Chapter 22
Previous Summer
The evening I fly back from Mom’s funeral, I feel exhausted. Heavy. Philip, Heathcliff, and I pick up Greek takeout, but I
leave mine mostly untouched. Once Heathcliff is in bed, I take a hot bath and suddenly notice streaks of dust along our tiny
square cream and tan ceramic bathroom tiles. After putting on my robe and wrapping my hair in a towel, I know what has to
be done.
I pull an unused toothbrush out from under the sink and fill a bucket with hot water and cleaner. The grime will have to be
taken care of with a toothbrush. Only then can I mop the entire floor. Then it will all be clean.
Just as I’m scrubbing the edges around the tub, Philip comes to the door.
“What are you doing, Lizzie?” he asks gently.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m scrubbing the floor here because it’s gross.”
“Since when have you been concerned about housecleaning?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Since now!”
Then he understands.
I drop the toothbrush and start sobbing, my face in my hands.
Philip sits on the floor beside me as I lean into him.
He holds me for a very long time.
Present
When I get back to the row house, I’m relieved that Heathcliff and Ms. Fernsby are out.
Alone, I sink down on the parlor couch ugly-crying. I’ve lost Mom. I’ve lost Philip. Philip’s loss hurts more because I’ve
lost Mom. And I’ve been phenomenally stupid these past few weeks.
I’m furious at myself. What had I expected? I hadn’t known him for more than a hot minute, and he just screamed dashing cad from the instant I laid eyes on him in the British Museum. But he kept saying not to think too far ahead—carpe
diem and all that crap, and I went along with it. Underneath, I think I knew this was the kind of thing he’d do.
And yet . . . stupid eternal optimist that I am—I hoped he’d fill a fraction of the gaping hole Philip left. I lost my soulmate,
and I held out hope that I might mean something to August Dansworth.
No. That’s not completely accurate.
I’m even more confused.
I was less afraid to kiss August than Henry because underneath, I knew it would never last. August was a paper moon, safe
and illusionary, because I feared the possibility of real love.
Finding love again feels like a betrayal of Philip.
I’m not finding my way through a labyrinth. I’m lost in a dark, tangled maze.
What would Mom tell me to do?
Mom and Ms. Fernsby would tell me to get a hot cup of tea.
In the kitchen, I pick out the prettiest antique teacup covered in a pink rose pattern with a curved handle. I reach for the
tea bags before laying eyes on the brandy.
Once I’m upstairs, I get into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and call Ian. I’m still ugly-crying but the teacup of brandy warms
me.
@BluestockingBadass: Two-thirds through Blood Ties and Inspector Hall has slept with poor Penny, a bar server, a flight attendant, and an optometrist. Who will he bed next?
@ADHemmings (aka Sex God) seems to know a lot about inconstant man-sluts . . .
@ADHemmings: @BlustockingBadass How many women’s studies degrees did you earn to grow so bitter? Enjoy your chaste evenings with your
vibrator and cats.
@BluestockingBadass: @ADHemmings Whoa. Apparently I hit a nerve. Just curious: Do you even know where a clitoris is located?
@ADHemmings: @BluestockingBadass Sod off.