36. Plated & Rescued #2
“Well, I want...” She walks over and reaches for Amelie, who jerks back. Beatrice’s expression sours immediately. “I...want to get to know my daughter. To be in your life.”
Amelie’s shoulders rise and drop. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it. Of course.”
“Oh.” Amelie half-giggles. “That’s easy then. No thank you.”
Beatrice’s lips turn into a frown. “Dear, I know I’ve hurt you, and my methods might have been unorthodox, but?—”
“Why did you tell Charlotte I didn’t want to get to know her?” Amelie interrupts, and Charlotte shrinks in the corner of my eye. I pull her closer, as if getting her physically away from Beatrice will somehow fix this. “I asked about her every time you called.”
I barely resist the impulse of taking Charlotte’s face in my hands and saying See? I told you she’s a good person. I told you she wouldn’t leave you behind .
“Well...” Beatrice shifts position. “It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to meet her, or?—”
“The only memories I have of you prior to you leaving Dad are of a decent mother. Of course, what the hell did I know—I was five. But I get it now, the way Dad always spoke about you. How he called you a vipère .”
Beatrice’s eyes go wide. “Your father ?—”
“My father stayed . You left. And when you couldn’t leave, when Charlotte’s father walked out on you, you.
..what? Decided to make her life miserable?
” Amelie’s expression is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Angry, accusatory, but also leveled, like she’s immune to Beatrice’s effect.
“You’re right, I should have asked Charlotte to meet me.
I had no idea what she was going through with you.
If I had, I wouldn’t have let this go on for so long. ”
“That’s...” Beatrice scoffs, “I’m starting to see parts of Hammond in you.”
Though there’s no way Amelie doesn’t understand that’s an insult, she smiles. “Thank you.”
“There’s a lot we need to talk about, Amelie, but?—”
“Actually, we don’t need to talk about a single thing. I’m not here to reconnect. To repair the wrongs and have you in my life. In fact, I don’t want you anywhere close to me and my actual family. That’s all I’m here to tell you.”
Beatrice’s lips wobble, but she steps back with a tight shake of her head. “Well, then. You heard her, Charlotte. Let’s go back in.”
Charlotte tenses in my arms, and even though she makes no movement, Amelie holds a hand to her arm like she’s scared she will. “That’s what I’m here to tell you , not Charlotte.”
She turns to Charlotte, her demeanor shifting. Patient, affectionate. “Charlotte, I can’t make this decision for you, but I can give you an option.”
“What—what option?”
“Come with us. My husband and I have a beautiful apartment, though probably not as big as this one. You can stay with us as long as you need to. You can find a different job if you want it, or not. You can date Aaron, if that’s who you want to be with.
You can eat what you want, be who you want, and have.
..” She shrugs. “Me. My family. Our ,” she says as her eyes flick to me, “family.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that you’re not alone in this. You have a choice, and I’m offering you a safe place, no strings attached, no expiration date. But it’s your decision, and no one can make it for you.”
I squeeze Charlotte’s hands, my thumb brushing across her knuckles in an attempt to comfort her, even though it’s not enough to erase the fear she’s feeling right now. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’re here for you.”
Beatrice’s presence looms behind Charlotte, and I can feel the toxic energy radiating from her like a storm about to break.
She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing with disdain as if she’s already decided how this will play out.
But Charlotte isn’t looking at her anymore.
She’s looking at me, then at Amelie. She’s looking at the people who are offering her a lifeline.
“I...I can’t just leave, right?” Charlotte says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do anything else, my job is all I have—my only chance to?—”
“No,” Amelie interrupts, her voice rising just enough to cut through the self-doubt Charlotte is tangled in. “This isn’t your only chance. You’re not defined by a job or by someone else’s expectations of you. You’re allowed to choose what makes you happy, Charlotte. What’s right for you.”
Charlotte swallows hard, her gaze flicking to me.
“You are capable of incredible things,” I say, cupping the back of her head.
“You’ve helped Sadie through her trauma, won my brother over.
You built a career for yourself—two, even—and you can do it again.
You can do anything, Charlotte. And no matter what you end up doing, as long as I live, you’ll have someone who’s proud of you. ”
She bites her lip and I can see the internal battle playing out in her eyes, but Beatrice’s voice cuts through the moment like a whip cracking. “Enough of this nonsense. Charlotte, you don’t have the luxury of indecision. This career is the only option you have. Do you understand?”
The second I open my mouth to interject, I see the determination in Charlotte’s gaze. Beatrice’s word are falling on deaf ears.
“I...” Charlotte starts, her voice gaining strength as she turns to her mother, “I’m going to a wedding.
” She giggles, like her joy has bubbled up and can’t be contained any longer.
“And I’m eating the amazing food they’ll serve.
I’m drinking margaritas, dancing, and making out with my boyfriend. ”
“Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous?—”
“And that,” Charlotte continues, speaking over her, “is all I’m doing today.”
Beatrice’s face turns ashen, but Charlotte’s gaze never wavers. I’m so fucking proud of her, of the courage it took her to stand up and finally choose herself.
“If that’s what you want, then don’t bother coming back.”
Charlotte flinches, lips turned down like some part of her still expected compassion from her mom.
I didn’t, but fuck, it hurts anyway.
“She won’t need to.” Amelie turns to Charlotte. “You made the right choice. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte says, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she steps into Amelie’s embrace.
I feel the air clearing, the clouds retreating. The storm hasn’t passed, but she’s taken the first step toward something better.
Beatrice is watching her daughters, lips twisted, and Amelie strikes her with a glare over Charlotte’s shoulder. “We’ll be back for her stuff.”
Quickly, I step forward. “Actually, I’ll grab some things now.”
I don’t trust this woman not to destroy it all.
“What—” Beatrice flinches as I step past her. “You can’t be in here. I’ll call the police.”
“You do that. In fact, give them my name, they know me,” I say, walking through the corridor and into Charlotte’s room.
I grab the first tote I find, then stride over to her desk and fit all the sketchbooks inside.
I wish I had time to unstick all these drawings from her corkboard, but I have no doubt Beatrice is actually calling the police, and this technically is her property.
I open her wardrobe and take the picture of Amelie, shoving it into a backpack with as many clothes as I can fit.
She can just get new stuff, but these are hers .
She made them. When I can’t possibly fit any more in and I’ve got all sorts of shirts and pants and dresses hanging off my arms, I walk to the desk and grab her sewing machine.
I reach the hall again, and Charlotte’s eyes brighten.
I got the right stuff.
“You leave all that here immediately,” Beatrice barks, phone in hand. “This is private property, and?—”
I turn to her and finally glare the way I’ve wanted to since she made me waste those first four eggs. “You will give Charlotte her money back—every fucking penny. Or I swear, I will personally finance the lawyers who’ll take everything from you. You hear me? Everything.”
“You—you’re all?—”
The second I’m out the door, Charlotte reaches back, grips the handle, and slams the door in Beatrice’s stunned face.
“There.” She grins wide. “She finally shut up.”