16. Zoe
CHAPTER 16
ZOE
T he restaurant has the uneasy air of an overcrowded aviary, sleekly feathered women and their sharply suited counterparts throwing back their heads in abrupt cries as they peck at arugula and tiny crocks of crème br?lée.
Harper leads me through the midday rush, her confident strides cutting a path through the congested rows of tables. I watch her move and imagine what it would be like to carry my secrets as effortlessly as she carries herself. She angles toward the corner, where Mom and Harper’s mom, Celia, are holding court like two endangered species with their jewel-bright plumage, attracting admiration from the lesser fowl around them.
Mom is serene in her sapphire dress, coolly acknowledging the staff that comes and goes with their hands full of tiny plates. Celia looks ready to be served for lunch, red hair pinned up like a juicy tomato and a flowery scarf draping her shoulders. Next to them, Harper seems youthful, confident, and happier than I’ve seen her in years. Her recent engagement to Silas Fraser probably has something to do with that. She greets the mothers with a warm smile and takes her seat, leaving me to settle into the crossfire.
"We were about to send out a search party, dear. You look positively radiant!" My mother’s words are honeyed but firm, with the sting of a well-aimed barb.
"Sorry I’ve been hard to reach," I say. "The last week was a blur." The knots in my belly grow tighter. “How have you been?”
"Things must have gone well," Mom says, eyeing me like she's guessed my secret, "considering how much you're glowing."
Celia's eyebrows shoot up, a reporter's instinct for sniffing out the scandal buried beneath my layers of misdirection.
"Oh, it was fantastic. Wonderful." I search for another word, then two or three more to deflect the blow. "I got back late last week and I’ve had meetings with clients almost every day." I glance at Harper, hoping she can steer this conversation with the same efficiency that lets her command a room.
But Harper's no help at all. She just sips her water, amused, knowing exactly how trapped I feel. She drums her fingers, keeps quiet, waits for me to break.
"So, what kept you so busy over there?" Mom’s gaze is a direct hit. It glances off me like a rubber bullet, bruising me with its calm accuracy.
"One client referred another and it felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day. And then the usual tourist stuff," I manage. "So much to see!"
“New clients?" Celia asks.
"Yes. There were several French-owned businesses looking to launch in New York that were excited to do business with us." I'm aware of how quick I sound, how frayed my voice is at the edges. “We’re going to be so busy, Harper may need to expand her staff. Busy, busy, busy!"
Harper is almost laughing. She sees it, I know she sees it—the thin ice, the hot water, the walls closing in.
I keep talking, spilling words like they’re the only things keeping me afloat. "It's just overwhelming how much there is to do. I barely slept. Did you know the Mona Lisa is at the Louvre?” It's no use—they're all looking at me like I'm the daily special, fresh meat ready to be cooked.
I shove a piece of bread into my mouth. There's a possibility I can chew my way out of this.
Harper sets down her glass and turns her laser focus on me, finally pulling the trigger. "You were with them all week, weren't you? The Beckers?"
Silence implodes like a bomb. There are casualties everywhere.
"They're clients, aren't they?" I fire back, trying to keep the chaos in one piece. "You were the one who wanted me to go after the contract!" I know she’s trying to help me pull the trigger, but I’m having second thoughts and fear this may not be the greatest plan after all.
Harper nods, like I’m a student who’s half paying attention. "True. But aren’t they more than just clients?" Her words are casual, the polished finish of someone who expected this twist all along. I guess I have to expect it, too, now that I've lived it and said it out loud and Harper has called me out.
Celia gasps and covers her mouth, but I see her eyes dancing behind her fingers.
Mom adjusts the sapphire scarf around her neck, hardly missing a beat. "Goodness, Zoe. What are you saying?”
“Technically, I’m not saying anything.” It’s a poor attempt to save my skin but no one buys it.
“Just spill the rest of the tea, Zoe. She’ll find out sooner or later.” Harper shakes her head and waves her hand, pressuring me to cough it up.
“Fine!” I take a deep breath and dab my mouth with my napkin, for no other reason than to buy myself a few more seconds. “Mother, I have entered into a relationship with two men. It may be strange to someone like you, but we’re in love and it works for us. I’m currently in the process of moving in with them. I’ll forward my new address to you as soon as I’m settled.” I exhale loudly and recline in my chair, thankful I’ve finally gotten it off my chest.
"Now I see why the brothers keep sending more clients our way. I think you need a raise for going above and beyond the call of duty." Harper is all jokes now.
She sits back and surveys the rest of the table, waiting to see how the collateral will fall. Celia's hand drops from her face. Her mouth opens again, and a whole flock of questions comes rushing out.
"How does that even work, honey? Are they—" Celia looks both scandalized and thrilled. Her voice is a high note, her eyes wide and face flushed."
I’m bare-handed and breathless, feeling exposed and wishing the table would swallow me whole. "It’s not what you think," I say, and they all lean in, elbows on the table, the weight of their curiosity making it tilt dangerously in my direction. "It's complicated," I add, the simplest explanation of all.
"Is it serious?" Celia wants to know, and I don't think I can answer that. I don't think I have to, because Mom leans forward, raising her fork with the precision of a matador with a sword.
“I guess you’re more like me than I expected,” my mother chimes in while she butters a roll. “It was the same for me in college. I had a similar relationship with three men during college." Her words are poised to strike like a cobra, and I flinch when they hit me. Three men? Excuse me?
Celia is delighted and Harper is on the edge of her seat, eyes round, jaw almost unhinged. Mom deposits the roll on her plate and the background chatter drops to a dull hum as I recoil in shock.
"You did not just say that," I breathe.
But she did, and she shows no sign of taking it back. "It was lovely while it lasted," she says, as if this can be neatly pinned to her timeline like an old theater ticket. "It's not the life I'd choose for you, of course," the faintest whisper of reproach brushes against her tone, "but I see why you might want to explore your options."
Explore my options? She says it like she's offering a brochure for the vacation homes.
"You can't be serious," I say. "Did my father know?"
Mom nods with smooth elegance. "He did. He was one of those men. But that’s not why he left. I’m convinced I chose the wrong one to marry.”
"Well." Celia finds her voice. "I certainly didn't see this coming."
"Why am I always the last to know?" Harper laughs, completely unburdened by the lunacy of it all. "I thought your bombshell was the secret," she says, turning to me with teasing admiration. Her eyes say they know me better than I know myself.
My face is burning, and I feel like I'm a twenty-three-year-old baby in a very public incubator. "I can't believe you how casual you’re being about all of this," I say, barely audible over the racket of our fellow diners. My neck is on fire, and I try to stamp it out by dumping more water down my throat. It doesn't work. It just makes my sputtering worse.
"At least I can hope to be a grandmother sooner than expected." My mother smiles as she takes a sip of tea, finding something positive about her daughter’s fall from grace.
Harper jumps into the discussion before I can answer. "Which one do you like best?" she asks, like it's the simplest thing in the world. She's relaxed and ready for this, like I’m a main event she planned months ago.
"Grandchildren? Are you having children soon?" Celia exclaims excitedly, clapping her hands and tapping her heels on the hardwood floor. “Let’s hope you inspire Harper to start working on it soon.”
My hands shake as I run my fingers through my hair. I feel the familiar flutter of panic and can't stand another minute of this. “I’m not having children. I don't want kids," I blurt, throwing the grenade into the center of the table. It's the only weapon I've got.
The impact leaves a crater in the conversation. Mom's fork stops halfway to her mouth. Harper sits frozen with her glass in her hand, lips parted. Celia gasps loud enough to reach the other side of the room. I'm dizzy with the release of saying it. Dizzy and regretful and desperate to cram it back inside of me before it can expand and fill all the space.
It's too late. Mom takes a moment to aim her next words, making sure the shrapnel hits me dead center. "You can't mean that," she says, going in for the kill, driving her last words deep. "Of course you want children! You won't be happy without them."
The pause is heavy, hanging thick and full like the truffled omelet at the next table. This is a bombshell. This is not what I expected to be the bombshell. Harper is uncharacteristically quiet, and I don't dare to look at her. I don't dare to look at anyone.
“Why is my dislike of children more controversial than living with two men?” I pound my hand on the table and attempt to silence the conversation with a stern glare.
“Because you're far too young to know what you want." Mom is relentless and always needs to get the last word. “Besides, that's a lot of sperm to just let go to waste.”
My jaw drops and my eyes widen as I turn to look at Harper, who looks as stunned as me. I expect words of comfort or maybe even reason, but that’s not what I get.
“Well, she’s right. That’s a lot of sperm dressed up with nowhere to go.”
Unbelievable.