tossed pizza crust. I can’t be jealous of her because as far as she knows, Beau’s fully available.
Worse than that, she seems…interesting. Talented, lovely, and sweet. If I met her anywhere else, I’d want to know more about her. Maybe even be friends.
Alessandra smiles, looking satisfied. Her set up has gone exactly according to plan. Pleased, she turns her attention to my half of the table, her eyes settling on Eden. “I don’t think we’ve met,” Alessandra says.
Eden extends a hand. “I’m Eden. I’m an old friend of Brinley’s.”
She gestures to me, and Alessandra’s eyes finally land on me.
“I remember Brinley. You’re Luke’s sister. You own a coffeeshop, yes?” Alessandra asks me. Instinctively, I straighten my shoulders. Even though this whole night has been a disaster, I still can’t shake that unavoidable hope. Please, let my boyfriend’s mom like me.
“A café,” I say, at the same time that Eden says, “A bookshop.”
Alessandra’s eyes dart between us. “Which one?”
“Both. It’s a bookshop with a small café in the back,” I explain.
“How nice. I’m sure it’s very cute,” Alessandra says, before pivoting to look over at Giulia. “Beau, tesoro, did you tell Giulia about the imported wines you were adding to the menu?”
That’s it. I’m dismissed with just a few words, the girl who runs the cute little bookshop. Not a serious person. Not someone Alessandra would ever imagine being paired with her son. I might as well be invisible.
My eyes burn, tears threatening to make a humiliating appearance.
Because I’ve been here before. I know exactly what it feels like to stand in a room full of people who’ve decided I don’t matter, who look right through me like I’m furniture, or a punchline, or nothing at all.
I learned that lesson from this exact group of men, years ago.
The pain has scarred over by now, but it won’t ever be gone—not really.
My phone buzzes, and I quickly open it under the table. As I expected, it’s from “Kathy.”
Beau
I’m so sorry. I had no idea they were coming.
A stone drops in my stomach. That means he’s not surprised by Giulia’s existence, just the timing of her showing up now, when I’d be in attendance. He could have at least warned me.
Brinley
You mean you knew you’d be Shanghaied by a sexy Italian at some point.
Beau
Is she sexy? I didn’t notice.
Brinley
Of course you did. Every man in a square mile of her went AWOOGA when she brushed her hair back over her shoulders.
Beau
I only have eyes for you, Brinley baby. You know that.
Brinley
So, how long has your mother been trying to set you up with this woman? Or were you betrothed from birth?
“Who are you texting?” Pippa asks, leaning over next to me.
My heart rate instantly doubles as I flip my phone face-down. Shit, did she see anything incriminating? Did her reporter’s nose for a story tell her I’m hiding something?
“My supplier,” I say, as smoothly as I can. “Inventory thing.”
“What’s the point of running your own business if you can’t take a night off work?” Ryan asks.
“Independence,” Pippa says. “Not having to get bossed around by anyone.”
“I don’t have a boss, but I still get bossed around by my girlfriend.” Pippa elbows Ryan in the side, and I could kiss him for distracting her. I should know better than to be careless texting Beau in public. I let Giulia and Alessandra get to me, making me forget how cautious I need to be.
“You love being bossed around by me,” Pippa teases.
“Right,” Eden says. “Being submissive doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
Luke chokes on the water he’s sipping, and Ryan thumps him on the back.
“Relax, man,” Ryan says. “You don’t have to start picturing me in a collar and ball gag. It’s not my thing, unless Pippa wants it to be.”
“I’ll pass,” Pippa says dryly.
Down the table, Beau laughs at something and Giulia touches his arm. I have the sudden urge to punch a wall as hard as I can. Under the table, Eden grabs my hand.
“I think you need to drink more wine,” she whispers.
“I think I’ll need a lobotomy to forget this whole night.”
She refills my glass with the bottle in the center of the table. “Next best thing.”
The rest of the dinner goes by quickly, mostly because I decide to turn the night into a drinking game. When Giulia says something to make Beau smile, I drink. When she flirtatiously plays with her long dark hair, I drink. When Alessandra smirks like she’s made the match of the century, I drink.
I drink enough that I’m stumbling a little when Eden makes the executive decision that it’s time for us to go home. She guides me to the front of the restaurant to get my coat, her hand on my shoulder the only thing keeping me from stumbling sideways into a potted plant.
“Your arm goes in this hole,” Eden offers helpfully as she holds my light coat up for me.
“I know where my arms go, Eden.”
“No, you don’t, because you’re trying to punch through the bottom of your pocket.”
“Oh.”
Then three very beautiful Italians glide toward me.
Beau is escorting Giulia and his mother to the door, and I know I can’t watch.
I know Giulia’s going to kiss him on the cheek goodbye.
It will be very Italian, and it will make me throw up the entire contents of my stomach, which at this point is mostly red wine.
It’s not exactly dignified when I snatch my coat out of Eden’s hands and power walk away, but it’s the only way I’m going to avoid watching Beau and Giulia say goodbye.
Eden catches up with me quickly. She lets me walk for a block before she makes an attempt at chatting.
“Do you want to?—”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Eden stays silently at my side as we walk home. She doesn’t push, and I’m reminded for the hundredth time how lucky I am to have her as a friend. The cool evening air feels good against my heated face and I start slowly to sober up. I’m able to put my coat on without Eden’s help.
Finally, we make it back to my apartment building and trudge up the stairs. It’s only after I close the door behind us that the tears finally fall. They spill from my eyes in thick rivulets and I wipe them away on my coat sleeve.
“His mom looked r-right through me,” I stammer. “Like I was f-furniture.”
“That’s only because she doesn’t know,” Eden says.
That just makes the tears flow faster. “Exactly.”
Eden folds me into a tight hug, letting me bury my face into her shoulder. Angry tears slide down my cheeks and into her soft white sweater. We stand like that for a very long time as I let it all hit me.
I’m not angry with Alessandra for not seeing me. I’m mad at the situation that makes her ignorance possible. I’m mad at myself for agreeing to it. I’m mad at Beau for never fighting to change it.
And underneath all of it, in a place I don’t let myself look at too often, I’m fourteen again—standing in a room where no one thought I was worth protecting, learning that I’m the kind of girl people look through.
For the first time, I let myself admit it. I want Beau to put his arm around me when he introduces me to his mother. I want him to pull out my seat, which is next to his. I want more than the ghost of a relationship I’ve been living in, and I’m terrified Beau won’t give it to me.