11. Expectations
Chapter eleven
Expectations
“G et rid of this one,” my dad said.
Without looking away from my closet, he held out a ruched black Amoren Viole mini-dress that still had the tags on it.
“Dad, no,” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging as Kimberlee reluctantly took it from him. “I wouldn’t wear that to an event. It’s for going out to the bars and stuff.”
“This is brand new, Max,” Kimberlee said softly.
“An unfortunate waste of money, then,” he said, examining another dress in my closet.
I’d expected my dad’s anger. I’d expected consequences. I’d even insisted that Sydney not cancel her plans with Olivier to come back to my dad’s house so she wasn’t around when he got home.
Partly because I didn’t want her to give up her night with Olivier. But mostly because I didn’t want her around when my dad lost his shit on me. Because that’s what I thought would happen.
I hadn’t expected to hear my dad and Kimberlee return from the benefit an hour after I did and go straight to bed without saying anything to me.
And I definitely hadn’t expected him to be collected and calm in the most terrifying of ways over breakfast that morning, not addressing the situation at all before casually stating he would be going through my closet when we finished eating.
“This is excessive,” I said as my dad held up a floral maxi-dress for examination.
“It is not,” my dad replied, putting the dress back in the closet. “I would like to make sure you have an acceptable outfit to wear.”
“I have plenty of—”
“Acceptable , Eleanor.” A short black-and-pink dress was held out to Kimberlee without comment.
“And that requires you to get rid of half my clothes, of course,” I said. My voice didn’t shake, but only because it was so dry it might have broken. “That makes perfect sense when the thing you’re mad about didn’t even have to do with my clothes.”
“Not this time.” He took another dress with a plunging neckline from the closet. “But it has become a priority to mitigate the risks associated with trusting that you will not embarrass yourself at these events.”
“I told you, I thought it was the best choice given the situation,” I said.
He didn’t reply, just removed a black babydoll mini-dress from the closet.
“You said I had to have a date. I thought it would be better to bring anyone than it would be to show up alone.”
The babydoll dress went on the pile next to Kimberlee, followed by my backless Givenchy dress I’d worn to La Nuit Rose a few months earlier.
“Almost everyone we talked to thought it was charming.”
A pink dress with a tulle skirt that I’d bought for the Diamond Gala three years earlier joined the pile.
“Like, I know now. I won’t do it again. And if you want me to apologize, I already said—”
I cut myself off as he picked up my red bikini from the shelf with all my swimsuits on it, passing it to Kimberlee.
“Dad, please,” I said.
He handed her the spare pink bikini I always left here.
“I said I was sorry.”
A fistful of colourful fabric. I didn’t even know what was in it.
Silently, I watched as he went through the dresses hanging on the other rack. He handed two more things to Kimberlee, then wordlessly considered the remaining options before turning away from my decimated closet.
“Order something for Eleanor to wear to the gala,” he said to Kimberlee. “Nothing black. She has plenty of that already.”
“ Had plenty of that,” I whispered, looking at the neat stack of clothes Kimberlee had put on my bed. A moment later, the black volleyball team hoodie I’d had since high school joined it. My nose stung as I stared at my favourite sweater in silence.
“Black is a classic colour, Max,” Kimberlee said. “And many of the dresses here would be more than appropriate—”
“It would be nice to have her not appear to be in mourning for once,” he said, cutting her off. “Although perhaps we should save one for her to wear for the next time one of her debacles nearly costs me one of my biggest investors.”
“How did this almost cost you an investor?” I asked, though I was still staring at the pile of clothes.
“I am certain my daughter is smart enough to understand she was humiliating someone by bringing a farce of a date instead of reaching out to him,” he said, his calmness finally marred, but by condescension instead of the anger I’d thought would be there.
I sighed. “Okay, but—”
“But if that wasn’t enough, you also rebuffed his attempt to show there were no hard feelings by being the bigger person and introducing himself to your date. In fact, Mr. Thibault said you made a point of insulting him in front of a group of other attendees.”
I stared at him, partially in disbelief. “Clinton told you that?”
“He did. While I was speaking with his father, no less.”
“So he tattled on me,” I said. “Clinton Thibault tattled on me to my dad because I don’t want to date him.”
“Clinton expressed his disappointment in your actions,” he corrected. “And again, I am certain that my daughter would understand that puts my reputation with the Thibaults on the line.”
He was bluffing. He had to be. “I don’t think they’d stop working with you over something like this.”
"They won’t,” he said. “Not this time.”
“So it’ll all be fine.”
“It will,” he said.
“Okay, so—”
“After you attend the Diamond Gala with Clinton.”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” he responded patiently. “And even though I apologized on your behalf when I informed Clinton you would attend with him—”
“You didn’t ,” I said, bitter and bile-like panic rising up my throat. “Dad, please. Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I did,” he said. “And—”
“No. I can’t. I can’t go—”
“Stop interrupting, Eleanor.” Each word was clipped, the only hint at the anger I’d been expecting the whole time. I fell silent, even though there was something screaming in the base of my chest. “You will attend the Diamond Gala with Clinton and you will call him to apologize yourself.”
“No,” I said. “No fucking way.”
“Language,” he said, his voice almost mild. Everything from his tone to his stance spoke composure, the placid expression on his face stoking the rage boiling in my stomach. “And yes. You will. You insulted Clinton and his family. I then had to spend my evening mitigating the offense you caused so I did not lose one of my current clients, meaning I was not able to connect with the person attending from the Martelle group. And considering taking a step towards gaining a massive account was the entire point of the event—”
“I thought the point was to support music and arts programs for at-risk youth,” I said.
He looked at me, unimpressed. “You do not get to pull the garbage you did last night and not face any consequences.”
“Consequences? You threw out half my clothes!” I said, trying not shriek. “And on top of that, you want me to go to another event with this absolute fucking pig—”
“Language,” he said again.
“He is!” I made a noise that was almost a laugh. “He doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. I wasn’t even there with him last night and he was being creepy. I don’t understand why you’re so set on me and Clinton going to things together when I keep saying I don’t want to!”
“You may not like Clinton, but I have been asking, as a favour, that you be civil with him,” my dad said. “I have not stepped in or asked you to attend any other event with him so long as you have another date. But when you personally insult the son of one of my biggest investors and potentially cost me the business of another prospective investor, what would you expect me to do?”
I wanted to say a lot of things there.
Like “I’d expect you to stand up for me.”
Or “I’d expect you to understand why I’m uncomfortable with him.”
Maybe even “I’d expect you to be horrified at the prospect of me having to be alone with someone who could realistically hurt me” or “I’d expect you to at least pretend that his dad’s money is less important than me,” if I was feeling spicy.
But since all those words wanted to come out, none of them did.
And since I couldn’t tell my dad what I expected him to do, he assumed that meant I didn’t know.
“You see,” he said, holding his hand out as if the lesson was sitting in his palm for me to look at. “We are aware that Clinton would like to know you better. Which means we know the solution to the issue you’ve created is for you to attend the event with him.”
“You realize how fucked up it is that he’s insisting on this, right?” I asked.
“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in life, Nellie,” my dad said. “And if this is one of those things, so be it.”
“Like making me choose a restaurant because it’s what your precious girlfriend wanted even though you know the last time I did that, you and Mom got divorced?”
My room must have been a vacuum because I didn’t say the words so much as they were pulled out of me, and once they were, they filled the space around us. My dad wasn’t looking at me, but I could see Kimberlee turned towards me, her mouth half-open.
“You know that was not what happened,” my dad said, his voice even. “Regardless, the misconceptions of a child are not relevant. You are not throwing that into the conversation to avoid the consequences of your actions.”
The air left behind after he spoke was heavy.
Really fucking heavy.
And somehow, Kimberlee was the first one strong enough to lift it.
“Max,” she said. “There must be another—”
“There is not another way.” My dad’s tone was clipped. “Nellie will be going to the Diamond Gala with Clinton.”
“And what if I already had another date?” I asked.
“You don’t,” my dad said.
“I do, though,” I said, my heart beating so fast it was almost vibrating. “I… I knew you’d be mad. About this. So when… when one of the people I asked said he wasn’t available last night, he offered to come with me to the Diamond Gala. So I said yes and—”
“Who,” my dad said. It was probably a question, but he said it tonelessly.
“What?” I asked.
“Tell me, exactly, who you are attending the Diamond Gala with who was not available last night, who you are just bringing up now, and who I am going to grant my approval to? Because we are talking about the Thibaults and I am not about to risk offending them further, nor am I going to risk the opportunity to connect with the Martelle group again.” He set an icy gaze on me. “Who would that be, Nellie?”
Afterwards, I told myself I’d been desperate and panicked at the prospect of having to see Clinton, so blurted out the first name I thought of. I told myself that even at that moment, I picked him because I knew it was the one and only name my dad would even consider.
And he did.
He blinked at me, almost like he was surprised, then glanced at Kimberlee with his eyebrows raised. She didn’t return his amused look, her face scarily blank and unreadable. My stomach tightened, preparing itself for the gut punch of him laughing in my face for even suggesting there was a way to get out of going to this with Clinton.
“Alright,” my dad said.
Holy fuck.
“I will tell the Thibaults you express your apologies but unfortunately already committed to the Diamond Gala with someone else.”
My stomach relaxed. “Thank—”
“There are conditions.”
Of course there were. “What conditions?”
“You will still apologize to Clinton personally,” he said.
Shitty, but expected. “Okay.”
“Kimberlee will select an appropriate dress for you.”
Whatever. “Sounds good.”
“You will come to Montreal two days earlier so I can ensure you are adequately prepared for the gala. And you will come alone . No friends joining you.”
Definitely shitty, but still doable. “Alright.”
“And Eleanor? I want no further surprises. I do not know if you do it because you are rebelling or simply bored, but you will control your instinct to do anything and everything to make things difficult. Do not show up in a different dress than the one Kimberlee selects. Do not modify the dress. Do not dye your hair, decide you need to pierce your nose, or get some horrid tattoo across your chest. Do not inadvertently insult the Martelles. And do not, under any circumstances, show up with any date other than the one I’ve approved unless that date is Clinton Thibault. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Because if you are lying about who will be escorting you, Eleanor, I expect you will need to find a new, less expensive place to live for your last year of school.”
Rage saturated every part of my body, head to toe, in a sudden crashing wave that washed away any control I had as he turned and walked towards my bedroom door. “You can’t keep holding that over my head!”
“Watch me,” he said.
“Max!”
I was almost shocked to hear Kimberlee’s voice again, but I was too focused on the spot my dad had been standing to care. My fingernails dug into my palm, my fists clenched as tightly as my jaw was. For a blissful minute, there was no sound, so all I had to do was focus on not letting the rage-filled tears that had washed up into my eyes spill over.
And then she had to speak.
“Nellie—” Kimberlee said.
“Regret it yet?”
I almost didn’t recognize my voice. Bitterness had warped it, made it low and raspy and cold in a way so reminiscent of my dad that I wanted to puke.
Kimberlee sighed. “He is being unreasonable.”
I almost laughed. “You fucking think so, Kim?”
She didn’t call me out for shortening her name. “I will speak with him for you.”
“I don’t need you to do anything for me.”
“Trust me, Eleanor”—oh, she wasn’t calling me out. Just being snarky—“it is not just for you.”
I didn’t know what that meant, nor did I have the capacity to care at that moment, so I didn’t respond.
“What colour would you like your dress to be for the Diamond Gala?” she asked.
“Black,” I said.
“And if not black, what colour would you like it to be?”
“I don’t care.”
“Nellie—”
“Puce,” I said. “Mauve. Magenta. Baby shit green. I don’t fucking care.”
She sighed. I waited for her to finally leave, but instead, she walked over and put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“I am sorry,” she said, her voice quiet. “For yesterday morning. I did not know. And I am sorry for… for all of this today.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. She wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. She wasn’t supposed to be on my side. She was supposed to be shallow and conniving and call me a spoiled brat who deserved to be cut off.
Instead, I stood there, refusing to look at her as she walked over to my bed to collect the pile of clothes before leaving the room.
It wasn’t until I went to sit down after she closed the door that I realized the black Amoren Viole dress, my red and pink bikinis, and my volleyball hoodie were all still sitting there, neatly folded.