19. Bea
19
BEA
W hen I check my phone after my shift, my grandfather has called me eight times. The last time he bothered trying to reach me that much, my mom had coded and been dead for four and a half minutes. Mom’s supposed to be clean, so this should be interesting.
A feeling of dread claws its way into my stomach as I call him back.
“Hello?” He doesn’t sound upset, so hopefully Mom’s fine.
“I was at work,” I say. “I can’t chat while I’m at work, and I work Tuesday through Saturday every week, like I have for the last five years.”
“I’ve emailed you some talking points,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Surely you heard the news,” he says.
“About?”
“I’m running for the empty Senate seat.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure how the Senate is really very different than being governor. “Is that a demotion? Did you do something wrong? ”
“Beatrice Emmeline Cipriani, please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m guessing that’s not covered in the talking points.”
“The kind of publicity this will generate—a governor stepping down from a well-run state to step into the fray and protect citizens where they need it most—will help me.”
“Help you with what? Are you in trouble?”
His sigh weighs fifty pounds. “Help in my bid for the presidency.”
This is literally a scene from one of my nightmares. “Oh, goodie.”
“With the wedding coming up this weekend, I want to make sure our message is coordinated.”
“Our message?” I can’t help laughing. “ We do not have a message. I have no message. I’m confused about why you might think we did.”
“I need you to read the talking points, and if you could have Bentley seat us together, I can do all the talking for both of us. That would make things much easier all around.”
“Grandma can’t make it?” I ask.
“Your grandmother will be there,” he says, “obviously.”
“Then why would you want to sit by me?”
“Since you won’t have a plus one?—”
“Grandpa, Easton’s coming as my plus one.”
“He hasn’t spoken to you yet?”
A pit opens up in my stomach. “Spoken to me?”
“You will have to break up,” he says. “You set that in motion yourself. One thing Ciprianis can never be accused of is wishy-washiness. You made a clear point about the brand Easton Moorland runs, and it was a good one. It resonated.”
“That was an offhand comment at a party,” I say. “I didn’t mean?—”
“It was perfectly timed and exactly on message. For once in my life, one of my family members was pulling their weight. I spoke to the young man today, and he understood, probably better than you seem to, so it would be great if you could have Bentley seat us together.”
“Until I hear from Easton himself that he’s not going, I will not be doing that. In fact, especially if he’s not going, I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”
“Why?”
“Do you even hear yourself? When’s the last time you heard that I was dating someone?”
“Beatrice,” he says.
“No.” I park on the side of the road. I’m too upset to be driving. “No, you don’t get to tell my boyfriend to break up with me. And you don’t get to make me part of your checklist of managed assets, either. I’m not even related to you. Seren and Dave are my parents, and I’m done ignoring that.”
“Not related?—”
“Yes, not related. My real grandfather wouldn’t have ever surrendered me back to Mom, but I’m glad you did, because staying at your stupid mansion was even worse than being ignored by her.”
After I hang up, it takes me at least five minutes of sobbing to calm down enough to drive. And then, of course, I have a mild panic attack. In my entire life, I’ve never really stood up to Grandfather. Not when push comes to shove. I’ve always backed down.
Mom calls me five minutes later .
Her dad’s clearly yanking her leash. He’s probably threatening to stop paying for her posh rehab center if she can’t get me in line.
Good luck, Mom.
I delete her voicemail too, for good measure.
But then it occurs to me to wonder why Grandfather would be so sure that Easton would dump me. He should be worried that Easton might be crazy about me. He should be nervous that his plan to break us up will fail.
Unless. . . Could he have threatened him? Or his business?
ARE YOU AWAKE?
It’s after midnight and Easton has a real, respectable job. He should be asleep, and I should not be bothering him right now. But by the time I wake up, he’ll probably already be at work. Ugh.
INSOMNIAC.
That makes me smile. Not because I’m happy he’s an insomniac, but because he could send one word as a reply, and I know he’s telling me it’s fine to ding him. MY GRANDFATHER CALLED ME AND IT WAS A WEIRD CALL. That’s actually a redundant thing for me to say, but he probably doesn’t know yet that a call from my grandfather is always strange or bad or both.
AND?
DID HE TALK TO YOU TODAY, BY CHANCE? Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
I CALLED HIM. I HAD A SUSPICION, AND IT WAS CONFIRMED.
He’s been pushing that stupid video, because people are rallying behind it for some reason. I should have thought of that. I know him well enough to have realized that already. I’M SORRY .
In that moment, I’m so sorry that I feel it in my toes. My nose. My eyes. My entire body is just throbbing with misery. What do I bring to the table? Other than being cute in a very girl-next-door-who-is-not-at-all-glamourous way?
Nothing.
I’m a waitress.
My grandfather’s a disaster.
My mom’s even worse.
My foster brother-roommate is a rabid dog.
I honestly can’t think of any reason why Easton even likes me, much less a reason why he should put up with all the trash that has been hailed down on him since we met. I THINK WE SHOULD brEAK UP.
I’M COMING OVER.
NO, DON’T.
He calls.
My finger hovers over the talk button for a second. Then another, but before it can go to voicemail, I swipe to answer. “I’m not trying to be melodramatic.”
“It feels like you are,” Easton says. “Because there’s no way we’re going to break up because your politician grandfather is a megalomaniac. All politicians are like that, and it’s hardly your fault.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He threatened to make things hard for my company if I didn’t dump you,” Easton says.
I want to cry. Not a lovely, sophisticated cry like Octavia earlier. No, I want to wad my fists up and press them against my eyes and cry long, and terrible, and ugly. “That’s why you should dump me,” I manage to say. “Exactly that. It’s too much. I’m like the taco you’re not sure if you want, and then it gives you food poisoning and you really, really regret eating it in the first place. ”
Easton laughs.
He laughs.
“I love tacos. I’ve never once regretted eating a taco. Not ever.”
I find myself laughing too, even though I don’t think any of this is funny. “Easton, you’re not listening to me.”
“Oh, I am listening. You’re not listening to me .”
“You haven’t said anything.”
“I don’t mean right now. I mean to everything I’ve said since we met. The only reason you’d liken yourself to a taco you think I don’t even want is if you weren’t listening . You are the first and only girl I’ve ever really wanted. You’re kind, funny, brilliant, and unbelievably talented. As I sat in the audience at that jingle thing, I remember thinking mine , not once, but several times. Every time you spoke, played, or sang.” He grunts. “You’re impressive anywhere you’re put, with anything you do, and in everything you say. Even now, your first inclination when your grandfather tries to take a dump on you is to try and keep me safe from it. But his crap isn’t your fault. It’s his.”
“But it’s really not your fault, and it’ll become yours,” I say. “That’s the problem. I’m not worth the misery.”
“ Au contraire ,” he says. “You are nothing but joy to me, and if misery tags along, you’re still worth it. Do you know what I did today?”
“No.”
“My parents have been sponging off me as long as I’ve been alive. First, they stole from the trust fund my grandparents gave me. Then they borrowed from my college fund—not one they had created in the first place. And then, once I started making money, they took every dime of it they could. ”
“Emerson hasn’t been overly impressed with them either,” I confess.
“And he doesn’t know the half of it, believe me. But I’ve enabled them all along, and thanks to you, I realized that was the wrong move. Today, I cut them off.”
“Whoa,” I say. “I’m not sure how that’s my fault, but I certainly didn’t?—”
“Oh, I’m not blaming you. I’m crediting you. You told me it was enabling. You said that you had to stop doing it with your mom, and at first I got mad. My parents aren’t junkies. But I realized that they’re even worse, in their own way. Elizabeth has told me for years not to help them, but you were the first person who really told me that I’d be helping them by cutting them off.”
“That’s not?—”
“Bea, you have made my life better in every way.”
“But now my grandfather is trying to wreck it, and if you just?—”
“Don’t say break up with me.”
“But if you?—”
“La la la la la.”
“What are you doing?”
“If it sounds like you’re going to suggest we break up again, I’m going to sing.”
“That wasn’t even a real song.”
“I never claimed to be musical,” he says. “In fact, if I recall correctly, I told you that I sound like Sebastian the Crab in the Little Mermaid .”
He has me chuckling. “Actually, Sebastian could sing. You said you sounded like Scuttle.”
“Wait, who’s Scuttle?”
“The seagull. ”
“Oh, right, that’s the one.”
Which he knew. He said it was the seagull himself, so he’s just trying to distract me from the point. “Easton.”
“Bea, I don’t know how else to say this. That’s a no to breaking up—a firm no,” he says. “I have a plan, and my plan will work. So just trust in the plan.”
“This is a plan for us to survive my grandfather the governor who wants to break us up?”
“Yes. And listen, if your resolve starts to crumble, I have a suggestion. My sister Elizabeth has gotten super into K-dramas, and she was just telling me how in a lot of them, the parents try to break up the couple, but they don’t succeed.”
“Easton.”
“I know one of them was called Boys over Flowers , and I think another one was Secret Garden, or maybe it was called Heirs . Or that could be a whole different one. But I can have her text you a list if you need some inspiration.”
“Easton.”
“I love hearing you say my name, but maybe in the future, don’t use that weird, kind of motherly tone?”
“Well, our breakup didn’t go as I expected.”
“Stop saying that word,” he says. “In fact, I forbid you to use it at all from now on.”
“What if my socks get stuck together and I need to break them up?”
“You can say that you need to pull them apart.”
“Alright,” I say. “What if I need to break up a fight?”
“You need to get the idiots to cool down,” he says. “I could do this all day.”
“You’re a real wordsmith.”
“How’s this one?” he says. “I didn’t want to say it over the phone, but since you’re going to see me next at the office, I figure it’s better tonight than tomorrow.”
“Wait, why will I see you at the office?”
“Aren’t you coming in with your bridesmaid’s dress tomorrow?”
I’d forgotten that he would be my wedding date—in my brain, that was off. “My grandfather will be at the wedding,” I say. “I’m not sure whether it’s a great plan to egg him on. Maybe we lie low for a bit, not breaking up, but not flaunting it, and then?—”
“I can’t wait to see him. Did you know that he might be a senator soon?”
“I’ve heard,” I say. “Yes.”
“Well, I think it’s great. And I’m delighted to see him again on Sunday.”
“Are you?” He must be deranged. Or he’s kidding.
“Honestly, I love you so much, I don’t care who else is there as long as you are.”
I nearly drop the phone. “You—that’s what you didn’t want to say at work tomorrow?”
“I told your grandfather that I adored you, and it felt wrong. I mean, I do adore you, but I felt like it just wasn’t enough. I needed a stronger word, and that’s when I realized why adore wasn’t the right word. I’ve never told any woman, other than my mom and my sister, that I love them. Until right now.” He pauses.
I have no idea what to say.
Clearly he’s not similarly afflicted. “Beatrice Cipriani, I love you.”
I should say it back. I know that. It’s the etiquette, but I can’t help thinking that he might be making a mistake. We really should be breaking up, not professing our love. And if he realizes, soon probably, that the price of dating me is too high. . .it’ll hurt more if I’ve admitted that I love him.
So I just say, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Easton.”
“That you will.”
And then I hang up.