4 #2
I sat across from her and placed my purse beside the chair.
“I kind of like it wavy.”
“So do I. It’s pretty for everyday.” She reached for the teapot waiting between us. “Your aunt hired the same photographer who did Meredith’s wedding, and he uses such sharp lighting.”
The correction disappeared inside information so smoothly I almost felt unreasonable for hearing it.
Crystal poured tea into my cup.
“I ordered the jasmine.”
“Thank you.”
“You always liked it here.”
“I do.”
She smiled, pleased that she remembered, and the guilt became heavier.
My mother remembered everything. She remembered which tea I preferred, which fabrics irritated my skin, the perfume that gave me headaches, every critique date I had ever mentioned, and the names of professors she had never met.
She loved through attention so thoroughly that admitting the attention sometimes suffocated me felt cruel.
“We have eleven-thirty at Valentina’s and one-fifteen at Maison Claire,” she said while opening the menu. “Gabriella already pulled several dresses for us.”
“For the cotillion?”
“And the dinner afterward. Your father thinks the cream gown from the Foundation gala would be fine, but photographs from that night were everywhere. Repeating it this soon would look careless.”
“I liked that gown.”
“It was gorgeous on you.” She smiled. “We’ll find something better.”
A server approached, and my mother ordered sparkling water before glancing toward me.
“What are you thinking?”
I looked down at the menu.
The lemon-ricotta French toast caught my attention first. Beneath it sat eggs Benedict with roasted potatoes.
For a few seconds, I imagined ordering either one.
Ryan had made pancakes two mornings earlier because he claimed the mix in his cupboard was about to expire.
I ate most of one while he argued about poetry from the stove, and he never commented on how slowly I finished it or asked whether I wanted another.
That had made eating easier somehow, although I couldn’t explain why.
“The Benedict looks good,” I said.
My mother’s gaze lowered to the menu.
“It does.”
Something in the softness of her answer made my spine tighten.
She turned the page.
“The salmon here is beautiful too. They serve it with cucumber and dill.”
I looked back at the Benedict.
“The salmon sounds good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Crystal smiled. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
When the server returned, I ordered the salmon.
My mother thanked him politely and turned back toward me without seeming to notice that my choice had changed. The morning I’d spent studying every inch of my body had already erased most of my appetite anyway.
“How is Professor Brown?” she asked.
“Better than I expected.”
“That sounds cautious.”
I smiled. “I got an A on my last paper.”
Her expression brightened.
“You did?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh, Charmagne, that’s wonderful. I knew you would figure it out.”
Approval warmed me before I had any chance to resist it.
“Your father will be thrilled.”
My fingers tightened around the handle of the teacup.
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Why?”
“I just got it yesterday.”
“You should call him tonight. He was worried when you said the interpretation portion wasn’t coming naturally.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
My mother lifted one eyebrow.
I smiled faintly. “I was a little worried.”
“You were miserable.”
“I’m doing better now.”
“Good.” Her hand reached across the table and covered mine. “You put far too much pressure on yourself.”
The irony pressed behind my ribs, though nothing about her expression suggested she heard it.
“I’m actually looking forward to Klein now.”
Crystal looked genuinely pleased. “Really?”
“I think so.”
“That’s wonderful. She has such an impressive reputation.”
“She’s terrifying.”
“You respond well to demanding people.”
Ryan flashed through my mind immediately, standing across my kitchen table while telling me my argument was lazy and making me defend it until I stopped trying to please him.
“I’m starting to.”
Crystal studied me for a moment. “You seem happier.”
The observation caught me off guard.
“I do?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’re less wound up lately.”
I reached for my tea. “Maybe I’m finally enjoying summer.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted.”
The sincerity in her voice made resentment impossible to hold cleanly.
My mother wanted me happy. She also seemed to have a very specific picture of what happiness should look like once I achieved it.
Her phone lit beside her plate. She silenced it after checking the name.
“Your cousin has turned this cotillion into a military operation.”
“Which cousin?”
“Elaine.”
“That narrows the Harlens down beautifully.”
Crystal laughed softly. “Your father’s cousin Elaine. Caroline’s mother.”
“Oh, Caroline.”
“She changed the flowers again yesterday. White peonies now, which means half the centerpieces have to be rebuilt.”
“Tragic.”
“She’s nervous.”
“She’s launching her daughter into society, Mom. She isn’t invading Europe.”
My mother fought a smile and lost. “Please don’t say that around Aunt Meredith.”
“I won’t.”
“Charlie would’ve.”
The name entered so casually that my fingers stopped around the teacup before the emotion had time to follow.
Crystal’s expression softened with memory.
“He hated those events. Your father found him hiding underneath the buffet table at Meredith’s charity luncheon once.”
“I know.”
“He stayed under there for almost forty minutes.” She laughed quietly. “The caterer nearly screamed when she found him.”
I smiled because the story belonged to her too, because this version of Charlie was easier than the perfect one.
“I wish I remembered that.”
“You were little.”
“I was eight.”
“You were always quieter than he was.” She took a sip of water. “Charlie could walk into a room and make everyone his friend before dinner. You watched first. Your father used to say you were deciding whether anyone was worth your time.”
“That sounds bitchy.”
“It was adorable.” Her smile widened. “You’re wonderful at those events now too. You simply still think too much.”
The compliment should have balanced the comparison.
It didn’t.
Charlie had naturally become everything people loved.
I had apparently learned how.
Our food arrived before I could answer.
The salmon looked manageable, arranged over greens and cucumber with a piece of toast beside it. My mother complimented the presentation while I cut the fish into smaller pieces and tried not to think about how much oil glistened over the plate.
My phone vibrated inside my purse.
I waited until Crystal focused on her food before checking it.
Ryan: Surviving?
My mouth curved before I could stop it.
Charm: Brunch hasn’t killed me.
Ryan: Shopping still has time.
Charm: Your faith remains inspiring.
Ryan: You straightening shit yet?
My gaze dropped to the table.
I had aligned my fork and knife perfectly against the edge of the plate without noticing.
A laugh almost escaped.
Crystal glanced up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
The phone vibrated again.
Ryan: That means yes.
I typed beneath the table.
Charm: I hate you.
Ryan: You kiss me a lot for somebody who hates me.
Heat moved into my face.
Crystal noticed.
“Who are you talking to?”
My fingers froze above the screen.
The answer should have been easy.
Ryan was my friend. My parents knew who he was. Everyone did. He had been part of the Fury circle for years.
Still, saying his name to my mother felt like opening something I wasn’t prepared to explain.
“Bliss.”
The lie came without effort.
Crystal smiled. “How is she?”
“Good.”
“She and Cade still joined at the hip?”
“Painfully.”
“I’m happy for her. He seems like such a lovely young man.”
I locked my phone.
Something in the wording tightened my stomach.
Would she call Ryan lovely?
Would she notice his intelligence before the tattoos? Would she hear Spanish and wonder where he learned English? Would foster care become concern disguised as curiosity?
I hated myself for thinking it.
Ryan had already thought it too.
My appetite disappeared.
I moved pieces of salmon around while my mother talked about Caroline’s dress.
Valentina’s smelled like perfume, new fabric, and money.
Gabriella greeted my mother by name the second we walked through the door.
“Crystal, you look stunning.”
“You’re sweet.” My mother kissed her cheek before motioning toward me. “You remember Charmagne.”
Gabriella clasped my hands.
“How could I forget? Look at you. You’ve gotten so tiny.”
The compliment landed directly in the place I had spent years training it to reach.
My mother smiled. “She has.”
I smiled too.
Gabriella led us into a private fitting room where dresses already hung from a brass rack beneath warm lighting. Emerald, navy, ivory, black, and a soft rose shade my mother dismissed immediately because Caroline’s gown apparently contained pink.
I reached toward the navy dress. “This is beautiful.”
“It was my favorite for you,” Gabriella said.
Crystal studied the rack. “Try the ivory first.”
My hand left the navy. “All right.”
The dressing room held three mirrors and enough lighting to make hiding from myself impossible.
I removed my blouse and immediately saw my stomach.
The shape looked different from the bathroom at home. Worse somehow.
I turned sideways and saw ribs.
That should have made me feel thinner.
Instead, my thighs looked too full beneath the silk shorts.
The contradictions didn’t matter.
My brain accepted both.
“Charmagne?” my mother called through the curtain. “Need help with the zipper?”
“I’ve got it.”
I stepped into the ivory gown.
The zipper slid up easily.
Size two.
The number soothed me in a way the mirror refused to.
When I stepped outside, my mother’s entire face changed.
“Oh, Charm.”
Gabriella smiled beside her.
“Turn.”
I turned slowly.
Crystal stood and came closer, smoothing the fabric lightly at my waist.
“You really have gotten tiny.”
Warmth spread through me.
“A two?” she asked.
I nodded.
Her smile deepened. “That is impressive, sweetheart.”
My chest loosened.
Then her gaze traveled upward, and the warmth disappeared before she spoke.