Chapter Thirty Rose
The paper in my hand shakes as I practice the speech one final time.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I mumble into the mirror. “I am so honored to be here with you raising money for this important cause.”
It sounds false and hollow, even though I really do mean every word. I read it again, trying to infuse more emotion this time.
“Thank you so much for being here,” I say again. “It means the world to me to be with you here tonight.”
Now I sound like a bad actress reciting an acceptance speech for an award I don’t deserve.
I put the paper down, close my eyes, and try to stop the nerves that are spreading throughout my body, making my knees unsteady.
I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.
Tonight is the big night. I will announce my new private practice, and I will start my next chapter, a better one.
I’ve always detested public speaking, looking out at a crowd and seeing their expectant faces slowly grow bored.
I imagine what I would say to a client of mine: “No one is scrutinizing you that closely. We overestimate other people’s imagined critiques of us and underestimate their positive thoughts. ”
It doesn’t help.
A knock on my bedroom door startles me. I still need to shower and get ready, but my dad and sister asked if they could come over beforehand.
“The shower in Josie’s guesthouse has terrible water pressure,” my dad said.
“There’s mildew,” claimed my sister. James left last week.
It was actually nice to see him in the end, and I’m happy he and Lily are on a better path. I just hope his sobriety sticks.
Currently, my dad is using up all the hot water, singing a show tune. He brought over a pressed white linen suit and will no doubt spend the majority of the next two hours before the gala in our one bathroom, perfecting his hair.
“Can I come in?” I hear Elizabeth’s voice through the door. I open it and watch as she enters.
Elizabeth is already dressed, looking beautiful in a tan wrap dress and heels. When she sees me, still unshowered and in jeans, she audibly gasps.
“Rose,” she chides. “Please tell me you’re not wearing that.”
I make a face at her. “Obviously, I’m not wearing jeans tonight. I’m just waiting to get into the shower.”
“Thank God,” says Elizabeth, overdramatic as usual. She stands in the doorway, still scrutinizing me. “You really do need a tan.”
“Is this what you came in here to discuss?” I ask, trying to suppress my growing annoyance.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “I came in here to talk,” she says, but she eyes my disappointing appearance again like she still finds it distracting. “I wanted to hear how you were feeling before the big speech.”
This is not what I expected. The last time I can remember Elizabeth looking for any sort of heart-to-heart was at my engagement party.
It was at our family’s home, just James’s parents, Elizabeth, my dad, and a few close friends.
Everyone was disappointed we hadn’t opted for a larger affair, but I could barely stomach that.
Maybe, I knew somewhere that we were already doomed and didn’t want an audience.
I was getting ready in the bathroom, putting on our mother’s pearl earrings.
Elizabeth came in to help me fix the clasp.
“Is this what you really want?” Elizabeth asked with her cold hands on my ear. It was the first time someone had asked the question so blatantly, and at first, I didn’t know how to respond.
“I think so,” I said, which was true at the time.
I wanted to stop thinking of the past. I wanted to take a step forward in my life, even if it was the wrong one.
At least it would solidify my life in a direction.
Besides, Lily was already on the way. Even though I wasn’t showing yet, I could feel her there, tossing and turning, my precious little secret.
“Okay,” is all Elizabeth said. “Then let’s fix your hair. It looks flat.”
That was the closest since childhood we had come to a sisterly moment, and of course, it ended in an insult. I didn’t call it off that day, or even that week, but ten days later, we were no longer engaged and I felt a sort of breathtaking relief.
“I’m nervous,” I admit to her now. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
Elizabeth comes closer, stands behind me in front of Lottie’s antique mirror. The wood is carved into the shapes of seashells. The steam from the shower is seeping into the room, making the mirror fog around the edges.
“You’ll be fine,” she says confidently. “You’ve always been fine.” She twists my hair behind my back in a tender gesture.
I look at our reflection in the mirror and am surprised to see the years on our faces. We look similar to our childhood selves, but the lines of time are unmistakable. Maybe it’s the nerves or the unexpected sentimentality of the moment, but I see my eyes start to fill with water.
“What’s wrong?” asks Elizabeth, turning away from the mirror to look at me directly. She wipes away a tear from my cheek, and the gentleness of the action makes me cry more. “I was always jealous you got our mother’s brown eyes,” she says with a long sigh.
It strikes me then that everyone is gone; all the adults have left the room.
After all, my father has never acted like a true “adult.” Now it’s just the two of us, holding down the fort.
And we’re doing a shitty job at it. We barely even speak, besides the occasional text about her hypochondria and a forced holiday gathering.
“Are you happy?” I ask, looking at her heavy makeup, her bright, optimistic hair.
She’s turning fifty-six in October. She has friends, and she and Dad travel more than they can afford to, but is this what she wanted?
She’s never been able to hold down a job or find a career she’s passionate about.
I picture us as kids. She was the same egotistic, bossy girl of our youth, but there was such determination about her.
I thought she would grow up to be a CEO, or maybe a dictator, but after our mother died, it’s like she left the window open and now, the fear has come in with the draft.
“I’m okay,” is all Elizabeth says, and for the first time in years, I can sense a mask has slipped off, leaving her vulnerable. “Someone had to take care of Dad, right?”
I hear him, in the shower still, continuing to sing: a long, operatic belt.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” I say, putting a hand on either side of her shoulders. “Is that what happened? You thought you had to stay to take care of Dad?”
“Of course,” she whispers, and her pretty eyes look sad. “Besides, you had Lottie. The two of us were never close.”
I look back at the past from this perspective, imagining what Elizabeth might have thought. I felt neglected in our home, she and Dad always so alike and critical. But maybe she felt abandoned, too. Maybe she was jealous of how untethered to it all I seemed.
“I’m sorry,” I say with warmth. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”
The flatness is back in her eyes, but when she looks away, a tear slides down her left cheek. “Relax,” she says. “At least my hair doesn’t look like a greasy mess.”
I laugh as she takes the twist of my hair again and pretends to cringe.
We hear the shower turn off in the bathroom.
My father still whistling. I wonder what will happen when he’s gone, how Elizabeth will cope.
He’s the foundation on which her life is built.
I need to be a better sister and check in more, let her know that they’re not alone.
Maybe she can come here more often, use the guest half of the cottage once the summer is over.
When we hear the door shut behind my father and the sound of his large footsteps departing, Elizabeth pushes me into the small bathroom. “Now, please, for the sake of our family’s good name, get yourself together.”
I laugh and follow her orders. In the shower, the hot water works wonders on my stress, untying all of my knots. Tonight is going to be okay, I tell myself. It’s going to be great.