Natural Love

by S. Celi

  “Maybe it’s just that being back home is good for me,” I said, and my eyes fell on Avery. Black sundress. Pink nautical scarf. Low-heeled sandals. And damn, the way that dress showed off her tanned legs threatened to give me an instant hard-on.

  Stop it, Spencer. Stop. It. Now. You told her this could never happen. She’s your stepsister. That’s all.

  “You know,” Linda’s clipped voice regained my attention, “we’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I lied, still unable to take my eyes off Avery, who by now had linked her arm with Dad’s and appeared ready to head in the direction of the baggage claim carousels. The wooden bracelet from South Africa slid down the arm she held onto him with. It was a stretched out mess from weeks of endless wear on her wrist.

  For a second, I wished I had never given her that bracelet. It just reminded me of the things I couldn’t have. It just made this torture worse.

  Fuck me.

  “Come on,” Linda said. “I can’t wait to go home. Three weeks in Italy. Great, but it was a long time to be away. Feels strange to be back.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

  “HERE WE ARE,” Henry said as he placed a large platter on the center of the dining table. “The special of the house.”

  Henry had cooked a huge dinner that night as a welcome-home present. He wouldn’t let anyone help him prepare the bacon-wrapped pot roast, the sautéed kale and spinach or the dark chocolate mousse for dessert. He insisted on doing it all himself, fussing over the pots and pans for two hours just to get it exactly right. We all sat in the study making small talk and watching the PGA tournament on dad’s favorite big-screen TV. The three of them drank white wine and laughed about stories from the trip.

  I drank Diet Coke and wished I could have spiked it with bourbon. Something. Wine. Even a cheap beer would work. Dad and Linda had been home for just a few hours and already the whole tone of the house had changed. And in my opinion, not for the better.

  “Spencer,” Dad said as he stabbed the pot roast with a carving knife. “How is the studying coming along?”

  “I’m done,” I said, and exchanged a glance across the table with Avery. “For a few days now. And I have it all memorized. Backwards and forwards.”

  “Do you?” Dad sounded skeptical as he placed a large piece of the roast on his plate. He also didn’t look at me. In fact, he’d avoided direct eye contact with me ever since the afternoon reunion at CVG.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging to hear.” Dad cut the roast and took a bite from his plate. I recognized the change in his tone, and I knew better than to take a bite of my own dinner. He wanted to test me.

  Round one.

  “So, Spencer, if you have it memorized, you should be able to tell me the second quarter profits of 2010.”

  Avery smirked at me and I smirked back.

  “Which section, Dad?” I drank some more of my Diet Coke. “Residential? Commercial? Both?”

  Dad’s fork clattered against the china. “Hmm. Both.”

  “It wasn’t the greatest year,” I said. “And Q2 came in at a loss.”

  “A loss of how much?”

  “Five hundred thousand for commercial,” I said and picked up my own fork. “Two hundred grand residential. We had a few unexpected vacancies.”

  “We certainly did,” Dad muttered. “But very good.”

  “Ask me anything about the business, Dad. I know the answer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “I’ve been studying. Hard. And for the last two years, I’ve worked to get my head on straight, just like you asked. I want this. I want to take my rightful place in our company.”

  Dad cocked his head and laughed without humor. “Rightful place. Did you hear that, Linda? Rightful place.”

  “Honey, do you really think you should start this with Spencer right now? Over dinner?”

  “It seems to me, son, that you still have to learn one huge lesson.” Dad leaned over his plate and pointed his fork at me, ignoring my stepmother. “No one in this room is entitled to anything. Not this house. Not my company. Not my fortune. Everything, and I mean everything, has to be earned.”

  “You’ve been telling me that my whole life,” I said.

  “And apparently you haven’t learned your lesson yet, have you?” Dad shifted his weight so that every part of his imposing body angled toward me. “For years I’ve been trying to tell you this. You are not entitled to anything just because you are Spencer Chadwick. Outside these walls, the Chadwick name means nothing. Nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” Avery said. “I’ve seen the way people treat us in town. They’re always more than happy to have our name attached to this fundraiser or that social event.”

  Dad nodded, but kept his focus on me. “That’s true, Avery, but don’t mistake what I’m about to say. There are people in this town who think our name brings some kind of legitimacy. I know who they are. But trust me on this—whatever credit the Chadwick name has can be gone in an instant. Just because people want to be around us now doesn’t meant they’ll want us around in the future.” He shook his fork at me. “And that means that just like me, you’ll have to earn your success, son. That’s how dynasties get built. One weak link and it will all collapse. Do you all hear me?”

  Avery and I grumbled a reply.

  Then the whole table fell silent again. In the kitchen, I heard Henry shuffling around with whatever remained of dinner, but banging pots and pans didn’t drown out the awkwardness.

  At least he and Linda didn’t suspect my feelings for Avery.

  “SPENCER, COME IN here and help me,” Linda said from the kitchen a day later as I walked past it on my way to the pool. She sat at the breakfast table in front of a pile of red, white and blue wire garlands. They twisted and roped around her as she struggled to turn them into table arrangements that I guessed would top the cocktail tables in the back yard during the party.

  I took a seat across from her and picked up a blue strand. “This is a mess.”

  She laughed. “Won’t be for long.”

  In three expert moves, her hands twisted the wires around a green cylinder of floral foam and transformed it into a twisted fountain worthy of any magazine. Then she gave me a triumphant smile and placed it next to a growing pile of finished decorations at her feet. “There. Perfect.”

  I picked up the wire and the scissors. “Do you want me to cut this for you?”

  “Please do. Take the blue one right there in front of you and use it as a guide. Each strand should be the same length as the other ones, and it’s important to get the lengths exactly right.”

  We worked in silence for a few minutes and I watched my stepmother. The whole time, my mind raced with things I wanted to tell her, mostly the things I wanted to say about Avery, but I never did. Then, my stepmother broke the silence.

  “You’re still very unhappy, aren’t you, Spencer?” She sounded like she’d been thinking about this for some time.

  I looked at my stepmother and dropped my scissors. “What makes you say that?”

  “I can tell these things,” she said, putting the finishing touch on her next decoration. “I know well enough to know when something is not right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She placed her scissors on the table and her wary eyes met mine. “I don’t like liars, Spencer. And you’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not lying,” I said, curling a piece of wire in my hands. The last thing I wanted was to give off a depressed or unhappy vibe to my stepmother. Oh, no. She needed to see me in the best light possible since her daughter, that damn Avery, was one of the major sources of my frustration.

  “Spencer, I want you to be honest with me.”

  “I’m not lying,” I said, adamant. “I don’t lie.”

  “Well, you don’t have to tell me.” She sighed. “Most people in this house are unhappy. Goes right with our last name.
”

  The resignation in her voice told me that whatever came next would be heavy. Chadwick family secrets and intrigue ran as thick as the concrete that held together the walls of the house. All four of us knew it.

  “Something’s bothering you.” She leaned across the table. “And something’s bothering Avery, too.” She looked away. “Of course, she won’t tell me what it is. She never tells me anything anymore.”

  I said nothing. I just waited with a stony expression on my face.

  “And whatever it is that makes you unbearably unhappy,” she said, “is so bad that the Peace Corps didn’t fix it.”

  “I’m good enough for this family,” I said. “No matter what Dad thinks; I am. I know I’ll succeed if he gives me that chance to do it.”

  “I’ve talked to him about it,” she said. “But you know how your father can be. Stubborn.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  The familiar irritation I felt whenever anyone talked about this problem started to seep into my veins. I could be perfect. I could do everything right, and it would never matter to my father. Even before the DUI, he’d written me off as a failure, a bad investment. Dad hated bad investments. And if he knew about my feelings for Avery, I’d become more than just a bad investment.

  I’d be a pile of nuclear waste.

  “But that’s not the real problem.” My stepmother’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes it is.”

  Linda leaned back in her chair and put down the pair of scissors in her left hand. “You two think I don’t notice things. I do.”

  “Avery’s fine,” I said. “I’m the one who got arrested for drunk driving, not her.”

  She shook her head. “Something’s different . . . Something’s been different with her. She’s not who she used to be.”

  “People change.”

  “They do.” She still studied me. “I had hoped she’d brighten up when you came back, that she’d be happier, but I don’t think she is. I think she’s faking it.”

  “Maybe you should talk to her about this, and not me.”

  “I’ve tried.” Linda sighed. “But she keeps on brushing me off.” She took a sip of wine from a glass by the scissors and grimaced. “You know, if anyone knows something about faking your way through pain, it’s me.”

  No one would have argued with Linda about that. Seven years before, after routine knee surgery, Linda got addicted to painkillers, and worst of all, to OxyContin. She lost twenty pounds, scratched her arms, slept all the time, and nodded off during the awards ceremony for Avery’s class at Summit Country Day School. Classmates asked both Avery and me if she was “okay,” and more than once I caught a few harsh glances and hushed tones from women Linda considered friends. Even Allison, Linda’s personal shopper at Nordstrom, confronted Linda about her behavior.

  Dad had put Linda in a Phoenix rehab center for seven months. When she came back, we never talked about it again, and we referred to the place as a ‘yoga and weight loss clinic.’ What a farce. Linda had been stick-thin when she got on the plane for Arizona. After she returned, she had gained twenty pounds, not lost them.

  Dad forbade us from asking about it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, seven years later, in a haphazard attempt to tell my stepmother I hadn’t forgotten about her addiction and that I still cared. “Really, really, really sorry.”

  She shrugged, and for a moment I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Then, with two brief swipes of her index finger, they disappeared. “Sometimes it’s better just to forget the bad things that happen. Pretend they never existed. Right? That’s the Chadwick way.”

  Avery had said almost the exact same thing to me a few days before.

  “I think you have an opportunity with your father, though.” Linda tilted her head in thought and tapped her finger on the latest table decoration. Just like that, her tone had changed once again. Anyone who walked into the kitchen would have no idea she’d been upset seconds before. “You can make a good impression at the party. Circulate. Make connections. Network. It’s the first time most of these people have you seen you since your African adventure. Let them see the new you, and maybe he’ll see it, too.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Your father cares so much about what people think. It consumes him. If he sees you as a social success at the party, he’ll look at you differently.” She put her hand on mine. “I promise, Spencer. He will.”

  WHEN I WALKED out of my bedroom on the night of our family’s annual Fourth of July party, strands of white lights wrapped the banister on the open side of the hallway and traveled the railing of the staircase. At the foot of the steps, Henry stood next to the door, ready to greet partygoers as they walked into the foyer, while a valet took care of their cars.

  As I walked toward him, I thought about my conversation with Linda two days before. Maybe she was right. I needed to win over the guests at this party. I needed to look like the perfect son. I needed to prove to my father that I could carry the mantle of the Chadwick name with pride. It was the best way to win him over, and I needed to do it without any distractions. Not one.

  Especially not one named Avery Jackson.

  “You look handsome, Mr. Chadwick,” Henry said when I reached him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Thank you. And like I’ve said before, please call me Spencer.” I brushed some lint from Henry’s navy blazer.

  “Bad habit.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll work on that. And in case you’re wondering, Linda and your sister are working on some final details at the breakfast bar.”

  “What makes you think I’m wondering?”

  “Intuition.”

  “What about the backyard?” I said, eager to change the subject away from Avery. “How does it look?”

  “Oh, you know your parents.” Henry grinned. “They outdo themselves every time.”

  “They sure do.” My mouth twisted in a half smile. “God forbid we be accused of throwing a boring party.” I raised two fingers to him in a mock salute before I wandered into the kitchen.

  Avery stood at the breakfast bar holding a large platter of artful and decorative chopped vegetables. I stopped walking a few steps into the room and allowed myself to stare at her for the briefest of moments. Red dress. Lace. Wide skirt. Tall black heels. A pearl necklace at her throat.

  Damn, I wanted to fuck her.

  Hard.

  “Spencer,” Linda said from the sink. She flipped on the faucet and ran her hands under the water. “Come here. I have some things that need to go out to the patio.”

  I didn’t reply because I didn’t even hear her. Avery’s beauty shut out everything.

  “Spencer,” Linda said after a beat. “What did I say? Come over here.”

  I jerked my head in her direction. “Right.”

  She turned off the faucet, rubbed her hands on the towel nearby and grabbed a large tray of skewered salami kabobs from the top of the stove. “You look nice, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I walked over and grabbed the tray from her. “Where on the patio do you want it?”

  “The caterer has it all ready to go.” Linda nodded at Avery. “You can show him, can’t you?”

  Avery nodded at the entrance to the patio from the kitchen. “They’re all out there.” She picked up a tray, walked toward the door, and I followed with my eyes on her ass the entire time.

  Stop looking, Spencer. Stop.

  “The guests will start getting here in fifteen minutes,” Linda called after me. “Avery, fix your necklace so the clasp doesn’t show. And Spencer, your mother called earlier this afternoon. She’s coming to the party.”

  “She is?” The tray wobbled as I tried to open the door for Avery. She smiled at me.

  “Yes,” Linda said. “Avery, did you hear me?”

  “I did, Mom. I’ll fix it.”

  Avery didn’t look back at Linda, though. Instead, her mouth taunted me. Her eyes invited me to com
e closer, like a magnet on my heart. Pathetic, really. These feelings shouldn’t have been happening with this intensity. They couldn’t be happening. And yet I didn’t want them to stop.

  “Your mother,” Avery said once I opened the door and stepped aside to let her walk by me. “Nice.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “You look really good, Spencer,” she said as we made our way down the short walkway and onto the patio. “Great tie.”

  Ever since that night in front of the garage, I’d heard innuendo in every compliment she said. Avery wanted to get a reaction from me. I just didn’t know what kind.

  “You look good, too,” I said.

  She stopped and whirled around. “Thanks. I hope Mitchell likes the outfit.”

  “Mitchell.”

  She grinned again, as if we both had something between us neither wanted to say aloud. “Since he’s my date, dear Brother.”

  “Stepbrother,” I muttered.

  “Don’t sound so upset. You made things clear the other night.”

  “Did I?”

  “You did. You know exactly what you said.” One hand found her hip, and she balanced the tray on the other. Then she glanced over at the caterers and lowered her voice. “And besides, Mitchell’s the kind of guy I should date, right?”

  “I never said that,” I said, struggling to remember what I had said to her and how I had said it. I hadn’t exactly told her to date him instead of me. Well, maybe I had.

  “Doesn’t matter what you said. He texted me the other night about the party, and it just made sense for him to be my date.”

  She turned around and walked the last few steps to the long buffet in the center of the table. The row of rectangular tables spanned half the length of the house with alternating blue and red tablecloths, and featured enough food to feed the Tudor court. Avery placed her tray on the far end, right next to a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables. Mine had a place near the other end.

  “Look at all of this.” Avery gestured to the table and then out to the grounds. Tea lights and torches dotted the lawn and led to the pool. Inside the pool, a special fountain made the water look red and blue as it spewed through the center. Across from the pool, the six-person band Dad hired from Chicago fine-tuned their instruments, and nearby, the first of five freestanding bars looked ready to open.