6. Beatrice
— ? —
Beatrice
The dining room has never felt so large.
I keep adjusting things that don’t need adjusting - the placement of the water glasses, the angle of the napkins, the flowers I arranged this morning in a desperate bid to feel like this house belongs to me.
The table stretches between us all like a battlefield, gleaming wood and crystal and silver, enough space for twenty but set for only six.
My parents sit on one side, close together the way they always sit, shoulders almost touching.
David Calloway looks uncomfortable in his good jacket, the one he wears to church and funerals.
Patricia keeps glancing around the room like she’s not sure where to rest her eyes, like the chandelier might judge her for being impressed by it.
Celia sits beside them, already on her second glass of wine, watching Josephine across the table with the expression she usually reserves for politicians she disagrees with.
My sister has never bothered to hide her feelings about Kenneth’s mother, and tonight she seems even less inclined than usual.
Josephine sits at the foot of the table. Perfectly composed. A silk blouse in cream, pearls at her throat, every hair in place. She’s watching everything with those pale eyes that give nothing away, and occasionally she smiles at something my mother says, and the smile never reaches her eyes.
Kenneth sits at the head.
He hasn’t looked at me once since the guests arrived.
“This is lovely, Beatrice.” My mother’s voice cuts through the tension I’m not sure anyone else can feel. “The flowers are beautiful.”
“Thank you.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, like I’m listening to someone else speak. “Kenneth chose them.”
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe hoping for some response, some acknowledgment, some crack in the ice he’s encased himself in since last night.
He doesn’t acknowledge this. Just swirls his wine, staring at the glass like it holds answers he can’t find anywhere else.
My father clears his throat. “Good to have you home, Kenneth. Beatrice mentioned the Hong Kong deal was keeping you busy.”
“It fell through.” Kenneth’s voice is flat. “These things happen.”
“Oh.” Dad glances at me, uncertain. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. Some things aren’t worth saving.”
The words hang in the air. Celia’s eyebrows shoot up. Josephine takes a delicate sip of her wine, and I catch something in her expression - satisfaction, maybe, or anticipation - before it disappears.
I need to do this now. Before the tension gets any worse. Before Kenneth’s coldness spreads to the whole table and ruins everything.
I stand. Lift my glass.
“I have an announcement.”
The table goes quiet.
Everyone turns to look at me - my parents with curiosity, Celia with barely concealed excitement, Josephine with that unreadable mask. Kenneth doesn’t turn. Just keeps staring at his wine.
“I know things have been difficult lately.” My voice wavers, and I force it steady.
This is supposed to be happy. This is supposed to be the best moment.
“Kenneth’s been traveling so much, and I’ve been working long hours, and sometimes it feels like we’re living parallel lives instead of one life together. ”
My mother smiles encouragingly. Celia nods.
Kenneth’s jaw tightens.
“But I found out something this week that I think is going to change everything.” I pause. Let the moment build the way I’ve been imagining for days. “I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.”
Silence.
Then my mother’s hands fly to her mouth, and the tears are already spilling down her cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She’s on her feet, coming around the table toward me. “A baby. A baby.”
“Congratulations, honey.” Dad’s voice is thick, and he’s blinking rapidly, and I realize I’ve never seen my father cry before. “That’s wonderful news.”
Celia is out of her chair, throwing her arms around me, laughing and crying at the same time. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt. Oh my god, Bea, I’m going to spoil this kid so much. I’m going to be the fun aunt. You can’t stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I’m laughing too, hugging her back, and for a moment everything is exactly how I imagined it would be.
Except.
I look past my sister’s shoulder. Past my mother, who’s reaching for me now too. Past my father, who’s standing awkwardly, waiting for his turn.
Josephine’s expression hasn’t flickered. Not a smile, not a frown, nothing. She’s watching the scene like someone observing animals at a zoo, mildly interested but ultimately detached.
And Kenneth-
Kenneth has set down his glass. He’s sitting very still, very straight, and his face isn’t joyful. It isn’t relieved. It’s red. Mottled with something that looks like fury barely contained.
“Kenneth?” My smile falters. “Kenneth, did you hear me? I said I’m-”
“I heard you.”
Three words. Ice cold. And then a pause, a terrible pause where I watch him decide whether to say what comes next.
“I don’t believe the baby is mine.”
The room goes silent.
A different kind of silent than before. The kind of silent that happens after an explosion, when the air itself seems to be holding its breath, waiting to see what survives.
My mother’s hand falls from my shoulder. My father’s chair scrapes against the floor as he takes an involuntary step back.
“Kenneth.” I can barely breathe. The word comes out thin, strangled. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t.” His voice cracks on the word, and for just a second I see something underneath the ice - pain, raw and bleeding - before it hardens again. “Don’t stand there and lie to me in front of everyone.”
“I’m not lying.” I’m shaking my head, shaking all over, like my body is rejecting what my ears are hearing. “I’ve never - Kenneth, I would never-”
“I saw the footage, Beatrice.” He’s on his feet now, and his height has never felt like this before, looming, suffocating. “The man in my house. The messages. The hotel.”
“What footage?” I look around the table, desperately, like someone else might understand what’s happening. “What are you talking about?”
“The security cameras. The texts. The receipts.”
“Kenneth, I don’t know what you think you saw, but I haven’t - there’s no man-”
“His name.” Kenneth’s voice is deadly quiet now, controlled, which is somehow worse than shouting. “What’s his name, Beatrice? The one you’ve been sleeping with in my bed while I was working to give you everything?”
“There’s no one!” I’m crying now, I realize. Tears streaming down my face, and I don’t remember when they started. “I haven’t been sleeping with anyone. I don’t know what you think you saw-”
Josephine stands.
The movement is graceful, unhurried, like she’s been waiting for her cue. She reaches into her purse - that designer bag that costs more than my parents’ mortgage payment - and pulls out her phone.
“I’m so sorry you have to see this,” she says, and her voice is dripping with sympathy that doesn’t reach her eyes. “But my son deserves the truth.”
“Josephine, what are you-”
She’s already walking toward the table, already propping the phone against the centerpiece so everyone can see. My mother. My father. Celia. All of them staring at the screen as she presses play.
And suddenly I’m looking at myself.
Hugging Ralphie in the doorway. The night of the party - I remember that hug, remember the warmth of it, remember how good it felt to have my friend back.
But the footage is doctored somehow, angled so that it looks like just the two of us, like we’re alone, like his arms around me are something other than friendship.
The video shifts. Me and Ralphie laughing in the foyer. His hand on my shoulder. My head tipped back, smiling at something he said.
Another shift. The two of us standing close by his car at the end of the night. His head bent toward mine. The intimacy of old friends saying goodbye, transformed by the camera’s eye into something else entirely.
“That’s Ralphie.” My voice cracks, breaks, shatters. “That’s my friend. We had a party. The girls were all there - Priya and Morgan and Jenna - they were all there-”
“I don’t see any girls.” Kenneth’s voice cuts through my stammering like a blade. “I see you. And him. In my home. While I was gone.”
“The footage is doctored.” I’m pleading now, I can hear it, but I don’t care. “Or edited. Kenneth, I swear to you-”
“And the hotel?” He steps closer, and I step back without meaning to. “Were you at the hospital those nights, or were you at the Chanler with your lover?”
“I was at the hospital.” I’m sobbing now, the words coming out between gasps. “I was working doubles. You can check - call them - they’ll tell you I was there-”
“Oh, I checked.” That’s Josephine again, her voice silky with false concern. “I checked the hospital schedule. You weren’t on shift either of those nights, Beatrice.”
“That’s not true. That’s a lie. I was there-”
“Stop lying.” Kenneth’s voice breaks on the word, and I see it again, that flash of raw pain beneath the fury. “Stop standing there and lying to my face.”
“I’m not lying!” I’m screaming now, or maybe I’m whispering, I can’t tell anymore. “I’ve never cheated on you. I’ve never even looked at another man. This baby is yours, Kenneth. YOURS.”
“My father warned me.” His laugh is bitter, broken, nothing like the laugh I fell in love with. “My father warned me about this. About women like you. He spent his whole life telling me, and I didn’t listen, and look at me now.”
“Your father was bitter.” I’m grasping for anything, any argument that might break through. “He was a broken man who destroyed everything he touched-”
“My father was RIGHT.” Kenneth’s voice cracks on the word, and his eyes are wet now too, but it doesn’t soften anything.
“He told me to be careful. He told me they all betray you in the end. And I thought you were different, Beatrice. I thought you saw me. I thought you were the one person who actually-” He stops.
Swallows. “But you’re just like everyone else. ”
“Kenneth, please-”
“Get out.”