Chapter 5
PIPPA
Relief swells through me like a warm wave. Mum kisses me on both cheeks in the European style, cooing and fussing over me.
Libby Thompson may be well-to-do and one-of-a-kind, but she’s a mother through and through. She’d never throw me to the lions, however, throwing me at marriage material is another story.
She holds my hand and then steps back to get a good look at me—probably since we haven’t seen each other in a few months now that I work in Concordia.
“You look lovely, darling, but what happened to your dress?” Without waiting for my answer, she removes the silk scarf draped over her shoulders and strategically arranges it around my waist to disguise the wet patch.
“You were always such a tidy child. How do you manage to get into fixes like this?”
The fact that it’s possible that I haven’t always had weird luck gives me hope.
Then again, Freddie, Phoebe, and I had a nanny and Mum’s perception has always been a little skewed in our favor—she laughed off Freddie’s high school shenanigans as boys being boys and she coddled twelve-year-old Phoebe through her irrational fear of peacocks.
When I was in third grade, the nanny was sick and I needed help with math. The word problem included a negative bank balance. Mum thought the minus symbol was a decorative embellishment and replaced it with a little star.
What’s more, she dismisses the calamities I experience, claiming that I’m “Pippa, her perfect little plum.” It was only a couple of years ago that I got her to stop gently pinching me on the cheeks when she’d say that.
But Marlow lingering nearby makes me think my luck won’t turn around anytime soon.
“Melissa? Madelyn?” Mum says, fumbling for her name or feigning forgetfulness.
Libby is a professional hobnobber. I wouldn’t be surprised if she senses the mean girl’s intentions and is leveraging a power move—Marlow has mean girl from high school written all over her.
Mum has a soft spot for underdogs. In this case, that’s me.
She simpers. “I’m Marlow Dwight. It’s such a surprise to see your daughter here.”
“And why is that?” Libby asks, as lovely as can be.
Elizabeth Trenton Harrington, now Thompson, had once been a student at Blancbourg Academy, where I teach, and is skilled at pleasantries, even if underneath, she recognizes mean and fake when she sees it.
“You’d think after all these years, Pippa would learn to stay home where she’s safe from herself.” Marlow laughs genially like we’re all in on the Pippa joke together.
“Yes, well, she has learned to look before she sits.” Libby smiles thinly at the reference to the sauce incident. Second to Phoebe, my mother is my biggest champion, even if she wants me to marry one of the pale and pompous sons of her friends.
Marlow sniffs and then waves at someone across the room, using it as an excuse to whisk away.
Mum smooths my hair and lifts my chin. “I agree with Phoebe. That girl is no good. I thought so when you were in school and I know so now.”
My sister was convinced Marlow had purposely put the plate of spaghetti and sauce on the dark wooden chair in the dimly lit dining hall where I always sat—it had been a cloudy day and for some reason, the school didn’t turn up the overhead lights.
I didn’t want to believe it, because Marlow and I were best friends up until I gave the report on Queen Elizabeth.
We even had those interlocking BFF heart bracelets.
However, she soon distanced herself and slid into the cool crowd.
Looking back, it was uncanny how often Marlow was at the scene of the calamity.
I want to see the best in people and always give second chances.
Anyway, why would Marlow have it in for me?
I never did anything to her other than cheer her on during soccer, be a reliable shoulder to cry on when she and her first boyfriend broke up, and when she was failing Mr. Halverson’s chemistry class, I studied with her until she passed.
“Come now, I’m going to introduce you to someone worth knowing.” Mum loops her arm through mine and strides across the room.
I brace myself. According to my mother, someone worth knowing is often male, wealthy, and has the personality of a wet noodle.
Even though Libby has my back when it comes to unfortunate spills and undesirable people from high school, she’s determined to get me married...little does she know, she’s well acquainted with The Crush.