Chapter 11 #2
She studies me, and when I tug her hand to move again, she doesn’t move.
“Is it the hair dye? I was worried yesterday about leaving it on too long, but I actually like how bright it turned out. It’s like, hello, world, Begonia is ready to experience all of you again .
But hair dye isn’t against your family’s principles and image, is it? ”
“Yes. It’s the hair dye.”
“Are you always a bad liar, or are you just trying to make me stop talking?”
“Yes.”
The confounding woman laughs. “So sleep doesn’t make you more charming.
Noted. Were you up early enough to see the sun rise?
It was glorious this morning. Like Monet painted it.
I know it’s totally cliché for an art teacher to say Monet’s her favorite, when I could pick Berthe Morisot or Alfred Sisley, or a non-impressionist, but Monet’s colors are like—looking at his water lilies collection is like seeing the full potential of my soul on display.
They make me happy and peaceful and hopeful all at the same time. ”
I frown. “Have you been to Musée Marmottan Monet?”
“No, but it’s totally on the bucket list. I started a Paris fund the day I left Chad, and if I budget right, I can get there in two years.”
Her face is shining, eyes lit up, her smile wide, as though the idea of pinching pennies to afford a trip to Paris to see a gallery featuring hundreds of pieces by her favorite artist makes her happy.
And not a small amount of happiness, but more excitement than I’ve ever felt over anything in my life since?—
Dammit .
Since I got my first pet. “When I was six, my parents got us a puppy for the holidays. I came down with a horrible cold the same day and lived in utter misery for a week while hugging that damn dog at every opportunity until my nanny suggested I was allergic to it.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry. That’s heartbreaking.”
“We had fish tanks instead for the rest of my childhood.”
“My dad ran a summer camp. Mom hated it, which is why they got divorced, but I loved it. Hyacinth and I spent every summer there, running wild and playing on the ropes course and shooting archery and swimming in the pool and riding horses and fishing in the lake. We had minnows for bait, but neither of us could bear to actually hook them, so we’d sneak them back to our cabin and try to raise them as pets. ”
“We had jellyfish and stingrays in our tanks.”
Her eyes go wide, and after a moment of her eyebrows arching wildly, she bursts out laughing. “Of course you did.”
A reluctant smile tugs my lips. “There was a very large grouper that I named O-face.”
She snorts. “You didn’t .”
“I was informed quickly that the grouper preferred to not be mocked for its expression, and it was renamed Theodore. And the octopus that I named Octopussy was rapidly renamed Harrison.”
Her laughter mingles with the sound of the surf, and for the first time since my phone rang with the news two weeks ago that my cousin Thomas had passed, I feel as though I can take a full breath.
It’s one small moment of peace without the weight of grief and familial expectations and my sudden status as the world’s last eligible billionaire bachelor.
This is the respite I sought when I left New York for Maine.
She was right to insist we walk, for more reasons than appearances.
“Hyacinth named an entire batch of minnows after all the roles Jonas played one summer,” Begonia says.
My sigh is so automatic, I can’t stop it.
“Do you not get along with Jonas?” she asks. “Or does it just annoy you that everyone thinks he’s so perfect?”
“You accused me of setting you up yesterday, but I’m beginning to wonder if the opposite is true, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Don’t Ms. Fairchild me, Mr. Rutherford .
I saw you in dancing hamster pajama pants.
Fancy doesn’t work between us anymore. Also, I work with teenagers, and I have yet to see any set of siblings who adore each other all the time, even the ones who like each other most of the time.
It’s not natural to not have conflict with your family.
If Hyacinth was as famous as Jonas is, I’d probably sigh like that too.
And we might be twins and adore each other, but we fight plenty too.
Hello? Signed non-disclosure agreement? You have a very rare opportunity to bare your soul to someone who won’t repeat a word, won’t judge you and who’s had enough therapy in the past year to probably say some very insightful things about your life that just might make you smile more often.
Hit me with it. What’s the story with you and Jonas? ”
“He got married.”
“You wanted his wife for yourself?”
“Dear god, no. I didn’t want to be the richest single man in the world. It makes me a target for more attention than?—”
“ Hayes !” someone calls from the road above. “Oh my gosh, Hayes ! That is you. Hi! Hi, I’m Martina.”
“In short, it makes that happen,” I finish on a sigh.
“Back off, lady,” Begonia calls. “This one’s mine.”
The elderly woman’s brown face scrunches in irritation. “Well, aren’t you an impertinent little twit. I was just being friendly to a neighbor I’ve never met.”
Begonia grins. “Sorry. I’m terribly jealous. I thought you wanted him for his butt in these jeans.”
Martina fans her face. “If I did want him, and I’m not saying I do, but if I did , could you blame me? I might be old, but I’m not blind.”
“Keep being fabulous and putting yourself out there.” Begonia flashes her a thumbs-up, then smacks my ass, which has the unfortunate effect of making me picture her naked breasts, and that is not nearly as unappealing as it was yesterday when they were surprise naked breasts.
“We need to get going. Hayes is late for work, and if he doesn’t work, he can’t afford to treat me to a lobster dinner on a sunset cruise. ”
Begonia winks.
The old lady titters. “Oh, you’re a cheeky one. A billionaire not affording a lobster dinner. Ha! Come say hi at the flower shop, Hayes. Your girlfriend deserves it. I like her.”
“How the devil do you do that?” I mutter to Begonia as she waves at the woman and tugs my hand to get us moving again.
“Do what?”
“Make friends with anything that moves.”
“All people just want to be accepted for who they are. It’s not that hard to tell someone they have a nice haircut or a great smile or excellent taste in butts.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It brings me so much joy to see people happy. Way worth the effort.”
“All people?”
“I don’t like to think about people who don’t deserve to be happy, which means I basically refuse to acknowledge they exist, unless I have to, like when I think they’re a tuxedo-clad murderer bursting into my bathroom, so in my little world, yes. All people.”
I cannot fathom looking at every person I come into contact with as someone who deserves to be happy . Not when so many of them give me headaches.
But Begonia—Begonia took my headache away.
I could argue she gave me a scalp massage and lit her lavender incense because it makes her life easier if I’m more agreeable, or because if I was unconscious, she could’ve found more Maurice Bellitano originals for her dog to chew on, or that she was planning to copy my driver’s license to try to steal my identity and bank accounts, but between her saucy grin, her background check, and her utter horror at what her dog did to the carving of my grandfather, I can’t find it inside of me to believe anything she’s done since I found her in my house yesterday has been a purely selfish act.
Sorcery with that head rub, possibly. Selfishness, no.
She’s had ample opportunity to rob me blind if that was her intent, and if she’s looking for a hair sample for god only knows what reason, she could’ve waited until I got out of the shower and not had to touch me in the meantime.
And for as much as I don’t trust her, I don’t believe she’d be snapping pictures of me in my sleep to sell to the tabloids or anyone else.
“Your mom said you just took over as the Chief Financial Officer for Razzle Dazzle—does that mean long hours and endless meetings? And can you really do it from here with limited cell service?”
“We’ll go to Paris this weekend,” I announce.
She stops. “ What ?”
“You’ve never seen Musée Marmottan Monet. A weekend trip to Paris for you to see Monet’s waterlilies is pocket change to me, and an impromptu date in Europe will solidify the rumors that I am not, in fact, eligible .”
She’s staring at me like I’ve kicked her dog. “But—but I haven’t earned it yet.”
“You—pardon?”
“It’s an incredibly generous offer. I don’t mean to imply I don’t appreciate it.
I do. That’s so thoughtful and kind, but while it’s pocket change to you, to me, it’s the entire experience of saving and anticipating and savoring the idea.
Like Christmas morning. Do you live for those five minutes when you’re tearing through the wrapping paper, or do you live for the months from the minute you start making your wish list and talking to your friends about what you’re hoping to get?
And like, dreaming about the pony you’ll find in the backyard, even knowing that your dad declared bankruptcy this year and can’t afford a pony.
Plus knowing that your mom and stepdad would never get you anything that would make poop that has to be cleaned.
But you spend all those months dreaming and waiting anyway until that moment when you see the tree and the presents under it, and it’s like, the joy of the possible? ”
She’s speaking English, and I think I follow what she’s saying, but I can’t at all comprehend why she’d say no. “You would rather anticipate seeing your favorite paintings than actually see your favorite paintings?”
Her glowing smile slowly drops off her face. “Never mind. You’re right. We should go to Paris. It’ll keep up appearances. Marshmallow ! Sweetie, don’t eat the rock. Where did—oh. Yes. Okay, good boy. Good boy helping push the bike back to the house.”