by Lise Gold
“Well, maybe you should let me decide that for myself,” Mel sneered. “And does it even matter if I like her or not? That’s not the point. I’m in this with you, not with your mother, or your friends or anyone else.” She paused and softened her voice. “But I still want to be a part of your life, just like you’re a part of mine. Don’t you get that?” Sophie nodded, relieved that Mel had decided to calm down. Just the thought that she had said something to hurt her made her feel sick to her stomach.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Sophie got off the bed too and shuffled over to Mel. She held out a hand. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m not used to being with someone. Not someone who’s important to me, like you are.” She sighed. “I don’t want you to think that I’m shutting you out. It’s just so good between us, and I’m terrified of losing you.
“You won’t lose me.” Mel finally looked her straight in the eye, and Sophie knew that she meant it. She nodded.
“Okay. I promise I’ll introduce you to my parents and my friends.” She lifted an eyebrow and shot Mel a hopeful glance. “We can start tomorrow. How about Sunday lunch?” She gestured to her mobile phone on the bed. “I’ll call my mother right now to let her know that you’re coming.” Mel softened.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she took Sophie’s hand and pulled her onto her lap on the chaise. “Look, I’m not going to dislike anyone. If they’re your friends and your family, I’m sure we’ll get along. I’m good with people. You told me that yourself. And I can imagine it might be nerve wracking for you because you’ve never been in a relationship with a woman before but no one is going to find out unless you want them to. There’s no rush, and I would never pressure you into telling anyone about us.”
“I know.” Sophie wrapped her arms around Mel’s neck and pulled her into a tight hug.
“You’re right. I’m sure you’ll get along fine with everyone, and even if you don’t, it doesn’t matter.” She planted a kiss between Mel’s eyebrows. “It’s not like I don’t want to tell my friends about you. They’re pretty open-minded. They’d be surprised, sure. But I don’t think anyone would be funny about it. It’s just that people talk, even when they mean no harm by it. Our families all know each other, and I want my parents to hear it from me, not from their acquaintances at the local tennis club or one of my father’s clients.” She shot Mel a crooked smile. “I think they’ll have a hard time accepting the situation as it is and their whole inner circle talking about it certainly wouldn’t help.” She draped herself over Mel, straddling her in the window. “But no, I’m not ashamed of you. I’m so proud to have you as my… girlfriend.” She giggled at that word. “Forgive me, I’m still getting used to saying it out loud, but I do like the sound of it.” Mel looked up and moved her hands into the back of Sophie’s briefs. She cast her a teasing smile, slipping her hands further under the thin lace.
“Okay then, girlfriend. Sunday lunch it is.”
34
“Don’t be nervous,” Sophie said, resting a hand on Mel’s leg under the table. She was feeling more at ease after downing a glass of her father's brandy in the restroom.
“Easy for you to say. I didn’t see all this coming.” Mel shot her a cynical look and gazed over the opulence of the grand dining room. The house was Victorian, and so was the interior. It had been modernized though, showcasing a tasteful mix of contemporary and antique pieces in light shades of cream, duck egg gray, and white, with high gloss black touches. Large artworks decorated the walls, again, a mix of modern and antique paintings, inherited from Sophie’s grandparents. The velvet curtains were heavy and rich, draped along the large bay window, facing the street. There were plants and flowers arrangements, styled with great care on top of a black piano, placed against the back wall. Mel traced the edge of the dining table. It was made of heavy teak wood and surrounded by modern chairs with white and gray backrests.
“It’s so nice,” Mel said. Sophie followed her gaze, unimpressed with her mother’s need to show off their wealth.
“I guess it is. I never think about it because I used to live here. My mother gets a decorator in every five years. She’s so anal; it’s crazy. The last decorator quit after a week, and she had to find someone else who was willing to finish it under her micromanaging supervision.”
Mel nudged Sophie to stop talking when her mother walked in with a basket of bread and butter.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you, Eleanor?” Eleanor shook her head and tried to smile, stretching the corners of her mouth into an uncomfortable smirk. Her lips were even bigger than they looked on the picture Sophie had shown her.
“Don’t worry, Mel. That’s kind of you to offer, but Marisol is helping me in the kitchen.”
“She means Marisol cooked everything and she’ll take the credit,” Sophie mumbled after her mother had left the room.
“Do your parents have a chef?” Sophie shook her head.
“No. Marisol is their full-time cleaner, but she cooks as well. My mother likes to pretend she’s a domestic princess, so they have an understanding. We don’t speak about the fact that she cheats when there are guests around. Instead, we all pretend that we’re impressed with her kitchen skills. It makes her happy and less on edge.” Mel laughed and looked into the hallway where a wide staircase, lit up by a crystal chandelier, led up to the second floor.
“You have to show me around; I’d like to see the rest.” Sophie moved her chair and leaned in closer. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Mel’s shampoo.
“I’ll show you my old bedroom after dinner if you’re up for it.” They both giggled, and Mel shot her a warning look.
“Stop it; your mother will notice something!” She said, and she pushed Sophie’s chair back, laughing.
“Well, well, you must be Mel.” Sophie’s father entered the room and grinned at his own rhyme. Mel looked up at his broad-shouldered stature as he approached her. A cigar was hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was tall, sporting a mustache and a neatly trimmed beard. He removed a hand from out of his suit pocket and reached out to squeeze Mel’s hand in a firm handshake.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Scott,” Mel said in her most charming tone.
“Please, call me David. I feel old when people ‘Mister’ me.” He sat down opposite them and sighed.
“Long day?” Sophie asked. Her father nodded, and a deep frown appeared between his eyebrows. He looked tired.
“Twelve hours,” he said, refilling Mel and Sophie’s glass before pouring himself a glass of red wine. “The ladies nowadays…” He took a drag from his cigar and leaned back.” Sophie and Mel both waited for him to continue but nothing happened. Instead, he removed his tie and focused on his wine, savoring the first sip of his Burgundy. He looked up when his wife walked in.
“Deborah and Mark will be here any minute,” Eleanor said in a high-pitched voice. She turned to Sophie. “Your brother canceled again. He must be over his head in work, the poor sod. He didn’t sound too great on the phone.” She wiped her perfectly matte forehead with a napkin as if she’d just been standing over a steaming hot pan and leaned against her husband’s shoulder. “So tell me, Mel. How was Sophie’s date with Aldo? Or should I say, your double date?” She winked. “Sophie refuses to talk about it, but I think she’s just shy. He’s a fine young man, don’t you think?” She looked from Sophie to Mel and back. Sophie rolled her eyes.
“It wasn’t a date, Mum,” she said before Mel had the chance to answer. “I told you I don’t like him. I only went for dinner with him and his friend because you and Deborah pressured me into it, remember?” Eleanor cocked her head and squinted, observing her daughter.
“You’re blushing, Sophie.” She turned to Mel. “I know my own daughter, and I think I’m on to something here. I’m telling you, those two are meant to be together. Deborah and I are already secretly planning their wedding.” She giggled and jumped up when the doorbell rang. Sophie pinched Mel’s hand before they both got up to gre
et Deborah and Mark.
“See?” She whispered. “This is exactly what I was talking about.” Mel smiled.
“It’s fine. Just let it go.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mel,” Deborah sang after handing Eleanor a bottle of Champagne. “What a sight for sore eyes you are!” She gave Mel an approving glance-over and complimented her on her black, sleeveless dress. “And look at your hair. People would pay a hefty price for those curls. Where did you get them?” Mel opened her mouth to answer, but Deborah had already turned her back on her. She was hovering over a set of micro plants that the flower stylist had placed in an aquarium on top of the piano.
“Oh Eleanor, I love these,” she shrieked. “You must give me the number of your stylist.” She winked. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of these darlings in my dining room.”
“Micro plants,” Eleanor stated. “They’re called micro plants. They’re a big trend at the moment. Yoyo had them flown in from Japan; I’ll get you his contact details later.” She gestured to the flower arrangements at the end of the table and pursed her lips. “We’ve gone for an orange theme this time. Elle decoration had orange flowers featured last month and the color photographs really well.
“Clever.” Deborah looked impressed. “It’s a risk, I guess… But no statement has ever been made without taking a risk. Don’t you think, Mel?” Mel looked puzzled, staring at the orange flowers, draped over the edge of a triangular ceramic pot.
“Euh…Yeah,” She stammered. “Bold statement, for sure.” Eleanor beamed with pride.
“Thank you, Mel. See? The youngsters love it too, Deborah.” She walked back towards the kitchen.
“Let me just get the starters. We can discuss Yoyo’s fees over lunch. I’m telling you, this man will change your life.”
Mark cleared his throat and shot his wife a warning look.
“I’m not paying for someone to put flowers in our house, Deborah. It’s bordering on insane.” He turned to Sophie’s father. “I’m sorry David, no offense to your wife.”
“No offense taken, Mark.” Sophie’s father looked amused. “If I could talk some sense into her, I would, but unfortunately I don’t have much energy left to fight this flower nonsense.”
Sophie noticed that Mel had started to relax after their starter. She even seemed to enjoy herself, if she wasn’t mistaken. There was a lot of speculation around their double date, and they both tried to steer the conversation into a different direction. Deborah let it go after a while, but Sophie’s mother was having none of it. She passed the plate of salmon fillets to Mel, her eyes wide with excitement. “And his friend… Rick, was it? Was he your type? Or do you have a boyfriend?” Sophie’s father interrupted.
“Please, Eleanor. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not a matchmaker?”
“It’s okay,” Mel said. “He’s nice. Very polite and charming.” She hesitated. “But I’m afraid men don’t take my preference.” Eleanor frowned.
“What do you mean by preference?”
“Well,” Mel continued, “I’m gay.” Eleanor was clearly taken aback.
“Oh well, that’s great, Mel.” She sounded uncomfortable, looking down, focusing on her food. Deborah stepped in, determined to demonstrate her people’s skills.
“It certainly is great, Eleanor. I agree. The younger generation is so much more open minded than we were at that age. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Eleanor nodded and refilled their glasses.
“So… how does that work nowadays? Is this something you plan to do for a while, this lifestyle? I assume you would want children at some point? You’re around Sophie’s age, aren’t you?”
“Jesus Mum, listen to yourself,” Sophie said. “It’s not a choice. And it’s not limiting either. She can have kids if she wants. Anyone can.” Mel shook her head and put a hand on Sophie’s arm.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.” Eleanor raised her gaze.
“I apologize,” she said. “Sophie is right of course. It’s just that… you don’t look like that kind of person. You’re beautiful, and you could have the whole world at your feet.” Deborah nodded, trying to get a word in but Sophie’s father raised a hand.
“That’s enough, both of you. I think it’s time we change the subject.” He directed his attention back to Mel. “Sophie told me you two work closely together. Do your parents work in the creative industry as well?” Mel smiled politely.
“Not really,” she said. “Although my mother is very creative. She likes to sew and upcycle furniture. But she’s a cleaner, actually. Or rather she was a cleaner. Her back is bad now, so she’s not working at the moment. She’s living with me. My father passed away a couple of years ago, but he wasn’t much of an artist either unless you count gambling as an art.” She shook her head casually. “So no, no artists in my family as far as I know.” She looked at Sophie’s father. “But you sir, you could certainly call yourself an artist. I mean… you re-sculpt bodies and you make people feel happy about themselves again. That must be very satisfying.”
Sophie could tell that her father appreciated the compliment, but he shrugged it off.
“Well thank you, I suppose,” he said. “But it’s not always rewarding. Most people will never be happy with the way they look.” He made sure not to look into the direction of his wife, who pretended not to listen while she passed on the hollandaise sauce. Mark laughed.
“I’m with you on that, David. It’s…” There was a loud bang, then the clinking of glass against a hard surface. Eleanor looked up, bewildered.
“Marisol?” she shouted into the direction of the kitchen. “I really hope that’s not my antique crystal gravy jug.” When there was no answer, she got up to inspect the damage.
“Oh my God. What have you done? I told you to be careful with that, didn’t I? Do you have any idea how much this mug is worth? You’ve just ruined my luncheon.” They heard a dramatic cry and shortly after, apologetic whispering. Deborah got up too.
“Eleanor sounds terribly upset. I’ll go and check on her.” Sophie’s mind was working full speed, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to lighten the mood. She watched Mel listening in on the conversation in the kitchen. Her eyes turned cold, and her shoulders stiffened.
Sophie’s father turned his head towards the kitchen.
“Stop shouting and come back to the table for God’s sake, Eleanor. It’s only a bloody jug. We’ll get a new one.” Sophie looked at Mel, who glanced into the hallway.
“Please don’t mind my wife,” David said. “She can be a little dramatic sometimes.” Mel smiled politely and stood up from the table.
“Excuse me; I’m not feeling too well. I think I need some fresh air.” She turned to Sophie’s father. “Thank you for having me. It was nice to meet you.” Sophie followed her into the hallway, but Mel stopped her.
“Please,” she begged. “Just leave me, okay?” Sophie ignored her and followed her outside.
“No, I’m not going to let you go. We can go for a walk. Anywhere you want. But please don’t leave like this.” Sophie closed the door behind her and blocked the front gate.
“Wait, Mel. I don’t care if you want to leave but we need to talk.” Mel cocked her head.
“Talk about what? About how your mother treats her staff? About how she just shouted at a senior lady who has worked hard all her life to please her? In front of her guests, no less. It makes me feel sick, Sophie.” She pointed at the house. “I don’t want to sit at that table anymore and continue the stupid conversations we were having, pretending everything is fine.” She pushed Sophie aside and opened the gate.
“I don’t want to pretend everything is fine either,” Sophie said. “I don’t agree with her behavior, and I’ll tell her that..” She took Mel’s hand to stop her from walking away. “Let’s talk about this.” Mel shook her head.
“It’s not just that Sophie. I don’t think this is going to work out. Your mother, she almost
jumped through the roof when I told her I was gay. How do you think they'll react when they find out we're together? Not only am I a woman, my social background is so different from yours, they would never accept it. They're snobs, you know. Nasty, superficial snobs.” Sophie shot Mel a furious look.
“You can't just say that, Mel. They might be snobs, but they're still my parents. And don’t you dare judge them on what they have. My father works six days a week. It's not like success just fell into his lap.”
“Oh yeah? Well, my mother worked six days a week, and all she got was a bad back and a shitty payoff. Two thousand pounds from the last family she served for fifteen years.” She sniffed. “You were right. I shouldn’t have come here. You privileged people have no idea how lucky you are. Look at you. You never had to worry about anything. You have an apartment in Chelsea that your parents paid for, and now you're just darting through life like a... I don’t know. I can’t even fucking describe how easy your life seems to me. But I’m not in the same boat as you, Sophie.” She inhaled through her teeth. “I can't risk my job. I have to take care of both myself and my mother. If I lose this job, we'll be in trouble because she won’t be able to take care of herself financially. Her pension is close to nothing. Don't you understand? It's not the same for you, and I’m not going to risk what I have for something that’s never going to work out in the first place. We’re just too different. ” Sophie followed her out to the street.