Pride, Prejudice, and Cheese Grits

by Hathaway, Mary Jane

  “No, this won’t work at all! I want a good table.” Tasha had an orange fist planted on one bony hip, her lips pursed in irritation. “I specifically mentioned that when I made the reservations. If this is the best you can do, we’ll just have to leave.”

  Their host ducked his head and hurried away. The group stood awkwardly in the far corner of the restaurant.

  “Tasha, if you take this chair by the wall, you can still see most of the place.” Carl said reasonably, but she turned her face away from him and refused to sit. Ransom said nothing, instead he gazed off into the distance. Shelby couldn’t believe a grown woman would be such a pain in the ass.

  “No, Carl, you don’t get it.” Tasha hissed angrily, flipping her stick straight blond hair over one shoulder. “He sat us right by the kitchen! I’m not going to eat next to the kitchen, with all the smells and clanging pots and yelling.”

  “You don’t really eat anyway.” Ransom’s voice wound lazily through the group, like a bee at a pick nick. It came to rest with a sting, on Tasha.

  She gasped. “That’s not true. I eat and when I do, I like to have a quiet table away from the kitchen, where I can see the other guests. Is that so much to ask?” Her face had gone from haughty woman to petulant child in an instant. Her lower lip, glossy and plump, stuck out a bit, and her eyes misted with tears. “Why are you so mean, Ransom?”

  Shelby shifted uncomfortably. Did she really want to be the fill-in blind date with a bickering couple?

  As if Ransom had read Shelby’s mind, he put his hand on Tasha’s shoulder. “Don’t mind me, I’m just hungry.”

  “You know how cranky he is when he doesn’t get fed on time. Oh, here he comes,” Carl said with relief as the maitre d’ waved them to a new table. This one passed Tasha’s inspection, being squarely in the center of the room.

  “I hope we’re not in the direct path. I don’t want people brushing past me all evening,” she said fretfully, as Ransom held out her chair.

  All evening? This had better not take more than an hour or so. Shelby smiled at Carl as he held her chair, and she tried to settle her bottom into the odd wicker shape. Now that she was closer to Tasha, she could see the lightest sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m going to the ladies’room.” Tasha folded her menu and stood, her gaze already canvassing the room. Ransom drummed his fingers on the tablecloth as he read through the dinner options. Carl met Shelby’s eyes over his menu and grinned.

  Shelby watched Tasha stride away, her long legs toned and perfectly smooth under the short sun dress, heels clicking on the polished floor. She wondered how old she was. Older than Jennie Anne, for sure. Hard to tell with all that make up.

  “Very pretty, really.” Shelby spoke half to herself, still watching Tasha’s retreating figure.

  “And astronomically expensive, I’m sure,” Carl said.

  Shelby paused in confusion. “Not the dress, I meant Tasha.”

  Ransom snorted. “Her, too.”

  Carl chuckled appreciatively and flipped through the menu. “I don’t know what to get. Maybe the chicken with black bean sauce and garlic noodles.”

  Shelby’s stomach gave an audible rumble and she hoped the ordering wouldn’t take too long.

  Ransom grinned at the sound and said, “Good thing we grabbed you off the street. You might have starved before you made it home. Jolee said the pork chops with tonkotsu broth was good. Maybe the grilled tuna with snow peas and feta. Or maybe the prawns in lemon grass beer. Except that I don’t know what lemon grass beer is.”

  “Rebecca and I came in with some friends,” Shelby said. “ I got the ginger garlic peppered beef, very tasty, had keylime juice in it. I think she had the bourbon chicken, it’s a kind of a stir fry with bourbon whiskey and soy sauce.”

  She remembered the evening very well. The two engineers they were with downed several pints of very dark beer each and Shelby had to drive them home.

  “That’s it. I’m having the bourbon dish.” Carl clapped his menu closed decisively.

  Ransom saw Tasha approaching, and leaned over to say quietly, “Thank you for coming. You’ve saved me from a night of endless wedding chatter.” “I don’t know how I can stop that from happening, but you’re welcome all the same.” Bridezilla must be making his life very painful right now. It was a satisfactory thought.

  Tasha swept back to their table and seated herself with a flounce. Shelby noticed the freckles had disappeared underneath a fresh layer of makeup. Those were sweet, she should have left them alone. Still, she felt like the poor cousin at the family reunion and self-consciously ran a hand over her pony tail, hoping the curls weren’t too wild.

  Tasha hadn’t missed the gesture.“You have naturally curly hair? I know a wonderful stylist in Oxford that could straighten it for you. It’s quite a long process, but I think you’d be really happy with the results.” She carefully adjusted the very large diamond ring on her right hand. Shelby tried to not to ogle as it flashed brilliantly in the low lights.

  “I don’t know why everyone feels the need to look like someone they’re not.” Ransom also spoke from behind his menu, but his voice was tense.

  Oh great. Now they were going to argue about her hair. Shelby rushed to diffuse the situation.“Thank you both. And I would appreciate any help I can get, Tasha. I don’t think men can understand what a trial it is.” She laughed lightly and took a sip of ice water.

  “I’ve always been partial to curly hair, myself,” Carl joined in, winking at Shelby. With any other man, it might have seemed smarmy , but with his good natured smile it was simply casual flattery.

  “People who advocate the ‘all natural’ look are usually those who are effortlessly beautiful. But then of course, there are things about ourselves we try to change when we shouldn’t,” Shelby said thoughtfully.

  “I say whatever we want to change, we should. Why live with an ugly nose?” Tasha shrugged one flawless, tanned shoulder.

  “My friend Tansy is an art collector. A few years ago she told me about Wabi- Sabi, the Japanese aesthetic. It’s the beauty of the imperfect and incomplete, of what comes with age and asymmetry,” Shelby said.

  “I’ve heard of that,” Carl said. “The pottery is worth more because it’s hand made, even if it does have slight flaws. The machine made pieces are soulless, have no character. I guess with people, you could say the lines on a person’s face show their beauty through how much they’ve laughed or cried.” The laugh lines around his own brilliantly blue eyes evidence of his happy nature.

  And without his aquiline nose, Ransom would be physically perfect, every feature symmetrical. But with that nose, it gives him something else. His eyebrows are still too low, he seemed brooding, severe. He may not actually be, but that’s the impression. And those deep lines around his mouth, as if he laughed a lot...or used to.

  “Miss Roswell, you’re staring at me,” Ransom said, never taking his gaze off the menu.

  Shelby flushed and turned away, catching Carl’s eye. He was grinning.

  “Wrinkles are worse than being poor,” Tasha rolled her eyes.

  Trying not to grimace, Shelby said, “There are other natural imperfections that are beautiful. Freckles, for instance, only add to the charm of a pretty face.” She spoke offhandedly, but she took a chance, hoping Tasha would accept the compliment. I’m not your competition, so just relax already.

  Tasha stared, Shelby could see the gears turning in her head. Friend or foe? And then she made her choice and Shelby saw her eyes narrow.

  “Yes, some of us are thankful that freckles are the worst of our worries.” Again the flicker of a smile that never reached her eyes. Shelby sighed inwardly. This was going to be a very long dinner.

  “Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me and teach you not to believe a word I say.”

  -Elizabeth

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The waiter appeared and Tasha ordered a plate of fresh baby spinach, no
dressing, with dried cranberries on the side.

  Maybe she had allergies. Or maybe she didn’t want to drip any sauce on her dress. Shelby shoved the mean-spirited part of herself aside and tried to think positively. Suddenly her phone trilled with an incoming message, the sound clearly audible. She twisted around to get her purse, digging through the contents. Somewhere in the bottom. “I’m sorry. Just let me...” She shrugged apologetically and peeked at the text.

  Where are you? Want to get Thai take out or make

  spaghetti? Your choice.

  How to answer? Should she go all the way to the foyer to text Rebecca a message? As she sat there undecided Ransom spoke, not raising his eyes from the menu.

  “Have to run?” His voice was slow, unconcerned.

  “No, it’s just Rebecca. She doesn’t know where I am and is wondering what we’re doing for dinner. Do you mind?”

  Carl slapped his hand on the table. “I’m a urologist and last week a patient of mine was texting during an exam last week. Unbelievable! Go ahead and text her back. Really, we’re not going to be offended.”

  Shelby responded as quickly as possible and tried not to grin as she imagined Rebecca reading the message.

  At Chinois with Ransom and Tasha. Will explain later.

  “Is that the woman from the coffee shop? You seem very close.” Tasha said, leaning forward. Her slow, careful movement reminded Shelby of the way Sirocco stalked birds in the backyard.

  Refusing to take the bait, Shelby said “We are. We’ve been friends since we met in graduate school.”

  “I have plenty of old friends but nobody I’d like to live with,” Tasha said pointedly. “What about you, Carl? Is there anyone you’d like to live with?”

  “Male or female?” Carl cocked an eyebrow.

  “Oh you! I understand about men and their space. You don’t find many men living together as roommates past their twenties. And you are past your twenties, right, Shelby?”

  Something in her tone made Shelby wish to be twenty one again. “Not quite yet. And Rebecca has been a real blessing. There’s just something about coming home to a sympathetic ear. Plus, she has a much better wardrobe than I do. And she’s hard to offend, makes the world’s best brownies, loves to shop for groceries, does dishes... You get the picture.”

  “No man can compete with that,” Carl said glumly.

  “And you haven’t met anyone that you wanted to marry?” Tasha’s face was creased with concern, her heavily made up eyes wide.

  She’s worse than my mother. Sorry, Ransom, I’m going to have to throw you under the bus. “Well, no, but every time I hear someone planning their wedding it gives me a little thrill.” Shelby ducked her head and pretended to examine the silverware. Ransom made a sound that could have been a squawk of protest, but she wasn’t brave enough to look.

  That was all the encouragement Tasha needed. She started with the season’s colors and had moved into engagement rings before they were interrupted by the waiter refilling their water glasses. Shelby hoped there weren’t many more refills before the actual food arrived or she was going to have to eat her napkin.

  “Now did you say six months salary for the ring? I thought it was two.” Shelby could feel Ransom’s eyes boring into her but flatly refused to acknowledge him.

  “The engagement ring is so much more important now. It’s an investment. Do you prefer square cut or original five point? Or perhaps tear drop?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” admitted Shelby slowly. “But I don’t think it would be a diamond.”

  “You mean, you’d like a large sapphire, like Princess Diana’s. After William’s wedding, it’s been the hot new ring.” Tasha nodded knowingly. “It has excellent resale value. And you’ll know by the size of the ring what kind of equity he has. You never want to attach yourself to anyone with less fifty thousand in savings. I just read that in an article.”

  Shelby gritted her teeth and suppressed the urge to ask exactly where she’d read that bit of financial information. Probably Cosmo.

  “Actually, I don’t agree with the way most diamonds are mined. The working conditions, the wars they’ve funded, the child labor issues, environmental disasters...” Her voice trailed away as Tasha looked incredulous.

  Shelby reached for a slice of bread. She hoped no one else wanted any because she was going to eat the whole basket if they didn’t bring their plates soon.

  “But surely, if your fiancee presented you with a three carat, radiant cut white diamond set in platinum, you would be happy?” Tasha nervously stroked the band on her own finger.

  “I would hope that my fiancee would know better than that,” Shelby said. She buttered the slice of bread and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Usually those things come up in conversation.”

  “The kind of ring you would prefer will pop up in conversation?” asked Ransom, his hand hesitating over his glass.

  “No, the injustices of the world.” She glanced around. “Don’t they? When you know someone long enough you find out what they would change in the world if they could, what keeps them awake at night.”

  “Too true. And that’s how we know that Tasha can’t sleep when there are really awful flower arrangements in the world,” Carl teased. He flashed her a grin. Shelby couldn’t help answering with her own, like he was magic. Tasha let out a trilling laugh, but her eyes remained cold.

  “Why is resale value so important?” Shelby asked. “Don’t most people pass rings down to their children?”

  “Well, we don’t like to talk about it, but if it doesn’t work out you can always sell it.” A slight grimace and a shrug were all the apology she gave for this absurdity.

  Shelby felt heat rise in her face as embarrassment for Ransom flooded over her. He never lifted his gaze, she couldn’t even tell if he was even listening.

  Tasha continued, “So, emerald or sapphire then, not that you’ve given it much thought. You’re probably consumed with your work, no social life allowed.” She giggled, the same breathy laugh that first caught Shelby’s attention.

  At that moment their food arrived, artfully arranged on white plates and smelling wonderful. The waiter deftly set the dishes down and Shelby wondered if she had ever been so happy to see a pork chop. She glanced at Ransom from under her lashes as she took a bite. He and Tasha so different, not even a hint of affection between them. But maybe Tasha compliments him, makes him feel powerful.

  “Ransom, I don’t see how you can eat feta, it smells like old socks and is so nineties.” Tasha waved a hand, her pretty face wrinkled in horror.

  Or maybe not. Shelby grinned into her napkin.

  Her plate untouched, Tasha held her fork poised over the small pile of baby spinach. “So?” She leaned in, eyes glimmering. “Share with us your perfect ring.”

  Groaning inwardly for ever mentioning blood diamonds, Shelby took a breath and focused her eyes on Carl. His kind face, framed by blond hair just long enough to curl over his collar, and easy smile, were the antidote she needed.

  “Well, I was looking for war letters, diaries. An old woman called and offered me her family’s history. When I went to see her, I noticed her ring. It was a thin gold band, several different stones set in a line. I asked her if it was a family heirloom. She was ninety four and her fiance had given it to her before he’d gone to Italy during World War II. The first letter of each stone spelled out a word. Her ring was hematite, opal, peridot, and emerald.”

  There was a silence at the table.

  “HOPE? And what happened?” Tasha asked, perplexed.

  “He didn’t survive. She never married and was an only child. She was going to be buried with the ring.” Shelby thought the end wasn’t the point, but shared it anyway.

  “Oh, how depressing! That’s a terrible story!” Tasha gasped. The strap on her pink sun dress slipped lower on one shoulder.

  “Is it any worse than discussing the resale of a love token?” Ransom’s voice cut drily through the theatrics
.

  Shelby looked to Carl, but he was completely unconcerned. Maybe they fight like this all the time.

  “It’s incredibly romantic. I’ve always thought so.” Carl beamed around the table. “My great grandmother on my father’s side was given a ring that had,” here he stopped to tick them off on his fingers, “fire opal, opal, ruby, emerald, variscite, emerald, and ruby. ‘Forever’, just beautiful, don’t you think, Tasha?” Carl, again playing the peacemaker.

  “I proposed to Lili with a ring that she designed.” Ransom’s words dropped into the conversation like a stone into a placid pond. The ripples radiated out, touching each person at the table again and again.

  Shelby couldn’t help glancing at Tasha, trying to gauge her response. Is this something they discussed? Tasha’s pinky finger was rubbing furiously against her band. Her lips were a thin line and she blinked several times.

  Is he going to tell them exactly how he proposed? In front of his fiancee? Shelby felt the question pulse in her head and waited, trapped in her chair. Carl looked unsure for the first time and shifted uneasily.

  “She was a talented metal worker and she said one day, when we were looking at her art, that this one ring reminded her of everything that was good about the world,” Ransom said. Shelby stared at him, trying to imagine it.

  “She was beautiful, very beautiful. I remember when you first brought her home from college.” Carl said quickly into the silence at the table.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Ransom said. “Every woman in this room is more beautiful than Lili was. She had a space between her front teeth, her eyes were too close together and her hair always frizzed up in the humidity. She carried about fifteen extra pounds for her height and for that matter, she preferred to eat food so sweet it could choke a horse.” He took a bite, eyes crinkled with laughter.