13. “Anxieties” - The Regrettes
“Anxieties” - The Regrettes
If I were a better person, I wouldn’t have suggested that Beck and I start an affair. If I were a better fiancée, I wouldn’t have considered breaking off our engagement. If I were a better citizen, I wouldn’t be wavering back and forth about this decision.
I should know what to do. And I should have anticipated Beck’s anger.
He’s the Chandler to my Monica, and life without him doesn’t feel like a life at all. Was it really so farcical to suggest that we might be able to find a small amount of happiness in spite of the circumstances?
When I get home from dinner, there’s a faint glow emanating from the library.
I enter, eager for anything that will remind me of my dad, remind me that there are more important things at stake here than what I want.
Someone has lit a fire in the hearth, and it crackles and hisses, the mellow aroma of burning pine filling the air.
God, I will miss this room when we leave.
Is that it, then? Have I made my decision subconsciously? Was there ever a decision to make?
I stand in front of the blaze and allow its gentle warmth to saturate my bones, trying to drive out a cold I’m not sure will ever leave. I hold out my hands in an attempt to thaw them, and Beck’s ring sparkles in the light, flames reflecting in the two-carat diamond.
Since he slid it on last fall, it’s become a fixture on my finger, one I never thought I’d take off again.
He saved up for nearly a year to buy it; enlisted the help of both of our families, a photographer, and a cellist; designed the perfect opportunity to say those four words I’d dreamed of hearing since I was young. Will you marry me?
The whole holiday was exquisite. Strolling through Galleria Borghese.
Exploring the Colosseum and the Pantheon.
Indulging in plate after plate of pasta and an endless supply of wine.
Finally, it culminated in front of the Trevi Fountain on our last night.
As strains of music surrounded us in a haze of happiness, Beck dropped to one knee, and I promised him a future.
A future I yanked away almost as quickly.
Am I really as heartless and cruel as he thinks I am?
I slip the ring from my finger and allow myself one more admiring glance before dropping it into my pocket.
“You’re going to do it, then?”
I spin around to find Bea sitting in the corner, deep in the recesses of an armchair. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“That’s good, because I don’t.” She snaps the book on her lap shut, and the harsh sound echoes through the room. “How can you live with yourself?”
“Let’s not forget who got us into this mess in the first place.”
Her soft features harden into stone. “Don’t worry. You can’t possibly regret it more than I do right now.”
“There wouldn’t have been a future for you and Henry anyway.” The fact that she’s only succeeded in pushing him out of her grasp forever is a small consolation now.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I love him!”
“Bea,” I say. “We both know he would only have used you, then tossed you aside when he got bored. Look at his track record.”
“I suppose you think it’ll be different with you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve always wanted him, even back when we were kids. This is your dream come true.” It comes out it with so much venom, I blink and take a step back.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“You think the world revolves around you,” she spits. “Isn’t it ironic that as soon as I want Henry, you become engaged to him? Why do you always need to win at everything?”
A strangled cough bolts from my throat. “You think this is some kind of competition? If I could get out of this mess, trust me, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“They’re not forcing you to do anything. You’re the one throwing away your fiancé to steal the man I love.”
“You want me to allow Wesbourne to fall to pieces because my sister has a crush on the prince? Bea, most of the women in this country think they’re in love with him.”
“But they’re not your sister.” She sinks even further into her chair.
It’s like it’s swallowing her whole. “I love him, Celia. I think I always have. He’s always been so sweet to me, so funny and playful.
He never treated me like I was just a little kid.
He’s protective too, and I feel safe when I’m with him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him?”
She’s right—who wouldn’t?
“He’s not that boy anymore,” I say. “He’s manipulative and selfish. You see the way he lives, the things he does.”
Bea snorts. “Maybe we should be more cautious of people whose flaws aren’t blatantly obvious. We all have them. Some just feel the need to hide them. I’d rather have someone who is brutally honest about who they are.”
I fill my lungs with air and fight for strength. She’s devastated and delusional, but I’ve already hurt Beck tonight. Is there a chance of ending this evening without hurting my sister too? “I’m sure you’re right. What are you looking at anyway?”
She sniffs and swipes her hand under her eyes. “Just some old photo albums.” She hands me one. “Looking for pictures of Dad.”
I flip through it. It’s full of snapshots taken when we were young: Bea in the bathtub, me blowing out the candles on my tenth birthday, both of us dressed in poofy white dresses for Aunt Eleanor’s wedding.
“Sometimes I forget what he looks like,” she whispers.
“I’ve already forgotten the sound of his voice.
The way it felt when he held me.” A long sniff punctuates her words.
“I come in here because it’s the only place that still feels like him.
I’ve tried sniffing his cigars like you do, but they’re too strong; the other notes of his scent are gone.
But sometimes when I close my eyes, I can almost picture him sitting in his chair. ”
I wipe at the tears on my cheeks. Will I ever stop crying tonight? “I wish I could freeze his presence, but every year it seems to vanish more.”
We sit together for a few minutes, flipping through the albums and revisiting a childhood that feels like a lifetime ago. How has so much transpired in such a short period of time?
“Why does losing someone have to hurt so bad?” she says. I know she’s referring to more than our father.
I swallow, unsure whether I can trust my voice. It comes out warbled. “The greater the love, the greater the loss.”
Bea waits a long time before saying softly, “I guess that makes it worth it, then.”
“Does it?” I think about Beck standing in the kitchen earlier, not bothering to turn around as I left his flat.
“Of course.”
“The happiness is only temporary,” I say. “The pain lasts a lifetime.”
A frown creases her smooth brow. “But doesn’t the happiness outweigh the pain?”
I think of the grief I feel for my dad. It’s agonizing, crippling, debilitating. Nothing can overshadow it, not even the mess I’m currently in. “I’m not sure it does. Not always.”
“What about memories?” Bea rubs her hand across the album cover. “You’ll always have those. Thinking back to the good times can at least diminish the pain.”
“Yeah, sometimes those help.” And sometimes they only intensify it. A haunting reminder of what could have been, should have been.
“I’ll always be a believer that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” She stands and reshelves the albums.
I smile. “You’ve always been more of a romantic than me.”
“Do you have a single romantic bone in your body?” she asks wryly.
“Not anymore.”
“Why can’t you see that you’re hurting people by doing this?” She says it quietly. I should’ve known the moment we just shared was only a temporary reprieve.
“I see it better than anyone, Bea. I’ve got a knife buried up to the hilt in my own heart.”
“We’re going to lose this house.” Her voice breaks. “So not only are you taking Henry from me, you’re also taking Dad. What kind of sister does that?”
Her words hit their mark, bullseye, dead center. Henry is no loss—he was never hers. But our father . . .
“We’ve established that you’re willing to hurt everyone you love.” She brushes the tears from her cheeks, but she’s not done doling out wounds like they’re party invitations. “But what makes you think Henry will agree to marry you at all?”