21. Moon
21
MOON
D inner at Fanny and Blanton’s had felt like stepping into another world. The soft hues of dusk settled over the porch as we gathered with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres—a chilled bourbon peach smash garnished with a sprig of mint and delicate pimento cheese tartlets topped with a hint of sweet pepper jelly. Dinner itself was an elegant southern spread: herb-crusted pork tenderloin, blackened shrimp over creamy grits, and roasted vegetables with a honey glaze. And the easy banter between Conrad, Hendrix, Holden, and their parents—it all carried a sense of familiarity and belonging that wasn’t mine. But for a night, I let myself pretend it was.
Fanny had been exactly as I imagined: elegant, warm, and endlessly charming. Her chestnut bob framed her face, with streaks of silver lending her an air of timeless sophistication. She was dressed in a cream linen blouse and flowing pants that suited the Lowcountry heat, her pearl earrings catching the light every time she turned her head. “Moon,” she said, pulling me into a hug before I could even process the moment. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.” Her gaze traveled over me, her smile soft but appraising. “I love your style—just the right amount of artsy and edgy. Your earrings and necklace; did you get them from a local artisan?”
I touched the large custom pendant around my neck. It had amethyst, rose quartz, tanzanite, and aquamarine, each stone embedded in raw silver, hanging from a delicate box chain that rested just below my collarbone. I had on my matching chunky silver earrings, each with a different stone.
“My mom’s an artist—she works with silver and stones. She made these for me.”
“I love that you carry her work with you. It suits you perfectly,” Fanny said, her tone light but full of sincerity.
Her kindness disarmed me. It was rare for me to feel nervous, but something about the evening—the pressure of meeting Blanton and Fanny, the weight of how much their approval mattered to the boys—had me unsteady. But Fanny’s warmth cut through my nerves, and soon I found myself seated at their dining room table, laughing at Hendrix’s dry quips and Holden’s quieter, thoughtful remarks.
At one point, after a round of banter about Blanton’s bourbon rickeys, Fanny leaned toward me, her voice soft enough to keep the conversation just between us. “So,” she said, her gaze curious, “how did you end up here? The boys said you’re from Asheville, right?”
I smiled, feeling the familiar tug of homesickness at her question. “I came for the theatre program at CSAL,” I said. “Musical theatre, specifically. But honestly? I just needed a change. I love Asheville, but Charleston…it’s given me space to grow.”
Fanny’s hand settled lightly on mine. “I can see that,” she said, her smile widening. “Hendrix mentioned you were wonderful in Cabaret . I love attending plays; it would be a treat to see you perform someday.”
Her words warmed something deep inside me. “I’d love that,” I said, my voice more vulnerable than I intended. “I don’t get to see my parents often, so having people around to support me—it means a lot.”
Fanny’s expression turned thoughtful. “It’s hard, being away from family,” she said. “But you seem to have found something special here. The boys clearly adore you.”
Her words carried weight, and I couldn’t help but glance across the table at them. Hendrix, making Blanton laugh with one of his ridiculous observations. Holden, quieter, but his eyes always drifting back to Fanny, his softness unmistakable in her presence. And Conrad—steady, enigmatic, but grounded in knowing this was his family too, not by blood but by something deeper, something chosen.
“I feel lucky,” I admitted, my gaze flicking back to Fanny. “They’ve made Charleston feel like home in a short span of time.”
We talked through the evening—about the boys, art, and family. “What was Holden like growing up?” I asked at one point.
Fanny paused, her smile faltering slightly as she considered the question. “When he was little, he was all curiosity and joy,” she said. “Always asking questions, always reading. But after James passed, and his dad left…he became more solitary. The books stayed, but the joy didn’t come as easily. He’s carried a lot, but he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.”
Her honesty left me momentarily speechless. “Has he brought girls home before?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
She smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just one, back in high school. But Hendrix…” She laughed, shaking her head. “Well, when I met him at sixteen, it was a revolving door of girls—and maybe a boy or two. None of them ever stuck around long though. It all seemed like casual fun.”
I chuckled, glancing at Hendrix, who raised a brow at me, clearly aware we were talking about him.
“And Conrad?” I asked, lowering my voice slightly.
Fanny’s expression softened. “Conrad’s harder to pin down,” she said. “He keeps so much of himself private. But he’s always been thoughtful—he sees things most people don’t.”
Later, as dinner wrapped up, Fanny caught my eye, her smile warm. “It’s lovely having another girl around in the midst of all this testosterone,” she said with a laugh. “You bring something special to them—I can see it.”
Throughout the evening, I found myself stealing moments to take it all in: the way Hendrix’s teasing seemed to light up the room, the way Blanton leaned into conversations with a steady, anchoring presence, the way Fanny’s laughter smoothed over any tension. I wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to truly belong here, to be part of this family—not just as a visitor, but as something permanent.
Flushed from the drinks and spirited conversation, I felt both within and without—immersed in the beauty of the scene yet quietly observing it: the soft glow of candlelight playing off crystal glasses, the elegant floral arrangements adorning the table, and the warm laughter weaving through the air, wrapping me in the intimate charm of the evening.
Holden leaned over, his voice low, meant only for me. “Want to see the rest of the house?”
I glanced at him, a smile tugging at my lips. “Are you offering me the grand tour, Heathcliff?”
“Something like that,” he said, standing and reaching for my hand.
Fanny caught the movement and arched a brow, her lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d say no funny business,” she teased, “but I think we’re past that pretense.”
“Very funny,” Holden deadpanned, though the faint flush in his cheeks gave him away.
“Just don’t disappear too long,” Fanny added with a wink.
Holden’s hand tightened around mine as he led me inside and up the grand staircase. The hallway upstairs was wide and airy, the polished wood floors creaking softly beneath our steps. Family photos lined the walls, and the subtle scent of lavender drifted from a vase of dried flowers on a side table.
“This is my room,” Holden said, pushing open a door.
The space was neat and understated, much like him. The bed was made, the navy comforter pulled tight, and the walls were lined with built-in bookshelves, mostly empty now, save for a few stray paperbacks and trophies from high school swim team. A vintage On the Road poster hung on one wall, the bold typography and faded colors giving the room a quiet edge. An old leather satchel sat on the floor beside the desk, and a single mug with “CSAL Literary Society” stamped on the side rested near the window.
Holden glanced around, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Not much left. Most of my stuff’s at Granny Goodloe’s.”
I nodded, taking in the sparse but comfortable space, imagining what it might have looked like before he left.
“Hendrix’s room is just across the hall,” he said softly.
I turned to him, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. “So…did you two ever sneak into each other’s rooms at night?”
Holden’s eyes widened briefly before a laugh escaped him, low and genuine. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not really other than one awkward run-in. But I thought about it,” he admitted.
“Of course you did,” I teased, stepping closer.
His expression softened as his gaze met mine, the laughter fading into something deeper. Without a word, his hand found my waist, pulling me closer, and his lips met mine. The kiss was slow and passionate, full of heat but layered with something quieter, more vulnerable. His other hand tangled in my hair, holding me to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven. “This place,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, “it feels more like home with you in it.”
My heart ached at the raw honesty in his words. I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing against the faint stubble along his jaw. “Holden…” I started, but the words caught in my throat, too tangled with emotion to escape. Instead, I kissed him again, slow and tender, hoping he’d feel everything I couldn’t put into words.
After a moment, he pulled back, his hand sliding down my arm to twine our fingers together. “Come on,” he said softly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Let’s get back before Fanny sends a search party.”
We descended the stairs hand in hand, rejoining the others for an after-dinner drink. But something had shifted—between us, within me. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t just visiting their world. I belonged.
Blanton’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as we rejoined the group. “A great piece of art doesn’t just make you feel something,” he spoke with a thoughtful lilt. “It changes the way you see yourself.”
I nodded, his words settling deep in my chest. “And sometimes,” I said, my voice soft but steady, “it reveals what’s been hidden all along—things you didn’t realize you were meant to see.”
The boys caught my eye at that, their gazes lingering just a moment too long, as if they understood exactly what I meant.
Even hours later, as I replayed the evening in my head, the warmth of Fanny’s smile and Blanton’s insight stayed with me. For a night, I’d felt like I belonged to something bigger than myself, something rare and beautiful. And I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have that always.