Chapter 14
lovelillibet Do you ever think about how our bodies are like the husk of a coconut or the ti leaves surrounding the succulent center of a laulau? When I make my deconstructed laulaus, I try to use unexpected fillings like caramelized pork belly and sweet potato. It reminds me of the fun of meeting new people, peeling back their layers to find the truly tender bits within. But to do that, we have to be willing to serve our own hearts on a platter.
Love, Lillibet
Image: A green banana leaf with charred edges unfolds to reveal succulent bits of pink pork and orange sweet potato, next to a perfect mound of rice.
#parfaitfordays #wecontainmultitudes #flavoryourjourney #seasoningsoflife
“Hey,” Hildy said, as they pulled into the driveway, next to an unfamiliar car Jefferson presumed was her uncle’s rental. “What about the goats?”
Lillibet’s shoulders hitched upward. “Ginger and Poki?”
“Aye,” the housekeeper said, with a grimness that made Jefferson wonder if she had something against them. “Those be their names.”
“Does the groomer do boarding, too?” Hildy had unfastened her seat belt but made no move to exit the car.
“’Tis true.” Mrs. OMG nodded vigorously. “They keep them longer for the extra treatments. They’ll be puttin’ bonny ribbons on their wee horns and painting their sweet baby devil hooves.”
“She’s kidding,” Lillibet said. “The real reason is that … our goats have social anxiety. Sometimes meeting new people can give them—a rash.”
“Oh.” Hildy sighed. “Too bad. I could use some emotional support right now.”
Lillibet twisted in her seat to offer a smile of reassurance. “Your uncle probably wants to make sure you’re okay.”
Hildy’s bottom lip jutted. “I’d be more okay if he trusted me to be a responsible adult. Not that I’m not. Everything I said about working for us was totally legit.”
“I feckin’ hope so,” the housekeeper muttered. Lillibet opened her mouth to reply, but the muffled sound of voices drew everyone’s attention to the front porch. Mr. L was shaking hands with another man in a suit, the latter holding a briefcase.
“That’s not my uncle.” Hildy sounded relieved, but Lillibet didn’t move from her crouched position, body angled sideways to hide behind the dash.
“Why don’t you go ahead?” she said. “Find your uncle. Talk it out. We’ll give you some space. Take the whole house, and I’ll … make myself scarce.” Reaching behind her, she opened the door and slid onto the driveway, all without lifting her head. Jefferson watched her sneak around the back of the vehicle, still bent double.
“Um,” Hildy said.
“That’ll be one of their games,” the housekeeper assured them. “Proper kinky little fellow, our Mr. L.”
Hildy made a noise of agreement. “I got that from the shower.”
Jefferson watched Lillibet dash across the grass, yank on the door of an older-model truck, and throw herself into the backseat. After the man with the briefcase backed carefully out of the driveway, Mr. L surveyed the front garden through narrowed eyes before heading inside.
“Get on with you, then.” The housekeeper made a shooing motion.
Hildy sent Jefferson a we’ll-be-talking-about-this-later look before climbing out of the car.
* * *
“In my opinion, the bidet is the most misunderstood of bathroom fixtures…” Mr. L was saying when Jefferson walked into the living room behind Hildy. It sounded like they’d arrived in the nick of time.
“There you are!” A middle-aged man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair rose from the couch, holding his arms out.
Apart from the bow tie, Uncle Richard did not resemble the picture Hildy had painted. Jefferson was expecting pinstripes and baldness, with the pasty complexion of someone who spent most of his time indoors. The actual man was tall and round-bellied, with wide blue eyes blinking behind round tortoiseshell frames. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down, either as a concession to the heat or because this was his off-duty mode.
“Here I am,” Hildy agreed, not quite stomping across the room to hug him.
Maybe she had a point about her uncle’s undermining. His arrival seemed to have de-aged her straight to adolescence.
“And this must be the Iceman.”
Jefferson expected the bone-crushing handshake of a man who believed testosterone could be measured by grip strength, but at the last minute Hildy’s uncle pulled him into an embrace.
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, slapping Jefferson on the back, “for saving my baby.”
Jefferson inclined his head as he pulled away, hoping they could leave it at that.
“How did you even find me?” Hildy demanded. “I know for a fact I turned off location sharing.”
Her uncle wagged a finger. “Not with Thelma.”
“Thelma would never sell me down the river.”
“No, but she has been known to leave her phone unattended. Everyone needs the bathroom eventually.”
“Hear, hear,” said Lillibet’s husband. “The cornerstone of my business philosophy.”
“Thelma is my uncle’s executive assistant,” Hildy explained for Jefferson’s benefit. “The power behind the throne.”
Uncle Richard looked like he was about to argue the point before visibly gathering himself. “The important thing is that you’re safe and sound.”
“Um, yeah. You saw the press conference.”
Jefferson made a mental note to tell Hildy later that her bid for independence would be more effective without the eye-rolling.
“I’m talking about you running off like this. ‘I’ve found a mentor who can help me realize my full potential.’ All that about ‘going into seclusion’ and the need to do a ‘spiritual detox’ while you ‘re-orient your priorities.’ It sounded like you were joining a cult! You know they prey on college girls. For what I’m paying, you’d think that school would keep closer tabs on you.”
“And there it is,” Hildy muttered. “Always comes back to the money.” She flounced to the nearest armchair, looking up at her uncle with a mulish expression. “Number one, I’m a competent adult, not a chump. And two, Lillibet isn’t a cult leader. She’s a hugely positive influencer.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her picture.” Uncle Richard waved a dismissive hand at the portrait of Lillibet, which had acquired a toga-like drapery of what appeared to be bedsheets. “Where is the legendary Lillibet?”
“I would also like to know,” Mr. L chimed in. “What happened to my spouse? Lillibet,” he tacked on, in case there was any doubt who he was talking about.
“She understands that I need room to operate,” Hildy told her uncle. “It’s so refreshing to deal with someone who respects my autonomy.”
“Had I known the Iceman was with you—”
“It’s Jefferson.” His correction was drowned out by Hildy’s snort.
“Right, because a Y chromosome makes everything so much better.”
“I’m merely saying that it’s nice to see a steadying presence in my niece’s life.”
“In the sense that he kept me from falling off a mountain to an icy death? And getting eaten by bears? While vultures plucked out my frozen eyeballs?” She paused to let this image (however unlikely) sink in. “Or do you have another reason for being glad I didn’t bite it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Her uncle’s fiddling with his glasses suggested otherwise.
“Why did you really crash my vacation? Be honest. It’s about the story, isn’t it? You haven’t seen engagement like this since we broke the news about the astronaut love triangle. Or the orphaned hippo bonding with the three-legged dog.”
“Hildy, you’re my niece.”
“That didn’t stop you from going full Missing White Girl.” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “I would have done the same. A good leader maximizes every opportunity. Hence why I’ve been providing Johnson Media with a steady stream of A-plus-plus content.”
“Which has tapered off dramatically since your disappearance. The more recent one,” he clarified.
“And I bet you think we should keep cranking it out, without any strategy or sense of pace, until everyone gets bored and moves on? Or, worse, there’s a backlash and we burn through all our viral capital in a matter of hours?”
“What you have to understand, Hildy, is that these things have a built-in expiration date. It’s the nature of the beast.” It was the indulgent tone of a grown-up explaining basic facts to a child. Not an approach Jefferson would have recommended, but Uncle Richard hadn’t asked for his advice.
“Yeah, because you follow the same tired playbook every time. Have you ever heard a pop song that’s nothing but chorus for three minutes? No! And you know why not? Because it would be annoying. That’s why there are lulls. A quiet moment to catch your breath. Which you would know if you weren’t stuck in the stone age of hype.”
Uncle Richard puffed out his chest. There was only so much criticism a man like him could take, in Jefferson’s experience. It reminded him of the photo safaris he’d helped run when he first moved to Jackson, for corporate types who wanted to spend a weekend stalking wildlife with their fancy cameras. They were all jovial male-bonding in their immaculate Patagonia gear until someone served the wrong mineral water at lunch, or there weren’t enough paleo options at breakfast. That was when the real my-way-or-the-highway personality peeked through.
“The public has a vested interest in your story,” Uncle Richard said, stiff with dignity.
“Do you honestly think I wasn’t going to leak a beach shot tomorrow?” Hildy fired back. “The perfect scenic thirst trap?”
Jefferson thought, unhappily, of his Aquaman rash guard before remembering that he would almost certainly be the one taking the picture. Still, the whole discussion left him with the clammy feeling of squeezing into a damp bathing suit. It was such a clinical way to approach a relationship: as a product to be manufactured and sold. He thought of Lillibet confessing—as if it were an embarrassing secret—that she wanted to write “stories about people.” That he could understand. Then again, Jefferson’s job could be summed up as “taking pictures of animals,” so maybe he was too simpleminded to appreciate the business decisions that happened this far up the chain.
Hildy kicked her legs up, heels thudding against the floor. “I’m busting my butt to play this situation like a maestro and save you from your own terrible instincts, and where’s the respect? The acknowledgment?”
“There’s no need to get emotional. I know you’re a hard worker.” Uncle Richard smiled like he was thinking about patting her on the head, a misread so extreme Jefferson was beginning to understand why the other man’s marriages were short-lived. “You’re probably still recovering from your ordeal. Why don’t you come home and have a nice rest? We can redecorate your bedroom!”
Hildy dramatically widened her eyes. “Really? With a canopy bed? Can I have some glitter stickers, too?”
“I don’t see why not,” Uncle Richard began.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Hildy yelled, jumping to her feet. “I don’t believe this.”
She ran out of the room, leaving behind a silence punctuated by the pounding of her feet on the stairs.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” Uncle Richard suggested, looking hopefully at Jefferson.
Mr. L nodded. “You could suggest a bubble bath. My new glass soaking tub is like a trifle dish for humans. Minus the pedestal, for reasons of structural integrity.”
Privately, Jefferson thought they were both nuts. Hildy obviously needed time alone, and who wanted to roll around in a giant serving dish? But he was glad of the excuse to leave the room, so he kept those thoughts to himself.
“I’ll check on her,” he promised, without specifying when.