Chapter 37
EVIE
“Honey, I’m home!” I call ironically, kicking the door closed with the sole of my sneaker. I slide my purse from my shoulder and drop Bo’s leash when I freeze at the high-spirited echo I was not expecting.
“Honey, we’re here! How cute,” I hear next, pitched lower for her audience. “I just love how darling you both are.”
What in the actual fish cakes ... My mom is here? I guess it figures that she’s already decided Oliver is the man of my dreams. She wouldn’t even come to my wedding—she hasn’t even seen us together, not that any of that would matter to her! Like attracts like, she would say.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I try not to sound accusing as I find her, my stepfather, and Oliver cozied up on the couches.
“There’s my girl!” She rounds the coffee table, her arms outstretched, though not for a real hug. Hers are more of a let’s-not-let-our-bodies-touch gesture, accompanied by a superficial peck on the cheek. On this occasion, there’s also a high-pitched squeak. “Oh, there’s a doggy here too.”
“This is Bo,” I say, redirecting his nose from her tasteful cream pants. “He’s kind of friendly.”
“Some might say a little too friendly,” Muffy murmurs as she edges away. I can feel her eyes running over me as I settle Bo by the chair, pulling an emergency distraction chew from my jacket pocket.
“You look well.” Well is a pass in her book. Hell, it’s almost a compliment. “Have you been to the gym?”
Do I look like I need to? No, I decide. That wasn’t a jibe. This time.
“No, I was at work. I stopped off for a coffee with a friend on the way back.” She glances at Bo as though she’s not convinced. “When you’re a vet, bring-your-dog-to-work day can be every day.” And when you don’t want to keep annoying the chef in the hotel belonging to the man you’re in a ... whatever with, you take him with you.
The cardinal rule of diners? Never piss off the server or the kitchen staff.
“Oh.” Her gaze drops. “It’s just leisure wear?”
It’s just that she can’t help herself.
“Activewear is the new day wear.” Mrs. Stepford.
Margret Elizabeth Hadley Winthrop—was Carrington for a while (that husband was old money but too tightfisted with it) and before that, Fairfax—is an absolute gas. Or maybe I mean that she makes me want to gas myself. She’s gorgeous in a way I’ll never be. Where I inherited my dad’s auburn cast, Mom’s hair is like liquid gold. Her delicate beauty will never fade, thanks to a host of regular tweakments. Sadly, her outdated attitude is here to stay too. I love my mom. I do. It’s just easier for us both that I love her from afar.
“So, what are you doing here?” Unannounced and uninvited—surely that’s a social sin on your antiquated planet.
“Todd surprised me with a trip to Paris.” She twists away, her hand swooping around like the host of a dating show.
Meet my stepfather, Todd Winthrop, a sixtysomething self-made millionaire and an old money try-hard. And boy does he try hard. My nerves, mostly. Despite being married to my mother for almost seven years, he hasn’t picked up on the fact that people in her set aren’t slaves to designer labels. Meanwhile, old Toddy boy is dressed from toe to toupee (or maybe hair transplant) in Loro Piana, Canali, and Cole Haan. Quiet luxury that screams I have money! very loudly.
“Hey, Todd!” I wave, then trudge my way over to him like a dutiful stepdaughter. One not in the mood for his conceited bull. “You know, it’s still technically summer here in London,” I tease, tweaking his cashmere sweater. I bet there’s a Moncler gilet lying around here somewhere too.
“I found the weather a little cool,” he says, wiping a palm over his sullied threads. “How are you, Evelyn?”
“Just peachy.” And waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Sweetheart.” Oliver takes the pause as an opportunity to remind me he’s here with a kiss to the cheek.
“Sorry.” The smile I send his way is genuine, my heart doing its usual pitter-patter in the face of all that handsome. But I wish he wasn’t here, because these little meetings rarely end well.
“How was your day, darling?” Handsome and domesticated. What a catch.
“Busy but good.” I apologize with my eyes. Make no promises surely included no meeting of the parents.
“How about a drink?”
“Yes, please.” Make it a bucket.
“Muffy?” Oliver turns, but she cuts him off, holding out her glass. It would be highly unfitting for my mother to have another drink, but she will allow her glass to be refreshed until the cows come home. Vodka, club soda, and a twist of lime. She swears it’s what keeps her trim and once suggested it was a tipple I should adopt. At the time, I felt the same about cookies. If you weren’t opening a new box, then surely one more didn’t count. I suppose the only issue with her dieting advice was I was fifteen years old at the time.
Drinks are poured, and we settle, Mom and Todd on one couch, separated by her beloved ten-year-old Birkin purse. I sit next to Oliver on the other couch, Bo at my feet, and the coffee table a line drawn between us.
“So, when are you guys off to Paris?” Please say soon. These family meets are always as comfortable as a pelvic exam.
“Tomorrow,” Todd says. “We flew into London just to see you.”
“Lucky me.” And I mean it. Only one night! Still, my smile feels like one on a ventriloquist’s dummy. As in, painted on.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be here before.” My mother cants her head to one side in a look that’s maybe supposed to convey regret.
“When? Oh, you mean the wedding!”
Her head jerks up, not quite so dignified.
Yes, Mother dearest, I went there! “Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a secret. Oliver knows I was about to marry another man. He did pick me up at the venue, after all.”
“Quite literally, as I recall.” Lifting his glass, he presses his smile to it. I love how he’s playing along. “It was quite the experience.”
“You were at the wedding?” Todd looks disturbed.
“When are you going to get around to asking what happened? Quick recap?” I offer, talking fast and with my hands. “My fiancé cheated. I left during the ceremony.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” my mother says. “It was very unkind of him, but I’m sure it happened for the best.”
Him screwing multiple women was for my best? That’s because she was under the impression (as was I) that Mitchell had no money. No name. No prestige to bring to her bridge game.
“How come you knew where to find me?” We haven’t spoken for, what? Four months? Since she’d decided to inform me she couldn’t make my wedding.
“Now, Evelyn, I know you were upset, but we had the Tregar benefit that weekend.”
“So you said.” Such a perfect excuse and bound not to cause offense—my own mother choosing to attend an annual fundraiser over her only daughter’s wedding.
“We RSVP’d last year, before you said you were getting married. I don’t know why you had to plan things so late.” She glances around as though expecting agreements.
“Mom, it’s fine.” The reality is, it’s good she was absent.
“I’m sorry for what happened, though I’m still not really sure what that was. Riley said—”
“You’ve spoken to Riley?”
“Chelsea did,” Mom says. “He told us where you were staying.”
Because he has the hotel address, since he’d asked me to arrange to have his belongings sent from France back to London. Not that they’ll do him any good now that he’s back in the States. He also knows about Oliver. The unicorn. The rest Chelsea and my mom would’ve ferreted out for themselves, hence this visit and apparent approval.
“Chelsea is my daughter,” Todd explains for Oliver’s benefit.
Todd is very proud of his daughter, to the extent that he funds her life choices. Or lack of action , as I prefer to call it. It’s not that she doesn’t work, because she helps out from time to time at an art gallery on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Muffy has convinced her it’s the best use of her time while waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive, because it’s not like she can spend her whole day drinking cocktails at Soho House.
“It’s good that Chelsea caught up with Riley.” At least, I hope it was good for him, because that had to be a booty call. At least they didn’t see the Pulse Tok. I’d know if they had. I would’ve heard my mother’s screams.
“Poor Riley. It was good of Chelsea to visit him, wasn’t it?” Mom says.
Good for him and his penis.
“How is Parker?” I ask, then turn to Oliver. “Parker is Todd’s son. He’s studying to be a doctor.”
“Very admirable,” Oliver remarks pleasantly.
“A plastic surgeon.” Todd nods, proud. “Great money in that game.”
I note the tiny twitch of my mother’s right eye. Good breeding prevents the talk of wealth, but she understands there are some things she can’t control. Forgive him, Lord, for his new money ways.
“A family with two medical professionals,” Oliver says.
Todd snorts, but my mother cuts in. “What is it you do, Oliver? If you don’t mind me asking?” If I didn’t know her, I’d say she was just being polite. But I do know her. She probably knows where he buys his underwear, along with his net worth.
“Private equity,” Oliver replies. “Some property development, and so on.”
“Smart.” Todd taps his nose. “Fingers in lots of pies. That’s the way to go.”
“Are you renovating?” Muffy asks next, doing that game show–hand thing again. “Not that this isn’t a very beautiful suite.”
“Thank you,” Oliver replies. “We’re not staying at the hotel. We live here.”
Muffy looks confused. She’d probably frown but for her last (lightly done) facelift. “You live in a hotel?”
I almost laugh because the shock of live in a hotel has negated the inclusion of we .
“Yes. Well, I own it.”
I can see Mother dearest is thinking that’s some bougie bullshit. Or maybe she’s running through her mental Rolodex of people who’ve chosen this lifestyle. Will she recount to her bridge partners how it was good enough for Tennessee Williams, Byron, and Salvador Dalí? Cynthia, dear, Evelyn’s young man is a billionaire, after all!
The poor get labeled crazy. The rich, meanwhile, are just eccentric.
“It’s really quite convenient.” I curl my hand around Oliver’s knee, and his fingers cover mine.
“I like to think so.”
She’s shook—so shook she forgets to have her drink refreshed. Then talk turns to dinner plans, and Oliver insists they must stay and dine with us.
“We couldn’t possibly impose. A busy man like you must have plans.”
No mention of me, of course. My profession registers only as a weak blip.
“I insist. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll call down and arrange things.” Oliver stands, leaving us to ourselves for a few minutes.
“Evelyn, he is just lovely .” Muffy folds her hands in her lap, her expression flushed. “Such beautiful manners.” My mother is concerned with status and culture, which I guess makes Oliver look like the jackpot. “Oliver told us you recently dined at Kensington Palace!”
“With at least three hundred other people. It was a thing. An event.”
“Patronized by the royal family, no doubt.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Wouldn’t care. And I’m not about to tell her I’m playing tennis with an elderly peer of the realm next month. I can’t wait to meet the lions again. At a suitable distance, of course.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Dressing to dine at home is a little too Downton Abbey , don’t you think?”
“But in a restaurant, Evelyn.”
“I guess I wasn’t planning on dining in Adidas.” I really wasn’t, until it became an issue.
“Oh, good.” She smiles, relieved.
“What’s he worth?”
“What?” I turn to Todd, returning his rudeness easily.
“Money,” he grunts. “What’s his net worth?” I guess Mom hasn’t shared her findings.
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I say as I stand with more dignity than I feel.
“Honey, Todd is just looking out for your welfare,” Mom says. “We both want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I have a job and a decent income.” I ignore Todd’s derisory huff. “I have money in the bank and more than enough to live on. I’m content with my life.”
“Until you’re not. Until you’re calling, asking for us to bail you out,” he mutters gruffly.
“I think you’re confusing me with your actual daughter.” With my retort, I waltz off to the bedroom, Bo trotting behind me.
I say nothing to Oliver when he pops his head around the bedroom door five minutes later.
“Everything all right?” There’s a careful note to his tone as he steps into the room. “You seem a little off.”
“ Raging is the word you’re looking for.” I blow out a breath as I tie the elastic at the end of my braid. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I can’t believe they just turned up.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”
“Debatable.”
He slides his hands into his pockets as he saunters closer. “I think this is worse for you than it is for me.”
“Todd is an opinionated ass. He just rubs me the wrong way. What the hell was my mother thinking when she married him?”
“I’m sure lots of people would question your sanity for being with me,” he murmurs, plucking at the end of my braid.
“Then I’d just have to set them straight. Tell them you gave me no choice.”
“Yes.” His brow furrows, but before he can step away, I link my fingers through his.
“I’ll tell them you’re a beast who forced me to live with you in your castle. But I would’ve moved in anyway if I’d known you’d always help me look for my glasses.”
“That is a very low bar you set.”
“Of all your smiles,” I murmur, touching my finger to the corner of his mouth, “this is the one that annoys me the most.”
“Because it’s suave and enigmatic?”
“Because it makes me want to kiss it from your face.” I pull his head down to mine for a kiss. When he pulls away, we’re both smiling.
“We’d better get back.”
“Urgh.” My shoulders collapse. “I’d rather stick toothpicks under my toenails and kick a wall.”
“I think I’ve heard that from you before.”
“An evening with them will be just as painful.”
“They do seem an odd match.”
“Not really. Todd is rich, and my mom likes money.”
“Ah.” There’s so much said in that tiny noise.
“I’m being unfair. She isn’t some aging gold digger. She was raised to believe she’d be little more than an ornament in her husband’s life. I don’t think she’s worked a day in more than thirty years, but that’s the path she chose.”
“Family. That other f-word. You look lovely, by the way, and I know you’re hungry—”
“I was,” I say with a frown. “They spoiled my appetite.”
“You’d better get it back, because I’ve just booked the chef’s table experience.”
“Is that one of those meals where we have to prep our own food?” I give an unimpressed twist of my lips.
“No, but that might’ve been a decent alternative.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s a culinary experience and includes enough people coming and going to take the onus off you.”
I press my head to his chest. This man. Sometimes I can’t believe I ever said a bad word about him ...
It turns out, Oliver is a genius.
We’re greeted in a private dining room I didn’t know the hotel had. There’s a plate glass window—with a view of the hotel’s industrial kitchen—that’s thick enough to drown out most of the explosions of swear words. Must be a chef-y trait. The sommelier arrives almost immediately to serve us champagne, the head chef appearing next to introduce himself. We’re offered canapés from a selection including wild-mushroom tarte tatin with tarragon and rillett of duck with plum pickle. I’m not even sure what a rillett is, except delicious.
From there, we’re served a meal fit for a queen and taken through all four courses with explanation in the finest detail. The food is classically simple, but the flavors delicious.
“They just melt and meld!” Muffy is in raptures, though that could be the result of the numerous wine pairings and also the heat of the kitchen when we’re given pristine white aprons and invited to join the crew as they prepare our mains.
The experience is something else. I’ve never seen Todd so relaxed or my mother so flushed. When it comes time for petits fours and coffee, a sixty-year-old brandy arrives as an accompaniment.
“Well, Oliver, it’s quite a place you’ve got here,” Todd says, awarding the evening his seal of approval in the understatement of the year.
I loved seeing this side of Oliver. He riffed with his staff, fitting in like he’s always popping into their fiery domain.
“Thank you, Todd, you’re very kind.”
Todd is certainly something. I’d thought, when Muffy first introduced us, that he’d be different. A self-made man who’d worked hard for what he had, but he was just as arrogant as the rest. Maybe even worse, because he seems to be under the impression that he’s better than everyone else—smarter because he got where he was by himself.
I despise the level of arrogance the rich have. I hate how power and wealth seem to make for a distinct lack of empathy. I see it at the clinic almost every day, and I’ve learned that it has nothing to do with where the money comes from. Inherited or earned, the more money you have, the bigger a dick you seem to become.
I know I’m guilty of a prejudice, and I’m conscious that not all wealthy people are terrible humans. There are good rich people out there, and maybe, underneath that starched, bossy surface, Oliver might just be one of them. It seems almost weird how I’d pigeonholed him when we first met, putting Oliver in the same category as the people I knew growing up. People who wanted for nothing, who grew up rich and spoiled, rarely hearing the word no in relation to their desires. Those who assumed they could do what they want, get what they want, because family (and money) would always bail them out.
“I’m so pleased you’ve looked after Evelyn,” Muffy says, nursing her brandy, “given her recent problems.”
“What problems are those? Almost marrying the wrong kind of man or almost marrying a man who was cheating on me?” Oops. The wine seems to have loosened my tongue.
“They’re the same, aren’t they?” Todd retorts.
“Sure.” And not at all. It wasn’t a sense of prescience that kept them in Connecticut.
“Some people are very good at hiding who they are,” Oliver begins. “Eve was unlucky, that’s all. But I think you’ll find she does a wonderful job of looking after herself.”
My mother titters, and Todd huffs a laugh.
“What’s funny?” I demand, with a tilt of my glass. “Guys, share with the class.”
“Eve.” My name is a caution as Oliver settles his warm hand over mine.
“No, I want to know what’s so amusing about my life.”
“You’re almost thirty years old,” Todd says. “You don’t own a house or a car. You bounce around from place to place. And have no responsibilities.”
“Not to make it a competition,” I say, “but don’t you pay the rent on Chelsea’s loft? And her Uber account.”
“Chelsea is twenty-five,” he says gruffly.
“A whole four years younger than me. Meanwhile, I’ve worked in Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Spain, and the UK. I support myself, and I do just fine.”
“Volunteering isn’t working,” Todd scoffs. “You spent all those years studying, and for what? So you can flit around the world with nothing but a backpack, volunteering and living in hovels, only to eventually settle for a job that pays less than fifty thousand a year.”
“Pounds, not dollars,” I snipe, hating that I’m justifying myself.
“That’s not a living, Evelyn.”
I pin my arms across my chest and let out a slow, calming breath. “Because I should’ve studied human medicine?”
“It would’ve paid better,” my mother adds carefully. “You’d be a doctor. It’s not just about money. Your standing would be better. You’d be treated better too.”
“By whom?”
My mother blinks back at me, wide eyed. It wouldn’t occur to her that the only people who disrespect my job are the people that are supposed to support me.
“I’m not interested in accolades,” I add wearily. “I’m doing what I was born to do. I love my job. I love animals, and I fell in love with treating them.”
“Yes, I know that, honey, but—”
“You can’t know. Not really. It’s tough some days. I see so much suffering, but there’s not a job on this earth that could surround me with such love. Animals devoted to their owners or loving on their rescuers. Owners who dedicate themselves to their pets. People can be hard to deal with because some people are just assholes.” I try not to look Todd’s way, just as I ignore my mother’s soft chastisement. “But in my little treatment room, even the assholes are redeemed in my eyes through their love and care for their pets.”
“Love doesn’t pay the rent.” Todd looks to Oliver, maybe expecting manly solidarity.
“You don’t pay my rent, so no worries there.” No love lost either.
“You never asked,” he grumbles.
“I prefer to control my own strings. Purse strings,” I tag on quickly.
“I don’t understand how you live the way you do,” he continues, needling me.
“In a luxury hotel?”
“You could’ve been anything,” he retorts tersely. “But you wouldn’t listen to your mother.”
Because my mother listens to you.
My throat is suddenly tight, a wash of acid aversion sluicing up from my stomach. Words burn and boil in my throat, ready to explode from my mouth, whether I want them to or not, when, under the table, Oliver settles his hand on my thigh.
“I think you’re missing the point, Todd. Eve doesn’t want to be anything but what she is— who she is. That in itself is beyond admirable, isn’t it?”
Todd opens his mouth, but gets no further than a complaining huff.
“Not everyone is driven by money, and so many of us wired that way do so by hustle, by insincerity and deceit. But the people who truly keep this world spinning are people like this amazing woman.” He turns to me, his beautiful eyes so fierce. “She nurtures, she heals, and on behalf of others, she kicks arse when it’s needed. I won’t sit quietly as you denigrate her choices. You should be honoring her for the woman she is, not griping about what she is not.”
My heart swells with an emotion I find hard to contain as the table falls deathly quiet. Then, in a show of manners particular to only him, Oliver calls the server’s attention as he asks, “More brandy, anyone?”