Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Personally seems a bit of an understatement as Donna York visibly seethes at the head of the table.
“Mother,” her sister interjects. “Maybe we should let Harriet finish.” Her mother’s face pinches, her posture rigid. “Yes, Harriet. Please continue explaining how you intend to destroy our family’s reputation.”
Harriet’s date snorts a laugh into his closed fist. “Told you,” he tells her, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. Harriet’s cheeks burn scarlet, and I want to slam his face into his dinner plate. Maybe shove the device he seems so fond of down his throat.
“Maybe you should sleep on it,” Harriet’s father offers, an apathetic look on his face. He doesn’t look up from his green beans, continuing his dinner like this is a typical Sunday evening conversation. “This is a big decision. You haven’t thought it through.”
How many times has Harriet gathered the courage to speak, only to be dismissed like she never opened her mouth at all?
“Well, I’m—” Harriet pauses and swallows heavily, shifting in her seat. “As you are aware, I’ve been—”
“For god’s sake,” her mother snaps at the head of the table. “All this dithering. Spit it out.”
“I don’t like being a lawyer” bursts out of her. She presses her palm to her mouth like she wants nothing more than to shove the words back in. “I don’t—it doesn’t make me happy. I want to be happy.”
“Happy.” Her mother sneers. “Your career isn’t supposed to make you happy. It’s supposed to build your legacy. The legacy of your family. Or have you forgotten?”
“I disagree,” Harriet says. She fights to hold eye contact with her mother. “There are other ways to honor our family’s legacy. Law hasn’t been a good fit for me. You know it hasn’t. Aunt Matilda says—”
Donna York goes still. Harriet’s just poured kerosene over an open flame. “You’ve talked to Matilda about this?”
“I have.” Harriet hesitates. “But it’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
A hush descends over the table. Even her father looks invested now, his eyes darting between mother and daughter.
“She had to dig it out of me. I didn’t go to her with the intention to complain. But she can tell, Mom. She can tell when I’m unhappy.”
Her mother arches one elegant eyebrow. “And I can’t?” Harriet doesn’t respond, but her silence is loud enough. You can’t. You haven’t.
“I see.” Her mother places her fork to the side and folds her hands beneath her chin. “And what did my sister have to say on this family matter?”
“I don’t think—”
“No, no. I’d love to hear what Matilda has to say about this. Matilda,” her mother says, her voice twisted with sarcasm, “who is so very adept at disregarding familial responsibilities. Did she have some tips and tricks for you? Best practices?”
Harriet looks to her sister for support, but Samantha stares down at her plate, pushing her vegetables back and forth. Harriet’s boyfriend is just as useless, reclined in his seat, arms crossed over his chest with both of his eyebrows raised while he watches the conversation like a tennis match.
“We had coffee after the Jacobs case last week,” Harriet begins. “Oh, wonderful,” her mother interrupts. “You’ve been weighing this decision for a week.”
“Longer than a week,” Harriet says, her voice wobbling. I remember an argument in a closet where I accused her of being just as rash.
How long have you been thinking about this? I squeeze her hand in mine.
“The Jacobs case was quite the fumble,” her dad guffaws while he cuts a piece of his steak. Harriet’s face turns crimson. “The clerks were talking about it all week.”
“What happened?” I whisper to Harriet.
She shakes her head, running a trembling hand along her forehead as she watches her memory unfold. “I was nervous to present in court. I … threw up in a trash can midway through my opening argument. Then I kicked over the trash can.”
“Oh, love.” I know how much Harriet cares what others think.
She must have been mortified. “That’s awful.”
“It was,” she agrees.
At the table, Donna continues to stare down her daughter. “So?
What did my sister have to say?”
Harriet looks like she wants to sink through the floor. “She told me I should think about what I really want. That I’ve been blindly pursuing this path for years. That maybe … a little time wouldn’t hurt.”
Donna laughs, mirthless. “Of course. Matilda has spent her entire life floating on a breeze, chasing her little whims. She’s been everyone’s favorite shop girl while I’ve had to maintain everything.
She lives in a fairy tale, Harriet. This is real life.
” Her mouth pinches and she resumes eating her dinner.
“This will pass. One stumble won’t set you back.
You just need to work harder. Apply yourself. ”
Harriet’s eyelashes flutter against her cheeks. “I have been,” she says quietly. I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“I heard she applied herself all over the courtroom floor,” her dad snickers. Brent joins in with a loud bark of a laugh.
“I’ve said the same thing, Donna,” he says as soon as he’s done laughing at Harriet’s expense. He dabs at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, shooting what I’m sure he thinks is a charming grin down the length of the table. I have no idea what Harriet is doing with a man like this.
“Brent,” she whispers, shooting him a betrayed look he doesn’t even notice. “You told me you understood. You said—you said you’d help me figure it out.”
“I didn’t say I’d help you quit.” He nudges her cheek with his knuckle and she flinches.
It’s dismissive and juvenile, and my blood hums angrily in response.
“I get it. You were embarrassed. I bet you’ll feel differently in a week or two.
I’ll talk to Jim. See if he can put you on a new case.
” He pats her shoulder and my hands clench into fists at my side.
“Finally, a productive solution.” Harriet’s mother beams at him. “That’s an excellent idea, Brent, thank you.” Case closed, as far as she’s concerned. She gestures with her knife. “Samantha. Tell us about the arbitration you’re working on. You’re the lead, yes?”
“Hank is happy with your work,” Harriet’s father says around a mouthful of green beans. He points his fork at her with a wink. “Good work, hotshot.”
Samantha spares a fleeting glance toward Harriet.
Harriet, who is staring at her plate with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her eyes far too shiny for the dim lighting.
Harriet, who has once again been treated like an inconvenient object, and not another person with thoughts and feelings and dreams.
She truly thought this was her great atrocity? Choosing herself? “Thank you,” Samantha says slowly, flicking her gaze away from her sister. She forces a smile. “I feel good about the opportunity.”
Just like the others.
My magic pulses and golden sparks dance between my knuckles. “Time to go,” I tell Harriet.
“Not yet,” she says. “There’s more.”
“I don’t need to see more.”
“I do,” she says, completely defeated. She cuts a look in my direction. “And I think it’s good for you, too. So you understand.”
“I’ve already told you. I know the truth of your character.”
“We’ll see.”
I keep my eyes on her past, watching the way she wilts at the table.
So much of her is unfamiliar in this moment.
Her hair, her quiet. Her overly formal clothes and the string of pearls around her neck.
But I recognize the look in her eyes. The hurt she’s trying desperately to hide.
But then something changes. The table explodes in laughter and Harriet’s eyes flick up.
She considers each person, her gaze lingering the longest on her sister. She seems to find a well of defiance.
A little girl with a boat in her hand.
“I wasn’t done,” she says. The table quiets. “I’ve made my decision, and it had nothing to do with Aunt Matilda.” She swallows. Braces herself. “I won’t be continuing my role at the firm. I’ve given them my notice.”
Her mother’s face pales. “You’ve what?”
“I’ve put in my notice,” Harriet repeats. “I plan to conclude my role during the last week of January. This wasn’t meant to be a discussion. It was a courtesy. It’s done.”
Donna sets down her silverware so hard, the crystal glasses rattle. “And what will you be doing instead? A retreat to the wilderness, perhaps? A séance to discover your true calling?”
Harriet firms her jaw. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Donna laughs. “Oh, excellent. You don’t have a plan.”
“I’m going to take some time to figure out what I actually want.” She pauses. “I’ll be spending time at the Crow’s Nest, helping out Aunt Matilda in the interim.”
Donna shakes her head. “Of course you are.”
“I have a few calls set up with various opportunities, but I think time is the thing I need most,” Harriet continues, voice clear. Confident. “I’m—I’m happy there. It’s a good place for me while I figure things out.”
Donna holds her daughter’s gaze across the length of the table, expressionless. “What a fine punishment you’ve crafted for me, Harriet. Well done.”
“Punishment?”
“Is that not what this is? You’ve chosen the cruelest blow possible to follow your so-called dreams.”
Harriet blanches. “I’m not— I don’t want to be cruel. This decision is about me. It has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me,” she seethes.
“You went to my sister. The one person who has always made her disappointment in me crystal clear. She hasn’t deigned to speak to me in years, yet she has no trouble speaking to you.
You eat up her placations, content to be perfectly ordinary when I have always pushed you for more.
So, yes. This is about me. This decision is about me.
It is cruel. And selfish. I didn’t think you capable of either of those things, but you have, at long last, finally figured out how to exceed my expectations. Congratulations.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’d like for you to leave.”
Harriet’s face fractures. “What?”