47. Petra
PETRA
PRESENT DAY
It’s a bright Sunday when Sin and I stop by his house. I have fussed and fretted over what I would wear to the Arnoults’ for the whole of last week. Even then, the floral midi skirt I have finally chosen seems too tacky when we arrive at Arnoult Manor.
My parents may be rich, but it’s clear these people come from old money.
“Jay Gatsby would have loved this house,” I murmur under my breath, smoothing the pleats of my skirt over and over again.
My anxiety is at an all-time high.
After more eerie dreams with dreams-ensconced-in-other-dreams like a goddamn matryoshka, I am more confused than ever.
There is the information that I know from my day-to-day life, and there is the information from my dreams.
Everything seems to be related to the same weird occult activity happening in Radcliffe, but I am still unsure if my subconscious is making everything up due to the pregnancy hormones or if there might be some truth to it.
Yet the fact that those suicides happened just a couple of decades ago instead of over a century ago like in my dreams tells me I might be simply . . . going crazy.
And if that wasn’t enough, now I have to also face Sin’s parents, and I really don’t know what scares me more: demon-filled dreams or the parents of the guy I’m falling in love with.
“Relax, you look mind-blowing!” Sin assures me, gently squeezing my hand.
“Are you sure? I can rush back and change into something more flattering—”
“What you’re wearing is flattering, Petra,” Sin repeats himself without any visible signs of irritation.
His whole aura has changed since I told him the truth about the baby.
He looks even more boyish and charming these days, his countenance always sunny and his words always sweet.
“Fine, I’ll take your word for it,” I reply with a smile and a quick peck on the cheek before Sin opens the front door.
We step inside, and the warmth of the Arnoult household greets us immediately.
The smell of something delicious wafts from the kitchen, and laughter fills the air. What a stark contrast to my own home.
“Mom, Dad, we’re here!” Sin calls out.
“About time!” a man’s rich baritone issues from the kitchen, shortly followed by Sin’s father: a tall, willowy man with dark blond, tousled hair, sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.
“What took you so long?” says a woman’s voice, and his mother comes out of the kitchen as well. A svelte blond woman with light-blue eyes, she’s dressed in a cozy grey sweater and floor-length Versace skirt.
“Oh, you can blame this one for that,” Sin says with a laugh, pointing at me before giving his mother a kiss on her cheek and hugging his father. “She was convinced that she is not dressed up enough for the occasion.” I blush at his words.
“Nonsense!” his mother replies, coming up to me and putting her arms around me most naturally. “You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear,” she tells me before stepping back. “I’m Lisa, and this is my husband, Tom.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Petra,” Tom says, reaching out to shake my hand. “My son won’t stop talking about you.” He’s wearing a goofy smile, and I instantly know where Sin gets his manic pixie dream boy energy from.
“Thank you for having me,” I reply easily, as if I’ve known them my whole life. “It’s wonderful to meet you both.”
Before I can say more, a younger girl bounds into the room. “Sin-Sin, the greatest fake!” she hollers before punching Sin’s arm with all the strength she can muster.
“Ouch, that hurt!” Sin cries out, doubling up—or pretending to—in pain. “Ma, she hit me!” he shouts, turning to his mother.
“Oh, please, have some backbone, you scum,” the green-eyed girl scoffs before turning to me. “Hello, beautiful, you must be Petra! I’m Marie, Sin’s sister, and Lisa and Tom Arnoult’s favorite child.”
“Hey!” says Sin at the same time as Lisa says, “M!”
But I’m laughing away at the girl’s infectious energy. “It’s so nice to meet you, Marie. Sin tells me you’re quite the prankster.”
“He has given glowing reports of my daring escapades, I hope?” Marie replies in a curt voice, turning to Sin for confirmation.
“I told her about the Sparklepants incident, M,” Sin mutters under his breath, but his sister turns to me with a glowing smile.
“And I have done worse,” she says happily. “Much worse, bwaahahaha!” Marie flicks back her braid, thick and shiny blond, and cackles like a stone-cold hag.
“Why you little—” Sin swears and starts chasing her around the room. “I’ll break your legs, you monkey!” he howls as Marie dashes behind the couch and the filigreed coffee table.
“You’ll never catch me, you slowpoke!” she yells back, and I’m beyond amused at this cozy picture of siblinghood.
I like her, says my inner voice, and I’m not surprised.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Lisa cries out, while Tom has already slipped back into the kitchen.
“Don’t mind them, dear,” she says to me casually.
“Always running around like wild animals. Anyways, dinner’s almost ready.
” She starts walking, signaling for us to follow her.
“We’re having lasagna, one of Sin’s favorites. ”
After we sit down around the table, the convivial teasing and good-natured jokes continue.
Plates are passed, and laughter flows easily. With a pang of sorrow, I remember the quiet dinners at my house, and I can’t help but feel an intense longing for this kind of closeness.
“So, Petra,” Lisa begins, her eyes kind yet curious, “tell us a bit about yourself. How do you and Sin know each other?”
“Well, we go to the same school,” I blurt out in panic, and Marie howls with joy.
“You’re no match for her, dumb-dumb,” she tells Sin, and he makes a face at her.
“No, I mean,” I hurry to clarify, “I mean we have Art History together, and we’re working on a project . . .”
“And she’s amazing at it,” Sin cuts in smoothly. “Petra’s got such a talent for art. You should hear her talk about it.” He nods at me bracingly, and I smile back.
“That’s wonderful to hear, Petra,” compliments Tom. “You know our town has a rich history of folk art. Have you guys been reading about it?”
I wasn’t expecting the questions to veer toward our time learning the town’s colorful history in the crypt, so I am lost for words at this moment.
“Ugh, Dad, let her eat!” Sin chimes in. “He’s always harping on about history and such, Petra. Ignore him.”
Tom laughs in a good-humored manner, and the conversation keeps flowing easily. The warmth and camaraderie in the Arnoult household are so, so different from what I’m used to that I feel nostalgic for something I’ve never even had.
“Ignore them both, Petra,” says Lisa. “We’re just so glad you could join us tonight. Sin speaks very highly of you.”
I blush at the unexpected praise from her. “Thank you, Mrs. Arnoult. It means a lot to hear that.”
“Please, call me Lisa,” she replies with a warm smile. “Did Sin ever tell you he’s our miracle child?”
“How do you mean?”
“No, not this story again,” Marie groans with a theatrical sigh while Lisa absent-mindedly serves her some more pasta.
“You see, Tom and I couldn’t have children for the longest time,” she begins.
“We tried everything, but nothing worked. We even prayed and donated to the Church—all for a miracle. And then, after so much heartbreak, we finally had our Sin.” Here, she looks at her son.
“And he’s been our miracle ever since.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and the tenderest of affections.
Sin looks down, slightly embarrassed but clearly touched by his mother’s words. “Mom . . .”
I glance at Sin, a warmth spreading in my chest. “That’s beautiful, Lisa. You must have been so happy.”
“Oh, we were,” she continues, her voice filled with emotion. “And we still are. Sin’s brought so much joy into our lives. And then there’s Marie.” She lovingly strokes her daughter’s head. “She’s a blessing too, even though her circumstances were different.”
I look at Marie, who is listening intently, even though she must have heard this story before. “What do you mean?”
Lisa and Tom exchange grave looks, and Tom says, “You see, Marie came into our lives in a different way. She’s adopted. Her parents died when she was just one year old.”
My heart contracts at the thought of the poor girl being orphaned at such a young age. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” I address the words to Lisa, Tom, and Marie. While the adults look faintly sad, Marie shrugs nonchalantly. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Lisa takes a deep breath, but again it’s Tom who answers my question.
“They died in the house fire at that party fifteen years ago. You kids must have read or heard about it, I’m sure.
Afterward . . .” He looks at Lisa, who squeezes his hand.
“We decided to adopt Marie. I mean, can you blame us? Look at her!” He ruffles the girl’s hair.
“Dad, don’t mess my hair!” she cries out before lapsing into a sulk.
But I’m not even listening because the realization hits me hard. The fire we discovered in our research wasn’t just a faceless tragedy; it’s intimately connected to the family with whom I’m eating dinner in this cozy house.
“That’s . . . that’s incredible, Lisa.” I look at Sin with wide eyes, wondering why he hasn’t made the connection yet, but I can see that he looks just as stunned as me.
Perhaps he hadn’t really thought about it before.
“We didn’t expect to lose close friends that night,” says Lisa with a distant look on her face, as if she has traveled back in time. “But Marie becoming part of our family felt like it was meant to be. She filled a void we didn’t think could ever be filled.”
Sin squeezes my hand under the table as I sit there, trying to tie it all together.
“And so, we have lived . . . messily ever after!” announces Marie before throwing a fork at Sin. He ducks out of the way as if he had fully expected the attack and tries to pull on her braid again.
“Sin, M! Don’t fight at the dinner table!” Tom yells at his children while Lisa just looks at her family with a serene, satisfied smile.