CHAPTER NINE
CORA
I awoke the next morning in a fog, the kind of heaviness that slides in after endless hours of sobbing. Still in my dress and makeup from the night before, I stumbled around looking for anything that made sense—my phone, makeup remover, a cup of coffee. My phone showed up first, littered with concerned messages from Axel. I wrote him back first, bleary-eyed as I punched out my message with one eye pinched shut. The leftover gunk from my mascara made things difficult.
AXEL: You’re scaring me babe. I never miss a chance to say goodnight to you.
CORA: I fell asleep early and slept hard. Must have needed it!
AXEL: It’s that new ring, isn’t it? Too heavy, makes you tired.
CORA: Yeah, but still gonna need a new one come our wedding day.
AXEL: Working on it. Now what’s the big news from last night?
At least there was Axel. The consistent bright spot in my life. The levity and perspective I could count on. He’d picked my sad ass up too many times to count through college. I didn’t want to be the perpetually grieving girlfriend, though. I didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of the letter. I just wanted this issue to lay low for a while.
Which was how I’d been treating it since the beginning.
CORA: Wasn’t much of anything. Just some structural concerns about the business. Not worth the bar visit at all.
AXEL: It’s because you were with me. He’s tracking you. Probably me, too.
Anxiety returned, blossoming in sickening tendrils through my belly. Had my father been reading my text messages all along, too?
CORA: Time for my own cell plan?
AXEL: I’ll add you to mine.
AXEL: No, let’s get a new plan.
AXEL: For the Fairchild family.
Talking to Axel helped wake me up, restore some clarity. Next order of business: admire my engagement ring. I slipped it back onto my finger, smiling as I went into the bathroom and got cleaned up. After a quick shower and facial scrub, I was ready to return to LA.
I got my things packed up, dressed in a comfy slouchy sweater and jeans, slipped my feet into my favorite flats, and switched my things into my cross-body bag from Venice Beach, storing the designer bag in my carryon.
When I left my room, the smell of eggs and toast wafted through the air. I found my parents in the kitchen where their cook, Geri, whipped up the food I smelled. Perfectly plated avocado toast awaited me.
“Good morning, everyone,” I said, forcing a small smile. Geri greeted me more enthusiastically than anyone.
“You look bright and beautiful,” she enthused.
“I don’t exactly feel it, but thank you.”
“I wanted to pack a powerful punch for your flight today, so we’re loading up on good fats. I drizzled a freshly made cashew-chipotle sauce on top. The sprouts are radish and pea.”
“It looks perfect.” I slid onto a high stool facing the center island where Geri had her breakfast station set up. My father lifted a brow from the dinette, where he and my mother sat.
“Care to join us?” my father asked.
“Yes, of course.” My gaze dropped to the eggs. “Can you load me up a plate of those too? Extra micro greens. And that cashew whatever. Actually let’s just mix it all together.”
Geri did as I asked, handing over the large breakfast bowl. I joined my parents at the dinette and saw question marks in my mother’s eyes.
“When did you start eating eggs?” she asked.
“Am I not allowed to eat eggs?” I arranged my napkin on my lap as I’d been taught. Even at a casual breakfast, our silverware was precisely arranged, cloth napkins at the ready, everything in place. “I thought that’s why they were there.”
My mother pursed her lips, her gaze flicking toward Geri. A warning not to stray too far out of line, even in front of the paid help. Signing non-disclosure agreements was standard practice for employees of our family, but we all knew they talked amongst themselves. No NDA clause could eradicate gossip.
“You’ve always preferred lighter breakfasts.” My mother sniffed, her gaze falling to the steaming mug of green tea in front of her—the only breakfast she’d had for the past two and a half decades of being married to my father. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick on the plane.”
I blinked down at the glorious ensemble in my bowl. It was true—I hadn’t eaten eggs growing up. But mostly it had been due to the implicitly suggested lighter everything that my mother thought was appropriate for girls like me. Just a few calories shy of an eating disorder.
“I’ve been working on a new diet with my trainer out in LA,” I told her, which was only partly true. Really it was because my visit to meet Axel’s adoptive parents in Kentucky a year ago that had opened my eyes to the joys of fresh-laid eggs for breakfast. They’d showered me in fluffy, cheesy, hens-raised-right-there goodness. Instantly converted. “We’re doing three days a week heavy breakfasts to prep for strength training.”
“Hm.” My mother’s practiced face of mild disbelief could have been a meme. “Sounds rigorous.”
“It’s been great. New regimen, new me,” I teased.
“Just don’t bulk up too much,” my mother said between sips of her tea. “You don’t want to confuse Eli.”
My nostrils flared as I swallowed the competing reactions that threatened to surface. I wasn’t even sure where to begin. “Mother—I…Wow.”
“What?” She set her tea down, stage blinking. She was so good at playing the innocent card after the most jagged-edged barbs.
I cleared my throat, stabbing my fork repeatedly into my eggs. Comments like these made me never want to come home. If it hadn’t been for Axel, I wouldn’t have come this time. Emotion clamped down on my throat as a painful rush of memories swarmed me. Always feeling like this around my parents. Despite it all, I kept my face neutral. They couldn’t catch a hint of emotion or my father would be on me like bees on honey.
Because the faults in our family had always been crystal clear: Chris had been too queer; I was too emotional.
“I hardly think you need to be that dramatic,” I said when I was sure my voice wouldn’t betray the landslide of emotions that had pummeled my insides. “It’s literally eggs. Just in case, I’ll wear a nametag for Eli so he remembers my role within the business.”
My mother huffed, something between a harrumph and a laugh. I had to be skilled at needling her anymore, and that one had hit the mark.
“Did you have a chance to read the letter last night?” my father asked, his eyes on Geri as she moved around the kitchen.
I swallowed a forkful of eggs. “I did.”
A long silence followed. Their gazes burned on me.
“Difficult to read, to say the least,” I finally added and took a bite of my avocado toast. The movement of my left hand with my toast snagged my mother’s attention. Her pupils dilated as her gaze connected with the ring on my left hand.
Shit.
I’d forgotten about the engagement ring.
Shit shit shit.
My heart rate quadrupled, and I almost choked on my toast as the tension drew tighter between us.
“Ooh. Honey. What’s the newest flair?” Her pinched smile looked strained as she brought the mug of tea to her lips once more. My father’s gaze finally landed on the glittering ring. I cursed myself for the oversight. Cursed the brain fog that had allowed me to wander out of my bedroom with the ring in plain sight.
I’d planned to tell them. Just not now. Not on the heels of the letter. Not when I didn’t have my plan in place.
“I didn’t realize you’d gone shopping while you’ve been here,” my father muttered.
“It looks like an engagement ring,” my mother said on the heels of a fluttery laugh.
I couldn’t lie about this. “It is.”
My mother’s eyes flashed wide for the briefest of moments before she swung her gaze toward my father. He shifted, the wood chair creaking.
“Geri, can you please give us a moment?” my father asked, his eyes lasered in on me. A forest sage tempest swirled there.
“Of course! I’ll pop these muffins in the oven when I get back,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel as she dutifully left the kitchen. My parents waited a few moments after Geri left before launching the assault.
“Who gave you that ring?” My father’s schooled voice couldn’t hide the quake of anger.
“Axel,” I whispered so quietly I almost couldn’t hear myself.
“Why are you even still seeing him?” my mother hissed, as though Geri lurked within hearing distance.
My mouth flopped open and closed a few times before I said, “He’s my boyfriend. My fiancé now.”
“What she means to say,” my father spit out, “is why would you throw away your future on a boy like him?”
“I’m not throwing my future away,” I replied, but my voice withered in the face of their outrage.
“There is no future with him,” my father said, his fingers curling into a tight fist. “If you are with him, you’ve thrown it all away. It’s as simple as that, Cora.”
“I don’t understand why you see it like that,” I whispered. The tears had returned, the emotion clamping my throat, and this time I wasn’t strong enough to will any trace away. “He’s a good man. He’s destined for greatness. He’s—”
“He’s nothing,” my father repeated. “He’s a joke. He’s a-a-a passing fancy.”
“Something you need to get out of your system,” my mother said in a low voice. “Which is what you’re doing, right?”
“I don’t want him out of my system,” I said faintly. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to weather this conversation after the torment of reading Chris’s letter. But this conversation had to happen. “I want to marry him.”
My father laughed bitterly, shaking his head as if I’d suggested I wanted to marry a lamp post. “You absolutely will not.”
“I will,” I said, though it was so quiet I wasn’t sure I had really said it.
My mother pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead. “You’ll get this out of your system. And then you will come to your senses.”
“No daughter of mine is marrying a…a hillbilly like that,” my father sputtered. “You were bred for better things than what he can offer you. We didn’t give you everything you needed on a silver fucking platter just for you to throw it all away on a piece of redneck trash like him.”
The tears had arrived, and they did not care about keeping quiet. A sob ratcheted my chest. “He’s not trash. If you’d get to know him—”
“I know enough,” my father hissed. “He’s got nothing. He can offer you nothing. How can you not see this, Cora?”
“Please. Come to your senses,” my mother said quietly, reaching out to squeeze my wrist. The motherly gesture felt like a rebuke. I snatched my hand away and tried to swallow another sob. Silence scraped by, eternal and coarse between the three of us. I covered my face with my hands, trying like hell to compose myself.
“Stop crying,” my mother said after a moment. “There’s no need to be so emotional.”
Her words were both a warning and a plea. In this family, there was never any need to be emotional. Not even when my parents were ripping my heart out of my chest and forcing me to watch myself bleed out.
My instinct was to apologize, to quiet myself, to return to stone as they wanted. And I tried. I tried so hard. I’d been practicing this my entire life. But the pain of what they’d voiced here was too great. I was still nursing the wounds Chris’s letter had reopened, and now they wanted me to stick a knife into my chest and act like it didn’t hurt.
“You need to do what’s best for your future,” my father went on. “You can’t let your emotions get in the way. How do you think we built this family to such great heights? Not by letting our hearts fuck everything up.”
“There is a time and a place for love,” my mother interjected. “And this is not it.”
“Frankly, I thought we taught you better than that,” my father sniffed. The disappointment in his voice prompted another pummeling wave of tears that I fought like hell to obscure.
“Maybe you should just go,” my mother finally said when my attempts to stop crying were unsuccessful. She checked her watch. “You might be late. Allan, let’s call the car.”
My father grunted and pulled out his phone. I drew a ragged breath, dabbing at my eyes with my napkin.
My mother tutted. “You’re getting mascara on the napkin.”
I set the napkin down, swiping my fingers across my cheeks. This conversation was far from finished, but nothing else would come from this for now. “I’ll go get my things.”
“The car will be here shortly,” my father announced, as breezily as though we’d just ended a business meeting. I nodded, excusing myself to go back to my bedroom so I could regroup, drawing deep, cleansing breaths.
But the truth was nothing would fully cleanse me of the disgust and disdain that had poured out of them.
They detested Axel because he wasn’t their kind. Not their kind of person and not their kind of money.
And no amount of time, tears, or conversation would ever help us find common ground.