by Paul, JL
“Is it time to eat yet?” my father asked as he walked into the room, dressed in pressed trousers and his best cashmere cardigan over a white, oxford shirt.
“Dad,” I said, laughing, “We have to wait for everyone to get here.”
“They’re always late,” he frowned. “Why am I the only punctual person in the family?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I rolled to my toes and pecked his cheek.
“So, Morgan, how are classes?” he asked as he trailed behind me on my way to the kitchen. I’d been waiting for this – had been surprised when it hadn’t happened the night before.
“Fine, Dad,” I said. “I’m doing well.”
“Still thinking about teaching art to children?”
I paused, recalling a conversation I’d had with my photographer professor just a week earlier. We’d been working with models, working with face angles and lighting. My professor had kept me after class one day, expressing his pleasure with my work. He’d asked me if I’d considered a career in fashion photography, exclaiming that I had an artistic eye – the sort of eye that high fashion magazines looked for. It had got me rethinking my entire life plan.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m doing really well in my photography classes…”
He wrinkled his nose as he groaned, waving a hand. “That’s no career – that’s a hobby. Teaching is a noble profession, although I think that you should consider teaching at a higher level.”
The doorbell rang, sparing me for the moment. I hurried away to answer it, ushering in my aunt and uncle and my grandparents. More relatives arrived and by the time my mother placed the perfectly basted bird on the table, the place was as crowded as Rusty’s on a Saturday night.
Once everyone had taken a seat, my father said grace and then carved the bird. The noise level rose as dishes were passed around and my mother was complimented on her skills.
“I’ve always said that it’s important for a woman to know how to cook,” my grandmother said, giving my mother a nod and a smile. “Wonderful job, dear.”
“Thank you, Mother,” my mother said.
“How are your culinary skills, Morgan?” my grandmother asked.
“Oh, they’re fine,” I said with a forced smile.
“Morgan is more focused on her academic classes right now,” my father chimed as he passed a heaping bowl of sweet potatoes to my Uncle Roy.
“Yes, I understand,” Grandmother said. “But she’s not going to find a suitable gentleman if she’s hiding away in a library.”
“I agree,” Mother said.
I refrained from rolling my eyes as I bent over my plate.
“She needs to have something to fall back on,” Dad said. “She needs a career.”
“She won’t have to work if she finds the right young man,” Grandmother said. “She should worry about finding the proper gentleman to court and marry. It worked well for my daughters.”
The atrocity, I sighed. But, that was my mother’s family. Their mission in life was to marry well.
Dad smiled, shooting me a look that told me that I should not consider my grandmother’s words. I returned his smile, letting him know that I hadn’t. I wondered, in that moment, what Grandmother would think of Evan. I nearly snorted in my stuffing.
Dinner was bearable, even though it took close to an hour. My face hurt from my false smile and I had an ache in my neck from all the nodding. I gave the right answers to the same questions and helped my mother and my aunt clear the table and load the dishwasher. The men retired to the study for brandy and cigars while the women gathered in the living room for coffee. I wished I’d told my mother that I had to return to Dalefield on Friday, rather than Saturday.
“Are you shopping tomorrow morning?” Aunt Estelle asked my mother.
“Yes. Morgan and I are getting up early,” Mother said.
“Oh, the crowds will be terrible,” Grandmother said. “Why do you want to do that?”
“It’s fun,” I said. “Mom and I find great deals and then have breakfast.”
“But you get up so early,” Grandmother said. “If you need something that badly, why not send the help?”
Mother and Aunt Estelle exchanged an amused look – they’d grown up with Grandmother’s attitude.
“Like Morgan said,” Mother smiled. “It’s fun. I enjoy spending that time with my daughter.”
“I suppose,” Grandmother said as she sipped her coffee. “Morgan, dear, will you please go ask your Grandfather how much longer he will be? It’s getting late.”
“Sure,” I said, grateful to leave the room.
***
“Tell me, Morgan,” Mother said as we browsed racks of clothing at her favorite boutique. Their Black Friday bargains were Mother’s favorite even though the prices were still outrageous.
“Yes?” I asked as I held up a soft, pink sweater.
“How is your social life?” she asked.
After escaping an inquisition at dinner, I’d expected to be pelted with questions while shopping. I hadn’t prepared much, though, and wasn’t sure how much to tell her.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“How are Irelyn and Bailey?”
“Irelyn is engaged,” I said, hesitating. I hadn’t wanted to tell her about Bailey but I figured she’d find out somehow, sooner or later. “And Bailey is expecting.”
“Really?” she said, spinning to face me. “Is she going to get married?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I put the sweater back on the rack. “She hasn’t decided yet.”
“I know you girls don’t see marriage the way my generation did, but don’t you think that a wedding should come before a child?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I said. “It’s Bailey’s decision. She’s perfectly happy living with Collin.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t do anything of that sort, Morgan,” Mother said with a shudder. “I can just imagine the scandal. Those old bats at the Club would have a field day bad-mouthing me. They are so catty.”
I nodded, eyeing the array of cardigans on the next rack.
“And your grandparents – oh, they would be crushed,” she continued. “They would be so upset and angry.”
“Well, I’m not living with anyone nor am I pregnant,” I said. “So, you can relax.”
She managed a smile as she moved next to me, flipping through the cardigans. “When is Irelyn going to marry?”
“This summer,” I said. “She’s asked me to be a bridesmaid.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Mother said, her eyes sparkling. “Have you shopped for dresses yet?”
“No,” I said.
“I know of some charming shops in Indianapolis. I’ll give you a list before you leave.”
After that, conversation centered on Irelyn’s upcoming nuptials, Mother tossing out suggestions as to venue, menu, and place settings. I was never so glad to get back to the house.
Friday evening, I spent at home, listening to my parents gently argue over my future. Dad wanted to go over next semester’s schedule, suggesting classes I should take, while Mother wanted to talk about possible husband candidates. Around eight o’clock, I feigned a headache and went to bed.
I left early the next morning, claiming the need to study for upcoming exams.
I met Evan at Beans once I unpacked. We took our coffee to the table near the windows, watching the Christmas shoppers rush from store to store.
“So, how’s the family?” he asked as he blew across his coffee.
“The same,” I said with a grimace. I was already dreading going home for Christmas. “How about you?”
“Oh, it was nice. Lots of good food, football on the TV, drinking beer and playing cards.”
“Sounds fun,” I said.
“Yeah, it was,” he said. “But I had more fun Wednesday night at Rusty’s.”
The glint in his eye combined with the slight smirk on his lips caught my attention. “What happened Wednesday?”
/> “Oh, the usual gang was there,” he said. “Bailey and Collin, Irelyn and Lucas, Jessica and Spencer.”
“Didn’t Bailey go home for the holiday?” I asked.
“Guess not,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, puzzled. “So, what happened?”
“Jessica,” he laughed. “I wasn’t working, just hanging out, so Jessica asked me to join them. She kept asking me questions about you, trying to pry out of me the nature of our relationship.”
“Oh, wonderful,” I groaned.
“Yeah, it was a pain in my ass but I had a little fun with it,” he said.
“What did you do?” I asked.
Laughing, he leaned forward. “She kept asking questions about us, being really nosy, so I just answered sort of vague, but I led her to believe that we weren’t in a real relationship – that we were just having a torrid affair.”
My eyes grew as my heart pounded. “You did not.”
“I did,” he said, leaning back. “She shut up – didn’t know what to say.”
“Oh, Evan,” I groaned. “What did Bailey and Irelyn say?”
“What does it matter?” he asked.
“They’re my friends,” I said. “I don’t want them thinking I’m a … whore.”
“Please,” he said, tilting his chair back. “If they’re really your friends, they’ll know better. Don’t worry about it so much.”
“What about … the guys,” I said. “What did they say?”
“Nothing, really,” he said, brow furrowed. “What do you think they’d say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you care?” he asked. “Don’t tell me all that shit Jessica was saying about Spencer is true.”
“Of course not,” I said, ducking over my coffee. “But the guys are my friends, too, and I don’t want them thinking poorly of me, either.”
I could feel his eyes boring into the top of my head. I lifted my cup to my lips, still avoiding his gaze.
“Why are you so worried about what people think?” he asked. “Especially your friends.”
“Because they are my friends,” I said, finally meeting his eyes.
“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward. “They’re your friends. They know the real you.”
“But…” I started, struggling to explain. He didn’t understand what had happened over the summer – how we’d lost touch. He didn’t know that Irelyn and Bailey might actually believe him – might think that I’d changed in the time that we hadn’t spoken.
That thought stirred my anger like a chef whisking a pan of gravy. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be near him. I didn’t want to look at him. What had he done?
“You just don’t understand,” I said, my voice hard. I gripped my cup in an effort to stop the trembling in my hands. “You don’t know.”
“Then tell me,” he said.
“Why? You won’t understand. You think it’s funny to say stuff like that and you don’t think how it will affect other people.”
“Morgan,” he said, leaning back, running his hands through his hair. “It was a joke. I only said it to rile Jessica up. You should have heard her, going on about you hanging around the bar, making it sound like you were annoying me or something.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped. “That didn’t give you the right to make up stories about us. How…embarrassing! How am I supposed to face them again without being completely humiliated?”
“Morgan,” he said, reaching across the table for my hand.
I stood up, snatching my coat and my purse from the back of my chair. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I stomped out of the shop without another glance.
Chapter Eleven
My anger hadn’t abated by the next day. If anything, it was worse. I still couldn’t believe that Evan would tell tall tales about our relationship. We’d hardly done more than hold hands and share little kisses and yet he let my friends believe that we were doing… I shuddered to think about it.
Not wanting to dwell on it, I dressed, bundled up against the chill, and grabbed my camera. I drove to a park a few miles from town and parked. As I walked the path, I paused only to shoot a picture here or there of bare trees, leaf piles, and the granite sky. I had a huge project due at the end of the semester; a portfolio of my best work. Although my professor raved about the fashion photos I’d taken, I wanted to show my versatility and add some nature shots as well as other, various photos.
Taking a break at the empty playground, I sank to a swing, allowing the breeze to ruffle the hair poking out from under my knit cap.
Evan had called and texted until midnight, apologizing over and over, begging for me to talk to him. I hadn’t been able to do it. I hadn’t wanted to hear it. And, actually, hadn’t known what to say. I was afraid that I might have overreacted again. Ever since the huge blowout over the summer, I constantly second guessed myself, wondering if I was taking things too literally or if I did indeed have a right to be upset.
The wind picked up, nipping at my cheeks. I rose from the swing and started down the path to the parking lot.
The bitter cold kept the mothers and young children away. I could almost picture them at home, laughing in a cozy kitchen as they made cookies and sipped hot chocolate with mini marshmallows from matching mugs.
With a slight smile, I followed the meandering path past a frozen duck pond, the occupants long gone for the winter. Pausing on the wooden bridge, I leaned on the rail, studying the thin layer of ice covering the frigid water underneath, somehow still sustaining aquatic life. It reminded me of how I felt; the outside fragile ice, ready to crack at the slightest weight, while inside, life churned and fought to survive.
Removing my camera from the bag, I aimed the lens at the edges of the pond, where tiny fissures in the ice had formed. I snapped frame after frame, doing my best to capture the emotion. Satisfied, I placed my camera back in my bag and continued on my way to the warm car.
***
“Hey, Morg,” Bailey greeted Monday in the cafeteria. “Is something wrong with your phone?”
“Huh?” I asked as Bailey took the seat across from me. “I don’t think so.”
Frowning, I removed the phone from my bag. The screen was dark and I realized that I’d turned it off Saturday evening to avoid Evan’s texts and calls and hadn’t turned it on since.
“Wow,” I said with a laugh. “How lame am I? I didn’t even notice that it’s been off.”
Bailey chuckled along with me as she unscrewed the cap off a water bottle. “Well, Irelyn’s been trying to get a hold of you. She wants us to go dress shopping tonight. You available?”
“Um, yeah,” I said. “Oh, wait – I’m supposed to work. What time does she want to go?”
“Sixish,” Bailey said. “In Indy.”
Powering up my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Dante. I shot him a text, asking if he could cover my shift and I’d come in later and close for him.
“I should be able to switch shifts,” I told Bailey. “I’ll send Irelyn a text when I know for sure.”
“Cool,” Bailey said. “How was Thanksgiving?”
“The usual,” I said. “Yours?”
“Boring,” she said. “We had dinner at Collin’s parents’ house.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said.
“It wasn’t, really,” she admitted. “It would have been better if I’d been able to have some wine or something.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess.”
“We saw Evan on Wednesday night,” Bailey said, a knowing grin forming on her lips. “He’s funny. I like him.”
Groaning, I placed my fork on my tray. “He told me what he said…”
“Don’t get upset, Morg,” Bailey said, reaching across the table to clutch my wrist, giving it an affectionate shake. “We know he was kidding. I think he was trying to get to Jessica. That chick is a bitch. She’s on my last nerve.”
Relaxing, I managed a smile – but only fo
r a moment. Evan had been right and once again, I’d overreacted. Would I ever stop?
“Yeah, she doesn’t like me much,” I said as I scrolled through my texts, reading all the ones from Evan. I’d answer him later, when I was alone.
“She’s jealous,” Bailey said with a shrug. “She wishes she was as smart and stylish as you.”
“I…” I said, taken aback. “Thanks.”
Bailey shrugged again. “So, meet us at Maurice’s Emporium at six, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
***
“This one is pretty,” Irelyn said, holding up a blue A-Line, one shoulder, knee length, chiffon gown.
“It is,” I said, tilting my head. “Do you like the color?”
“I like the color but I think I want something a little longer,” she said, holding the dress away from her body to study it better.
“She wants us all to look like princesses,” Bailey quipped as she pulled a gown from a rack. “Like this.”
“Um, that’s quite hideous,” I whispered.
Bailey laughed as she held the floor length, bright yellow A-Line gown with puffy sleeves and ruffles at the hem. “What do you think, Irelyn?”
“Bailey, that’s just…wow.”
We laughed as Bailey shoved the dress back on the rack. “Okay, so that one is out.”
“How about this?” I asked as I held up an A-Line/Princess V-neck dress. It was chiffon and floor length, about as romantic as you could get. “You could get it in whatever color you want.”
Irelyn shoved the floor length gown she’d been looking at back on the rack and hurried over to me.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, caressing the material. “What do you think, Bailey?”
“I like it,” she said with a shrug. I sent her a smile, knowing that she’d agree with anything Irelyn wanted even if she hated it.
Irelyn carried the dress to the counter to inquire about pricing and available colors. Bailey and I moved over to shoes just as the bell tinkled above the door and Jessica rushed in, her hair tousled from the wind.
“Hey,” she said to Bailey, ignoring me. “Did you find anything yet?”
“Yeah, I think,” Bailey said, nodding at the dress Irelyn was holding up for the clerk.