16
I don’t admit I’ve never had high tea before, but the way I examine each tiny sandwich and delicate pastry, I’m sure it’s obvious to Bethany. But she only laughs at each declaration as everything I bite into becomes my next favorite food of all time.
I grab a stack of chocolate from the top of the three-tiered silver platter between us and make the same announcement.
“Lucy,” Olive says as I take another bite. “Are they going to kill Sora if nobody adopts him?”
I choke on the cake, pounding on my chest while I cough it out. Olive shoves a glass of water toward me, too hard, and it spills on my dress. The water drenches my entire top, dripping over the skirt.
“Sorry!” Olive yells while Bethany shoots up and shoves a napkin all over me.
“It’s okay,” I say, taking the cloth and blotting my chest while Bethany flags down a waiter for me. “I was getting too hot anyway.”
The waiter offers me plenty of napkins, and I wave off Bethany’s aid. While I dry myself off, I answer, “It seems like Dainese really cared about Sora. I think she’s going to take care of him as best as she can.”
“So he will die?” Olive says simply, then turns to Bethany.
Bethany immediately holds up a hand. “No, you know I’m allergic.”
“But I’m not.”
“Good for you.” Bethany squeezes Olive’s cheeks. “But until you have your own place, you live under my—what I like to think are—pretty easygoing rules.”
Olive scoffs. “I can’t have a phone. I can’t have a dog. It’s like you hate me.”
“If I hated you, darling, you’d be shipped off to some boarding school by now, but I like waking up to this pretty little face every morning.”
“Stop it.” She jerks away. “You’re being so selfish.”
“Me?” Bethany points to herself. “You want me to suffer every morning in my own house?”
“Who cares if you have a runny nose every now and then?”
“You cute little brat—”
“The shelter Sora is at is a no-kill,” I interrupt, holding my hands out. “I’m planning on visiting Sora sometime this week. You can come with me and check on him.” I look to Bethany. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Please.” Olive grips Bethany’s arm.
“Of course. Now take back what you said.”
Olive grins. “You’re generous and pretty and smart.”
Bethany laughs, then faces me. “Anders said you worked at a shelter when you could. I guess the love runs deep—and I understand that. You love dogs, and I’m a horsewoman myself. Ride every weekend at my favorite farm. Volunteer there, too, when they need a hand managing things.”
Again with Anders speaking about me. Of course, it could be from Bethany just having a conversation with him like we’re having one now. But the idea of him speaking about me without me around feels like we’re real.
And we’re absolutely not.
“It does,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to run my own shelter.”
“So I hear,” Bethany says. “You know, there are plenty of opportunities here in Charleston. Lots of places to invest in, buildings to lease out.”
“Are there?” I say, my words stretched out to hide my shock.
Bethany narrows her eyes at me. “So you want Anders to move to New York?”
Ah. She’s worried I’m taking her nephew away. I should have picked up on that sooner and gone along with it. Now it’ll look like I’m just trying to appease her.
“Not really,” I say, going with as much of the truth as I can. “To be honest, the traveling hasn’t taken a toll on us. Moving one place or the other isn’t something we’ve discussed yet.”
“I don’t want Anders to move,” Olive says. “He already travels a lot anyway.”
“He talks about you so sweetly,” I tell her. “I think he misses you just as much when he’s away. You don’t have to worry about him going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Really?” Olive goes wide eyed.
“Really,” I promise.
Bethany still has her gaze trained on me. “Would you be opposed to moving down here, if the conversation did come up?”
I rub my thumb across my bottom lip. “You know, I don’t think living down here would be too bad. It’s cozy but not too small town, but not overwhelming either. It’s this perfect in-between where a fifteen-minute drive can get you out by the peace of the water or the buzz of a city.”
“That’s good to hear,” Bethany says, “and I’m sorry to keep prying when you’re obviously going through a religious experience each time you take a bite, but I’d love to be sure that you’re serious about my Anders.”
This was expected, of course. You can’t position yourself as someone’s partner, especially one who isn’t known for showing his girlfriends off, and not expect them to have questions and suspicions.
Bethany goes on. “I’m sure he’s told you a bit about his upbringing, but I consider Anders to be my son.
He was my firstborn baby, and I know he seems like he’s always put together, like he takes everything on the chin—I mean, he was the best man at his first love’s wedding.
He’ll never complain about a thing, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt or angry or any negative emotion he likes to hide away. ”
She reaches over and grabs my hand in hers.
“Ever since he was a kid, he’s tried to be perfect.
At first, I think he was worried I wouldn’t want him since he wasn’t technically mine, so he cooked and cleaned and barely made a sound because he thought if he was invisible, I wouldn’t want to kick him out. ”
A habit created from fear. I recognize it. I know what it’s like to live that way. And maybe that’s why he feels so familiar, like someone who’s been carrying too much for too long, just like me.
Imagining the child version of Anders feeling that way, running around trying to be perfect, filled with worries no child should have, makes my chest ache.
Even in the short time I’ve been around him, I can see it clearly.
Even when I’ve been unreasonable or overly emotional, he’s just taken it in stride and maneuvered the conversation, easing my worry like it was second nature.
“You understand,” Bethany says to me, “my worry that he’ll be taken advantage of. I know he’s this strong man, and he’d hate that I’m speaking this way about him. But you’re something new, unfamiliar, and I want to make sure that this is real for you, because I guarantee it is to Anders.”
You’re wrong. So incredibly wrong, but of course, I cannot speak those words here to her.
I wonder if she’ll stay by Anders’s side when he comes up with whatever breakup story after I finish up here.
Or will she continue this quiet worry, unable to voice concerns to Anders directly, and building up anxiety?
I wish that I could be here to ease her worry when she does.
But that’s impossible, and I shouldn’t care about it anyway.
But I do. I can’t lie to myself about it.
Already I care about Bethany, and Olive, and Valerie.
Even if it’s been a short time getting to know them, they’ve treated me well enough, and at the end of the day, they’re just people who love their family members so deeply that it hurts.
And that’s something I understand fully.
So I say something I know to be true, even if this thing between Anders and me is fake. Maybe not the attraction, but the real relationship, of course, is something that’ll never happen.
I squeeze her hand. “I’m never going to hurt Anders.”
“Thank you.” She squeezes back. “Now, it’s getting a little too heavy here. Olive, give it to Lucy.”
“Huh?”
Olive dips her hand into a bag beside her, then drops a tiny white box in front of me.
“Open it,” they say in unison when I freeze.
I do, and within it is the lily necklace I fell in love with at the market. My heart feels like it’s been squeezed tightly, like a wet rag, and wrung dry. “No,” I say. “You didn’t have to get me this.”
“I didn’t have to, but I certainly wanted to,” Bethany answers. “I wish you and my son a long and happy relationship.”
Oh no. The guilt running through me intensifies, almost burns as the emotion passes through my body. It’s not that I didn’t think Anders’s family would be excited to see him seemingly enjoying his time with someone new.
It just didn’t occur to me that the possibility of them placing that happiness on me would make me happy too.
And I have no right to be.
Not just because this whole thing with Anders is a lie, though that’s reason enough. But because sometimes, in a small voice, I question if down the line, I deserve a place beside anyone at all.
I’ve spent most of my life being the one who held everything together. My value was always tied to what I could do for someone else. That was my role: the responsible one, the strong one, the provider. And I was good at it.
But I’ve accomplished so little lately, at least by the standards I set for myself. I’m not sure I even have anything worth sharing with someone else, let alone this family who cares for each other deeply and easily and has no financial struggles of their own.
So when Bethany looks at me like I’m the kind of woman her son deserves, when Olive and Valerie smile at me like I belong here, it does something to me. Something warm and scary.
Because under different circumstances, I would want to accept their acceptance of me.
I want to believe that kindness like this could be meant for me, that I’m worth it, but what do I have to show for it? What about me is worthy of being loved when my life is such a mess? When I’m such a current mess.
I come up with nothing, and I shut the box gently.