Chapter 27 #2
Veda’s feelings for Ruth are complicated.
A deep sadness fills her, an inexplicable ache.
She can’t pinpoint the origin, but the weight of it presses on her stomach, growing heavier as Antaris hugs Ruth around the waist. They walk her to the door, but before she leaves, she tells them, “Lead him to the still water.”
They stand in the doorway until Ruth drives away. Veda lingers long after she’s gone, unable to name the feeling that grips her. It’s after breakfast when realization strikes.
“Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?”
“I’m having dinner with my parents.”
It’s Hiram’s calm decisiveness that makes Veda look up from the potions book.
She’s been poring over every scrap she can find about the Liquid Curse.
He’s dressed in gray slacks and a short-sleeved button-down.
His hair, which has been relaxed for the last couple of weeks, is now parted severely.
He’s even shaved. Veda doesn’t hide the once-over she gives him before placing her pen in the book.
“How long ago did you decide this?”
“Eight minutes ago.”
Veda makes a small noise and stands, ignoring the strange looks he’s giving her. “I should change.”
“You don’t have to come.”
“I know,” Veda replies, then asks, “How do you know they’re having dinner now?”
“They have dinner at the same time every day, regardless of what’s going on. My mother always makes it a production.”
“How much time do I have?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later, Veda is dressed in a floral jumpsuit Khadijah bought her ages ago, paired with sandals.
Her hair is slicked back into a low braided bun.
Hiram and Antaris wait for her in the foyer.
She does a double take at the sight of Antaris.
Instead of the usual black, his knitted bow tie is . . .
“Green?”
Olive green, to be precise.
“That’s what he chose.” Hiram ruffles the curls his son has worn free only a few times. It earns him a funny look that makes Veda laugh.
Antaris leads the way to the car. Hiram stops Veda briefly with a hand on her stomach and a compliment that warms her.
The ride is as quiet as the finely dressed Simran when she notices their joined hands at the front door. She leads the way into an ornate dining room with soft light, where a pale Barrett sits in a wheelchair at the head of the table.
“How are you, Father?” Hiram asks, tone edged.
“I’m fine. My bones have been healed. The wheelchair is a precaution until I am strong enough to walk on my own,” Barrett replies, his eyes dropping to Antaris, then sliding to her. “You have only joined us for dinner twice since your return. Why is today number three?”
“I wanted to see that you were okay, but if you want us to leave—”
“No,” he says quickly. “Please sit.”
Veda looks at Hiram when he pulls out her chair, but sits without a sarcastic response.
He takes the seat on the other side of Antaris.
Dinner is served on beautifully decorated silver thalis: an assortment of vegetables, curries, naan, dal, chicken, and lamb.
Antaris looks confused, so Hiram patiently explains each dish and how to eat them.
Simran interjects occasionally, offering the cultural context Hiram doesn’t know.
Veda enjoys her meal while sneaking glances around the room.
After dinner, they move to the sitting room and watch Antaris wander the sunroom, visiting the plants.
When Simran attempts to join him, he stiffens.
Children aren’t subtle. Antaris is no exception.
He keeps a wide berth with Simran until she gives up and returns.
Hiram replaces her, and the lights switch on.
Antaris warms in his father’s presence, smiling, eager to show him the plants.
Barrett excuses himself to take his nightly healing elixirs.
Simran wastes no time. “I am surprised to see you here, Miss Thorne.”
Me too doesn’t seem appropriate, so Veda says nothing. The air between them is heavy, unchanged since their last interaction.
“I believe we are at a point where I can speak to you freely,” Simran starts.
“You’ve never been one to mince words with me.”
“Touché, Miss Thorne, but I believe the time has come for me to intervene. I would like my son back.”
“I haven’t taken him.” Veda wants to say more—criticism burns within her—but she reins it in.
A full confrontation would only devolve into unproductivity.
“Hiram is a man who says exactly what he means. Instead of focusing only on what you feel is right, listen to him. Oh, and rip up the guardianship petition you’re planning to file. ”
“I had no intentions of following through with that threat. I believed he would be more amenable to conversation than the inconvenience of a legal fight.”
Veda nearly laughs in her face. “That version of Hiram doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I was not aware that you and Hiram were familiar enough for you to have such an opinion about his character.”
“A recent development,” Veda clips. “But you’re lying. If you truly didn’t know, you wouldn’t have started this conversation with me. If you think I’m controlling him, you’re mistaken. He controls himself.”
Simran says nothing, smoothing a hand over her gold-embroidered burnt-orange saree.
“You’re wasting your time testing me when you should be thinking about why Antaris prefers literally anyone else to you.
” Simran is momentarily taken aback, whether from Veda’s tone or message, Veda isn’t sure.
“He needs as much family as possible, and it doesn’t need to be blood.
They just need to have his best interest at heart and give more of a damn about him than their own selfish wants.
They need to encourage instead of discourage, breathe life into him instead of stealing it away.
Instead of trying to bend everyone to your will, you need to protect them. ”
“You have strong opinions about a child who is not yours.”
“I wasn’t only talking about Antaris.” Veda stands firm in the face of Simran’s surprise. “There are no guarantees in life. I know this more than most. My parents . . .” Her voice catches. “I’ve never needed them more than I do now.”
Simran is rendered speechless.
“No matter how old he gets, how angry or frustrated you make him, how much you push—he will never stop wanting a normal relationship with you. But that doesn’t mean he has to tolerate your shitty behavior simply because you gave him life.
” Veda shakes her head. “I don’t understand how you get a second chance and squander it out of a stubborn need to be right. ”
“No matter what you think, I do love my son. So much that I refuse to let him make mistakes.”
“It’s through mistakes that we learn.”
“I left my family just as he left us. They did not approve of the choices I made in life, of the man I fell in love with. They told me I would fail, and I refused to prove them right. I married Barrett, fit into his family, his world, and became more than they ever believed I could be. Hiram—” Simran places a hand over her heart.
“Did the same as you, and you don’t see you’ve become what you once ran from.”
Simran looks away. “I push and I meddle because I want better for him. I want Hiram to be more than me. I do not want him to lose the Ellis name. It is what is owed to him, what is rightfully his.”
“And if he doesn’t want it?” Veda asks softly.
“Better is subjective. It’s an opinion, and opinions can be misguided.
The highest duty he has isn’t to fulfill your wishes, but rather his own.
Respect the decisions he makes. Let him raise Antaris as he wishes.
If you love him like you say you do, let him breathe, Simran. You’ve strangled him long enough.”
Simran turns, but her gaze moves past Veda, mouth forming a taut line. “How long have you been there?”
Veda turns to find Barrett in his wheelchair, parked in the doorway.
“Long enough.” His expression is impossible to read. “Simran, I’m tired. Aren’t you?”
“We can discuss this—”
“Now. Not later,” he cuts her off. “You weren’t like this when I fell in love with you.
My family . . . they’ve made monsters of us all, but I won’t let them get to Hiram or Antaris.
We lost fourteen years, and I’ll be damned if we lose any more.
I have lost so much because I have idly stood by and did nothing.
I’m sick of losing. I nearly died for my silence.
That ends today. Veda, please excuse us. ”
She doesn’t hesitate, making her way to the sunroom.
It’s warm and pleasant. The plants are lush.
Veda sidesteps a palm and pauses. Hiram holds Antaris, his back to her, pointing out the glass window, telling a story about how he climbed that fence, got lost in the forest, and found a cave.
Antaris isn’t looking outside in wonder, but at him .
. . then her. Losing his attention makes Hiram glance over his shoulder.
His smile at Veda fades as he seems to notice the muted argument behind her. “What’s happening out there?”
“A conversation that’s long overdue.”