Chapter 9
OPHELIA
“I am so glad you decided to join us for dinner,” Georgiana gushes. “You’re always retreating into your room. I thought I’d have to grab a crowbar and pry you out of there.” The siren smiles at me over her shoulder from the front passenger seat of her husband’s car.
I don’t bristle at her words because I’ve started to realize that they’re true.
Despite coming out of my cursed form with a determination not to live under the control of someone else, I still fell into old habits.
All through my childhood, my father had taught me that I needed to separate myself from society.
Once Georgiana set me up with my own suite-style arrangement in her house and I got settled in with my job at Clean Haven, just leaving for work seemed like a grand adventure for me.
An adventure that I felt I needed to earn by staying at home whenever I wasn’t on the clock.
But after going to happy hour and swim practice with Broderick, I understand now that any limits and restrictions in my life are ones I’ve made up for myself. Either born from habit or fear.
That’s not how I plan to live anymore.
And in the same way that I started to repeat my past behavior, I might have projected some of my resentment for my father onto Georgiana. That I made her into a jailer she wasn’t.
True, there are aspects of her personality that rub my feathers the wrong way some days. But not every person is perfect. And she’s trying. Which means I should try too.
Which is why I accepted the invite she’d extended to join her husband, Richard, and her for dinner.
I’m going to eat out. At a restaurant!
This won’t be the first time I’ve eaten out in my life. Sometimes, my father would take me to a diner in the small town near our house. But we’d go late at night when the place was a ghost town.
I’ve also bought myself lunch at Coffee & Claws and Mary Jo’s bagels a few times. Sat at their tables. Surreptitiously observed the other diners. Reveled in the simple freedom.
Longed to have another at my table to share the experience with.
Tonight, that tiny dream is coming true.
Maybe this will be the time that Georgiana, Richard, and I make a connection. That we maneuver past polite, stilted conversations and become true friends. I have so few of those. I want to find more.
But I doubt anyone will match the natural closeness I feel with Broderick.
Just the thought of the witch has me smiling.
With joy warming my body, I continue the conversation. “This restaurant is one of the stops on my route, and every time I go into the building to collect the recycling, the food they’re cooking smells delicious. I’m looking forward to trying some.”
“I’m sure you are.” Georgiana turns even more, her seat belt pressing hard into her magenta shift dress.
“And you know, I was just thinking. Now would be a perfect time for you to look into classes at Ramla University. There’s plenty of time for you to sign up for the fall semester.
Soon enough, you could level up your career aspirations.
” She wrinkles her pert nose. “You don’t want to be collecting garbage for your whole life, I’m sure. ”
My warm happiness cools, and I forcefully relax my jaw, which wants to clench at her dismissive tone.
For one, garbage and recycling are two totally different things.
And two, even if I were a garbage collector, that’s still an important profession for people to have.
I doubt Georgiana wants her trash piling up in her perfectly paved driveway.
But the siren makes a good point about the potential of going to the university. I like the idea of being able to attend the classes. Ones about topics that I choose. Getting the chance to educate myself on subjects that my father’s homeschooling never touched on.
To explore this wide world that is now open to me.
And maybe see a little more of a certain professor in the process.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll look into that this week.”
“Oh, good!” Georgiana claps her hands. “And I’ll be on the lookout for job openings.
” She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head toward her husband, who seems content to drive the car and listen to a quietly playing podcast about fishing.
“Accounting is always a great profession choice, you know. You can help out many businesses.”
And once again, I have to fight a grimace.
Math was something that I got plenty of during my childhood.
I was in charge of the finances for my father’s farm.
Not that I was allowed to keep any of the money for myself.
One more way that I felt trapped in my old life.
I’m glad that I know how to deal with money now.
But numbers don’t excite me the way classes on history, public relations, or creative writing do.
Still, I force a smile and a nod and try to think of subjects that we could discuss over dinner that won’t have me fighting off disagreeable words. Luckily, Richard asks Georgiana to sit back so he can look behind us while he parallel parks the car on Main Street.
We’ve arrived at Knives & Fangs.
The fine-dining restaurant is busy for Thursday night, but I assume that’s often the case when living in a small town and there’s only a certain number of places to eat.
I hope there’s enough business to support another restaurant, recalling how Niko mentioned wanting to open his own soon.
The proprietors of Knives & Fangs might not appreciate the competition.
The hostess smiles at Georgiana and Richard first, and then her gaze lands on me. Once again, I’m wearing my red dress with its little white flowers—the only dress I own—and I smooth my hands over the skirt, hoping I’m properly dressed for this place.
The woman gives me a little wink and smile before saying, “The rest of your party is already here.”
The rest of our party?
Confused, I follow the group to the table. I thought it was just going to be the three of us. Georgiana didn’t mention anyone else when she invited me to dinner.
Maybe I misunderstood?
Maybe I was too nervous and missed part of what she said?
I breathe through the spike of panic that likes to jab me when plans get changed and instead remind myself that this night is one more adventure in the new, improved version of my life.
As we weave between tables, the hostess brings us to a four-top, where a man who looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties sits.
He has a handsome face with a square jaw and dark hair that is neatly styled.
His eyes are milky blue and crinkle at the corners with his welcoming smile as he stands and holds out a hand to Richard.
“Thank you so much for inviting me. I’ve been looking forward to this dinner ever since you told me what wonderful company we’d have.”
As the man says this, his eyes land on me. My fingers twitch and tug at the skirt of my dress. I thought it was the best choice. Now, I’m wishing I had something that covered more of my arms and my legs. The man runs his eyes over me. Assessing.
What is this?
My anxiety is not so easy to soothe as it was a moment ago.
“Oh, you charmer!” Georgiana exclaims while laughing and letting the man claim her hand and kiss her knuckles.
“I was so happy that you agreed to join us. Franklin, this is my houseguest, Ophelia. Ophelia, this is Franklin. He is the newest doctor at the practice where Richard works.” She turns a wide smile on me, and there is an eagerness in her eyes.
“I am honored to meet you,” Franklin says, moving around the table to stand in front of me. “When Georgiana told me how beautiful you were, I never expected that you could surpass her description.”
I don’t like this.
There’s something familiar about the situation that causes a painful tug in the bottom of my gut and sweat to collect like a chilled mist on my skin. But technically, no one has said or done anything wrong, so I fall back on my previously learned coping behavior.
I go quiet.
I attempt a smile and let Franklin take my hand and put his lips on my knuckles. And I try not to be obvious when I then wipe those knuckles on the back of my dress to get the feel of him off me.
This is not a man I would ever ask to hug.
The dinner commences with Georgiana and Franklin chatting happily while Richard adds a handful of comments but stays almost as quiet as me.
I don’t say anything. They don’t ask me anything.
Even though I prefer not to speak in this strange situation, a part of me knows this is weird.
How they don’t even try to include me in the conversation.
This feels different from when I attended the Shellys’ happy hour.
I didn’t speak much then either. But I still felt a part of the gathering.
Maybe it was the fact that Ame immediately asked what drink I wanted.
Or because she put her cat in my lap. Or that when I did venture a rare question, they answered it easily.
And maybe it was because I knew that Broderick knew I was there. That he was paying attention to me even if we weren’t speaking.
Here, I feel as visible as the tea light in the center of the table. A decoration.
And then they start to talk about me.
“Ophelia is thinking about going to the university for accounting.” Georgiana’s eyes glitter as she focuses solely on Franklin. “Wouldn’t that be so helpful? And I’m sure they’d get her set up with basic computer skills, so she could work reception for you all.”
I go rigid in my seat.
“Accounting degrees are a good choice.” Franklin smiles and nods at me as if approving of a trick I was planning to learn. “It’s always refreshing when a young lady has a good head on her shoulders.”
Suddenly, I realize what this reminds me of.
My father and the sorcerer.
The night he came to our house. How the two of them discussed my future. And my father gave me to him as if I were a malfunctioning object to hand off and be fixed.
That time, I went willingly.
This is a double date. I see that now. A date my host didn’t bother to speak to me about. My opinion on the matter must be inconsequential. Georgiana brought me here like cattle to be viewed and considered as … wife material?
From the way that Franklin grins, he finds me plenty acceptable. He likes the woman who has not spoken a word to him in the last hour. The woman who’s getting an accounting degree and will conveniently work at the front desk in his office.
He doesn’t even know my last name. I haven’t told anyone in this town my surname because I don’t want it anymore.
But maybe it’s easier for him not to know. Especially if he plans to give me his.
Breath stutters in and out of my throat, my lungs tight with anger and panic.
Heat flows like lava, thick in my veins, ruffling invisible feathers.
Stirring the bird that I’m not supposed to let out.
The other half of me that I have been told to keep hidden by the woman who is smiling across the table at me.
She is looking to sell me. Just like my father sold me.
I know that he got money. I know that a generous donation was made to the church that he attended. Everyone was paid, and then I was gone.
I don’t want to disappear again.
I want to exist, and I want to be free.
And I want to burn.
The legs of my chair squeak on the hardwood floor as I push myself away from the table and stand. “I have to go.”
Georgiana gapes at me, her perfectly painted lips in a shocked O. “What are you doing?” She gasps. “Sit back down.”
The siren doesn’t ask me why I want to leave. She doesn’t ask me if I’m feeling all right. She doesn’t have an ounce of worry for me as a living being.
She just wants me to sit down, close my mouth, and fit me into a neat plan she made without my input.
But my life is my own now.
“You gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have one.” I state the fact, acknowledging the gesture.
I should say thank you. But my father always demanded that I say thank you for every single thing he gave me in life.
I wasn’t allowed to eat without thanking him.
I wasn’t allowed to sleep without thanking him.
I wasn’t allowed to enter or exit the house without saying, “Thank you, Father, for this home.” I can’t say those two words anymore.
“But I’m moving out.” I pull cash from my purse and lay the bills on the table to pay for the food that I didn’t eat.
No need to thank anyone but myself. Ignoring the three baffled faces, I turn abruptly, walking as fast as I can toward the exit.
Only to run face-first into a warm, familiar chest.