by Celeste, B.
“You’re too young to learn what’s in these, my sweet Adele. When you’re older,” my mother would promise.
But the day never came because breast cancer took her from us mere months after she was diagnosed. It was fast, aggressive, and ugly. My father had never been quite right after her passing, but he tried for me. For our family. Considering I was only twelve at the time, he did what he could with what knowledge he had having two little sisters—Sophie and Lydia. Plus, they’d both offered to help whenever he needed it. As always, my father had been too proud. It was a trait I got from him.
“My fingers seem to disagree,” I murmured, dropping my hands into my lap and sighing to myself. “Perhaps another instrument?” Please say no. When I gave up dance after circumstances became too much, Sophie insisted I needed something in my life. Even though I’d long since found joy in painting, Sophie told me the hobby I invested in had to be something “appropriate” for young women because getting paint under my nails wasn’t that. It still made me want to roll my eyes, but I relented and tried what she wanted me to. I owed her that much. She did a lot for me after my mother died, starting Sunday brunches so I’d have an excuse to leave the house for a while, and giving me old albums of photos from my father’s childhood, including some of his teenage years that had my mother in them.
“Piano is classy, Adele.” I’d gotten her full attention now, the magazine forgotten on her skirt-covered lap. She wore her usual attire—a tight pencil skirt with a button-up tucked into the waist that showed off her sleek curves. She garnered every straight male’s attention with the swivel of her hips no matter where we were. But she never flaunted, flirted, or gave any of them a hint of hope. “How are you going to get a man otherwise? Most men of prestige expect their women to have talents that go beyond the kitchen.”
My face instantly contorted with disbelief. “Maybe with my fast wit and brain? It isn’t the fifties anymore, Sophie. Women can be individuals.”
Her eyes rolled, something she did often when I opened my mouth to point out how derogatory she was to her own sex. “Trust me, darling, men don’t want wit.”
“On the contrary,” a new voice cut in from the doorway. Looking over my shoulder, I smiled wide at Lawrence McKinley’s casual stance against the doorframe of the parlor.
“Oh, hush.” Aunt Sophie stood, a smile on her own face that contradicted her tone. “I wish you wouldn’t encourage Adele on her silly thoughts. Come, give me a hug.”
Lawrence was a friend since we were in diapers. We did everything together from bathing to schooling. We fought like siblings growing up, but things changed during our experimental pre-teen phases, which lead to us being each other’s first everything a few years later. Too young, I realized now, but I didn’t regret it. Even though we were still good friends, we never turned into more for a lot of reasons. Mainly because of his obsession with his male teammates, and mine with a certain forty-year-old business mogul.
My best friend wrapped Sophie in his freakishly long arms that were muscular from the sports he played. Football was his favorite, but baseball was what he was best at, which was what he got a scholarship for at Bentley University, a private school in the city. “I find Adele’s thoughts anything but silly. You should see the way men look at her on campus. I doubt they’d care if she couldn’t play the piano to save her life.”
“Hey!” He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t help but frown over his bluntness.
He walked over to me and pressed a kiss to my temple like he always did in greeting. If it weren’t that, he’d pick me up and spin me around until I got dizzy. “You know I love you, Della, but you’re not a musician. Never were.”
Standing, I playfully shoved him away. “I know that but you’re my friend. You’re supposed to lie and tell me how talented I am.”
His laugh was deep, rumbling his broad shoulders until I couldn’t help but join in. “As your best friend I’m obligated to tell you the truth. You suck. Now painting? You’re better than anybody at that. Have you seen her work, Sophie?”
“I have. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good. But—” I tuned her out while she explained why painting wasn’t classy, clean, or good enough for me to do. It didn’t matter what she thought. I found painting relaxing. Like dance was, once upon a time. I’d only just started listening again when Sophie shook her head at us. “I never understood how you two never dated. We all thought you’d be engaged by now.”
Perhaps Lawrence’s bisexuality wasn’t obvious to those who didn’t spend enough time around him, but to me it was plain as day. It didn’t matter who a person was, he had eyes for anyone good looking. That had been me once, but even after our teenage transgressions we knew it wasn’t enough. He was my friend, the very best, but nothing more. He’d asked me if it was because of Theo, how I looked at my father’s friend, because even he knew it was more than a crush.
“Now who’s silly,” I replied softly, looking at Sophie. “We’re still young. Just because you were married at my age doesn’t mean I want to be, and I doubt Ren does either.”
“That’s because you haven’t even tried.”
Ren dropped an arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. “I tried setting her up with one of my teammates, but she said he wasn’t her type.”
“Alec spends more time talking about himself than anything else. Do you really blame me for not wanting to be subjected to that?”
Sophie waved her hand in the air. “You don’t want to be with a college boy anyway. They’re too immature. It’d suit you better to be with somebody older.”
My mind instantly went to Theo, and Ren must have known it based on the way his lips quirked up at the corners. He used to tease me about my “stupid girly crush” when I admitted that I liked Theo West. As time went on and I got older, we both realized it was more than that. He was older than my twenty-two years, but he was a few years younger than my father. I’d kept that in mind whenever my conscience told me it wouldn’t work. I’d seen how his eyes wandered over the past few years like they never had before, and if the early morning he’d stormed into my apartment so long ago now wasn’t an indication, he’d certainly felt something for me that I held onto no matter what he told me. “I’m not dating right now. I’ve only got a semester left of school. I want that to be my focus.”
“Of course,” my knowing best friend played along, causing me to elbow his stomach. He moved his arm and winked. “We should probably go. Or did you forget you agreed to go to the house with me tonight?”
Sophie frowned at him. “That frat you’re part of? I’m not sure Adele should go there after the brawl that happened last time.”
“It was hardly a brawl,” I argued lightly. Two guys were arguing over a girl and it got a bit messy. Beer went everywhere, including all over me. I’d broken a heel. Somebody accidently yanked my hair trying to catch themselves when the men bumped into the crowd. It was an interesting night to say the least.
“She’ll be safe, Sophie. I promise.”
“I feel like I need to protect her now…”
That my father couldn’t. My father might not have been fond of me going to these “social events” with Lawrence, but he knew I’d be smart and cared for. I was never one to make reckless decisions, especially if it meant risking my father’s reputation. Not that it mattered. He did that just fine himself.
“I’ve got her back, Soph.” Ren was the only one who could call her that. My aunt always had wandering eyes whenever he was around, which was more times than not. I found it more amusing than weird, because neither one would do a thing about it. Ren was a smooth talker most of the time, so Sophie had a sweet spot for him.
We walked out shortly after I changed into something more “frat appropriate” which, in Lawrence’s mind, was a yellow sundress that hit mid-thigh, strappy heels, and a layer of makeup that I only applied whenever I went out to college events. While I normally preferred clothes that covered me, bare feet, and little to no makeup, it wa
s fun to put on a front that I could wash off as soon as I locked myself away at night.
The drive to the frat house was short, only ten minutes. As soon as Lawrence pulled his Jeep into his usual parking spot in the back, he jumped out and jogged around to my side and opened the door with a grin on his face. “My lady.”
Rolling my eyes, I got out and adjusted my dress. “You’re in a much better mood than last time I agreed to one of these. Did you finally get laid?”
He gasped, his palm flattening against his chest in mock offense. “That isn’t a very ladylike question, Adele. I thought Sophie taught you better than that.”
The smile on my face grew over his theatrics as he guided us into the house, our arms linked as people greeted us in the packed hallway as soon as we stepped through the door. He waved, slapped a few people on the back, and grabbed a beer that was extended to him before passing it to me.
Shaking my head, I look around the room to find other familiar faces. “I don’t want to drink today. Is Jase here? Wasn’t he the one who begged for this party?”
“Social gathering,” a husky voice corrected from behind me before two arms wrapped around my waist and picked me up. I squealed in Jase’s arms as he spun us, narrowly missing a few innocent bystanders.
“Ah, that’s right. You could get shut down if the college finds out about any potential parties.”
He set me down with a boyish grin on his not-so-boyish face. Unlike Ren’s boy next door look, Jason, his frat brother, was more matured. In looks, that was. He was the prankster, the guy that got them into trouble nine times out of ten. Even Lawrence was surprised he hadn’t been booted yet. I liked him though. He was fun and could get me out of my head even when I was stuck in there for a while.
“Good to see you, Della.” He bent down and pecked my cheek before shoving Lawrence’s shoulder. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be here. Something about ‘duty calls elsewhere.’ Unless our resident blonde was the duty?” His eyebrows wiggled making me laugh. Even he suspected we were more than friends. I didn’t come to the frat often because I was busy with school, painting, and spending time with Sophie and Theo when I could. When I did make an appearance, it was always with Ren, Jase, and whoever their flavor of the month was. In fact, it was not so long ago I learned the redhead I’d been talking to was sleeping with both…at the same time. It’d made me uncomfortable to know what Ren was up to, but I never judged.
Shortly after that discovery, Jase had admitted that he would have made a move on me if it weren’t for Ren’s territorial nature. Even though I set the record straight, for what felt like the millionth time, Jase told me he wouldn’t make a move anyway because Ren was his brother. Maybe not by blood, but by bond. I could respect that. Plus, I didn’t want Jase as more than a friend to hang out with when I was around anyway. He was nice but knowing what he enjoyed was a little too much for me. It made me wonder what Ren had thought about our few times together. We hadn’t done a lot more than was I assumed was common—traditional even. Looking back now at my lack of sex experience, I wasn’t sure what other kinds there were which made me feel like such a prude. A feeling I hated.
Snapping out of the thought, I grinned at Jase and said, “He had to come to my house and insult my piano playing skills first.”
His face twisted. “You’re learning to play piano? Boring.” He dropped an arm over my shoulders but had to bend slightly because of our height difference. He was well over six feet tall, probably close to six-three. “Let me guess. Your aunt? The one that looks like there’s something shoved up her—”
“Yep, that’d be the one.”
He chuckled. “Want me to tell her what men really want? I could probably show her a thing or too so she could get a good visual.”
Unlike Lawrence, I had no doubt that Jason would try to hook up with my aunt. “I don’t need therapy, but thanks.”
Ren shoved his friend away and stole my arm again. “Come on. I want us to hang out downstairs. I challenged Rita and her latest boy toy to beer pong and need a partner.”
As he dragged me toward the basement stairs off the kitchen, I couldn’t help but tease him. “Is this the same boy toy you’ve been going after since you had that sociology class together?”
“Perhaps.” Translation: yes.
“You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly infatuated,” he corrected before shooting me another wink. As soon as he walked into the open living area where a pool table, flat screen, and few couches were set up, we got loud cheers from some of the other guests. There weren’t many people lingering down here because it was typically for “VIP” guests only, usually girlfriends of the fraternity, or whoever they were hooking up with at the time. Then there was me, the perpetual best friend slash third wheel. I was okay with it though because it meant I didn’t have to suffocate in the crowd of people upstairs.
I spotted Lawrence’s crush instantly hanging around Rita Malcom. She was a sweet girl that ran in a similar social circle as us. Her father worked with Theo as some investor—they might even be friends or something close to it if memory served. Rita and her father both showed up to the funeral where she’d given me a hug and her father gave me his apologies. For once, I’d believed somebody had actually felt bad that my father was killed. I didn’t talk to Rita much other than the occasional greeting in passing or during these where we were typically partnered up for whatever Ren forced me to take part of, but I could see her being a friend. An ally.
As always, I didn’t get a choice before I was teamed up with Rita to go against Lawrence and Ben. He was cute, around the same height as Ren, and the kind of preppy, clean-shaven guy that my best friend usually went for. He was on the lacrosse team at school, something Rita told me a while back when they first started hanging out. Like a lot of women who hung around this house, she was into any sports team and loved the attention from the players. She was sweet, but knew how to play the field, so to speak.
We lost horribly after forty-five minutes, and I downed one too many sour beers despite telling Lawrence I didn’t want to drink. I usually opted against alcohol because of the medication I was on for anxiety, something my therapist had prescribed a few years ago. I didn’t take them on days I knew I was going out because there was a chance this would happen. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure if they worked that well. I had good and bad days where I felt more anxious than not. It wasn’t as debilitating as it used to be when I went out because media wasn’t parked in front of my building trying to get an interview. There weren’t paparazzi following me and snapping pictures from shrubbery or calling out my name to get an ugly photo that would be on every gossip site known to man. It was because of them that I got worse. Not just my anxiety, but…
Blowing out a breath, I cradled my stomach where a pink scar rested. How many times did TMZ make comments on my appearance? She’s gained weight. Stress eating is a sign of guilt. I thought she was a dancer? The comments on my thighs, the way I filled out my leggings on the way to practice, the tint of my skin or how and if I wore makeup, all came back to one thing: I was a Saint James, which meant I was guilty. Guilty of pretending I didn’t care about what my father had done to people or how he abused his power. Guilty of not caring about the state of the New York after my father was arrested. They crucified me in every way possible until I hated myself more than I already did. Because I did gain weight from stress eating. I did stop trying at ballet. I did stop caring. Not about others. About me.
I just…stopped.
My mood swings then had gotten me in trouble with Judith, our ballet teacher, when I stopped being able to do the routines as easily as before. She’d berated me for gaining weight and demanded I go on a special diet, making me see a dietary specialist to help me cut out the food I was “poisoning” my body with. Then there were the stretch marks. The little reminders on my stomach and thighs that told me I’d lost control when the trial began. It was televised. There were reporters everywhere. I’d snuck food
everywhere I went with me to ease the pain, in the form of chocolate, carbs, and anything in between. I’d damaged the body that had once been naturally thin, and my metabolism did nothing to stop the transition that would send me into a downward spiral every time I stepped in front of those studio mirrors.
“Again, Adele!”
“Higher! If you didn’t eat that, you’d get a better jump!”
“What was that? Can you not bend further because of the extra padding?”
On and on it went until one day I’d broken down after practice. I’d waited until all the girls left before I realized what I needed to do. So, when I got home, I threw out all the junk food, got rid of anything that wasn’t appropriate for my diet, and…stopped eating altogether. When my father looked, I was nibbling here and there to disregard any growing suspicion he might have had. That was when I discovered purging.
The anxiety medication might have helped more than I gave it credit for, but there was no medication from the level of self-hate a person had for themselves. There wasn’t a pill to swallow to make people love themselves. No injection could make self-worth higher than self-consciousness on a whim. It would always be a fight for me to eat without sticking a finger down my throat or finding new methods of starving myself when nobody was looking. There were always going to be days when I wished my weight was as low as my self-esteem.
But I was better.
Be better.
Those words were a chant in my head, a soft-spoken demand that was not pointed at me, but one I took as a sign that I needed to listen.
“Be better,” my mother had said.
It was about two hours into the party when I stumbled toward the little kitchen downstairs off the main room and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Ren was flirting with Ben, Rita was hanging around a frat boy who looked new to the scene, so I stayed in the corner and tried sobering up.
After about ten minutes, the water was gone, and I was tired of watching everybody couple up. Throwing the bottle into the recyclables, I pushed away from the wall on slightly unsteady feet and started walking toward Lawrence until an arm hooked around my waist from behind.