by Viv Daniels
“I was reading,” I mumbled. “A thriller. Gripping.”
“Ah, well, I guess it’s a good thing you can sleep in.” She kissed me on top of the head.
No. No, it was not a good thing. I should have to get up and go work in an office or a factory or on someone’s hot, tar-covered rooftop.
“Just watch your energy levels today. You don’t want anything to get out of whack. You’re taking your medicine, right?”
I nodded. I took my medicine religiously. If I was exhausted today, it would have nothing to do with my wonky thyroid.
“Oh, Hannah, before I forget, I talked to Mary Beth Connell again about her son taking you out.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping this story ended with Mary Beth Connell’s son agreeing with me that this wasn’t the sixties and he didn’t want to be set up by his mom.
“And she says Jeffrey is free Friday night and would love to take you to dinner.”
I winced. Seriously? He was down with this? “What if I’m not free Friday night?”
Mom looked at me, curiously. “Aren’t you?”
“Well…” I sighed. “Yes, but…”
“Hannah, honey, it’s one dinner. If you don’t like him, he’s going back to Harvard in a month.”
“Yale,” I muttered.
“Whatever.” Mom shrugged. “You would rather a Harvard boy? I’m sure we can find one of those. I think Suzanne Gardner’s son, Ronnie Nesbit, is at business school there. Or is it London? I can’t remember if she said England or New England. But either way, you know, he’s a Nesbit. They’re one of the oldest families in New York.”
“Mom!” I interrupted. “You know, if all you can tell me about these guys is where they went to school and how famous their last name is, you shouldn’t be surprised when I’m not interested.”
“I’m sorry,” she snapped. “Is there a list of things you’d like to know about them before you agree to sit across the table from one for an hour and a half?”
Major, career prospects, bank account… I clenched my teeth. No. I wasn’t like that. “I don’t know,” I said instead. “Maybe something about their personalities?”
Mom looked confused. “That’s what you go on the date to find out, Hannah. That’s the whole point of a date. To get to know someone. But fine, if you’re not interested, you’re not interested. I just thought you might want to do something other than sit around the house all day moping…”
“Okay,” I said. I had to admit, she had a point. Mom was only trying to help, even if she had a clunky, old-society-debutante way of going about it. Jeffrey Connell from Yale Law might not be my type, but at least it would get me out of the house, and out of my head.
“That’s my girl!” she said with a smile. “And trust me. I set you up with nice dinner dates. Your dad told me the two of you had a great time at the yacht club the other day.”
My head snapped up. He did? She must have asked.
“I’m so glad you’re getting along again.”
“Me too,” I replied flatly. How did he do it? Dad had been lying to Mom for more than two decades, and he seemed to have absolutely no problem with it. I’d been keeping this secret for eight months, and I wanted to vomit every time I was reminded of it.
“And you’ll have an equally lovely evening with the Connell boy, too,” Mom said now. “I’m sure of it.”
If we were going to weigh all my future dates based on my experience the other evening, poor Jeffrey Connell had a lot to live up to.
* * *
The next few days were a blur. I spent most of them at my computer, when I wasn’t actively unconscious or sneaking off to the kitchen to grab whatever I could from the fridge. If Mom had been worried before about my lack of a social life, I was sure the lack of showering scared her to death. I didn’t even do my usual exercise of laps in the pool, and I definitely wasn’t lounging around in my bikini, though I admit I peeked out the window from time to time to see if Boone was on the roof.
He never was.
A little after lunch on Friday, I typed the words Smash cut to credits.
Sixty-seven pages. Way too short for a proper script, true, but not bad for a first draft. Plus, it was damn scary, if I did say so myself. Still needed a title, though. One-word titles were super popular these days. Insidious, Saw, Triangle—even Render.
I’d think about it. A good one would come along.
Elated, I backed up the file and floated out into the living room.
“Hello, hermit,” my mother said from the couch. “Good to see you’re still alive.”
“Sorry,” I said, sheepish. “I got involved with a project online—”
“Where online?” she pressed. “You haven’t posted to Facebook in over a month.”
It still bugs me that my mother checks up on my social media. I’m not a teenager anymore.
“It’s nothing, Mom,”
“It’s not nothing. It’s those movie forums. You know they’re all a bunch of sweaty men who haven’t had jobs since their Blockbusters shut down, don’t you?”
Mom was not wrong about that. It was one of the reasons I quit going to those forums back in high school. Less real information and insight about the movies and more petty squabbling.
“What stupid thing are you arguing about this time? The consistency of the blood spatter in the latest disgusting slasher flick?” She tsked at me. “I really hoped you’d grown out of that.”
Actually, I’d done the exact opposite. I’d grown into it, big time. Hmmm… Blood Pact? Blood Roots?
“Well, at least you’ve emerged in time to get ready for your date.”
Right. My date with Jeffrey Connell. I’d been so busy the last few days, I hadn’t even thought of it. The List? Kindred? Wait, I think that one had already been used.
“Do you know what you’re going to wear?”
I pushed the parade of potential titles out of my mind. “No? A dress?”
Mom looked hurt. I bit my lip. “Why don’t we go in my room and check out the options?” I suggested.
“Okay!” She smiled and stood up.
It didn’t bode well that Mom was more excited for this date than I was. She flipped through all my dresses and settled on a lovely blue silk one printed with watercolor tulips in orange and yellow. After I’d showered, she even helped me curl my hair so it fell in wavy ringlets around my shoulders.
“You look lovely, Hannah,” she said, as we looked at the results in the bathroom mirror. “I promise you, Jeffrey will be impressed that you dressed up for this date. When you take it casually, they take it casually.”
So when I climb into Boone’s truck a sweaty, wilted mess, he feels free to do me against the roof? Good to know, Mom.
“But when you’re serious, they know they have to bring their best as well.”
I’m pretty sure Boone brought his best the other day. I couldn’t imagine what other feats he was capable of.
“I know you think I’m old fashioned for saying this, but sometimes the old sayings are true for a reason. They don’t buy the cow if they can get the milk for free.”
“Mo-om…”
She held up her hands, defensively. “It’s not just about sex,” she said. She’d known I was having sex since I was sixteen years old, and she’d immediately marched me down to her gynecologist and put me on the pill. No judgment from Mom—just immediate action to prevent there being any scandal. “It’s about being something special, something that no one else offers them.”
“So I’m cream?” I asked.
“Cream of the crop, kid,” she said, and bounced one of my curls. Ooh, The Crop. That had potential. “And I don’t want anyone taking you for granted. You aren’t just any girl. You’re Hannah Swift.”
Yeah. Hannah Swift. I was Hannah Swift because Mom was married to Dad when I was born. Tess was not Hannah Swift because her mother wasn’t. I was Hannah Swift, with all the rights and privileges that entailed. I was Hannah Swift, with all the require
ments and expectations that came alongside.
She stood back, arms folded across her chest. “I wish your Dad was here to see how pretty you look.”
I didn’t. I didn’t think I’d ever look pretty to my father again. “You’re acting like I’m going to prom.”
“Compared to your usual social routine lately, this is prom.”
The doorbell rang, a melodious chime that echoed through our two story entryway and down the wide, empty halls.
Mom beamed. “He’s here! Do you want me to get it so you can make an entrance?”
I rolled my eyes. “I can get it.”
My heels clicked down the hall to the door, and the silk of my skirt rippled around my knees as my golden hair bounced like I was in a shampoo commercial. I’m sure I made quite the picture as I opened our twelve foot tall, gleaming wood-and-crystal door.
“Hi,” said Jeffrey Connell. “You must be Hannah.” And he held out a rose. A single red rose, like I was the winner in a dating reality show.
“Thank you,” I said automatically, and took it. Jeffrey Connell was very handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, with clean-cut brown hair that swooped respectably from a side part. He wore a blue button-down shirt, a yellow tie, and a navy blazer with gold buttons. His khakis were carefully pressed. His shoes were highly polished. He certainly looked like a guy who went to Yale Law. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure,” he said, then glanced at his watch. A gold watch. “Though we shouldn’t stay long. Our reservations are at seven.”
I nodded, and opened the door wider. Don’t Open the Door. Like Don’t Go Into The Woods. No, too much of a rip-off. Plus, it would get confused with Let Me In.
I led Jeffrey back down the hall into the living room, where my mother had turned on the lights and was sitting, reading a book as if she’d been doing so for an hour. “Jeffrey!” she trilled, rising to meet him. “How lovely. And you brought Hannah flowers!”
Well, flower.
“I’ll just go find a vase for this,” I said, and escaped to the kitchen. Luckily, crystal vases were not in short supply, and I returned right away, holding the vase awkwardly. Was I supposed to put it in my room or something? Jeffrey and Mom were seated on the couch, chatting away. I placed the vase on a side table.
“Well, Mrs. Swift,” Jeffrey was saying as he stood up, “I guess Hannah and I should be on our way. Don’t worry, I won’t keep her out too late.”
I gave a polite little laugh. “Don’t worry, Jeffrey. I’m twenty-one, not sixteen.”
He didn’t laugh back, just laid his hand gently on the small of my back and guided me back down the hall, out the door, down the walk, and into the car. After he opened the door for me, of course. Jeffrey Connell drove a Lexus hybrid.
“Nice car,” I said, making myself comfortable in the velvety soft leather seats as he got in the driver’s side.
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s actually my dad’s.”
As we started off, I realized that I had no idea where we were going. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”
“We have a dinner reservation at seven at the country club,” Jeffrey replied. “I think your parents are members, right?”
“Oh…yes,” I replied, taken aback. The country club? Like, with the roast beef carving station and the dessert tray and the crowds of golfers and retirees? That was unexpected.
“Great. Do you play golf?” he asked, casting a quick, appraising glance at me.
“Why? Interested in a night game?”
His brow furrowed. “No…I just wanted to know if you play. Since you’re a member. I love golf.”
“No,” I replied. “I mean, I’ve swung a club a few times. And miniature golf and stuff. But tennis is really my sport.”
“Ah, tennis!” he tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “Great sport. They have such nice facilities at the club, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Were we seriously talking about the condition of the tennis courts at my parents’ country club? “Good…clay.”
“Tennis is a decent sport, too. Golf’s better for talking, though. You can really talk during a golf game. Tennis it’s pretty much limited to before and after.”
“Bowling,” I said. “You can talk a lot during bowling. And you can play at night. And in the rain.”
We pulled up to a stoplight and Jeffrey stared at me, utterly confused. “Who’s talking about bowling?”
I blinked at him. What, aside from me? “I thought we were talking about sports where you could talk while you played.”
He burst out laughing. “You’re funny! That’s great. That’s really great.” He made a left turn and continued on to the country club. “Bowling. What a riot.”
I stared out my window. This was going to be a long night.
Nine
At least at the country club, I didn’t have to worry about the quality of the white wine. Especially since I was a glass and a half in before the tuxedoed waitress came to take our salad plates away.
“I’ve got one more year of law school, and then a year of clerking,” Jeffrey was saying as he sawed into a piece of roast beef from the roast beef station.
“What’s clerking?” I asked. I’d ordered the fish, which was taking its sweet time showing up. Half an hour for entrees, another twenty minutes for dessert and coffee, and then the ride home. An hour. I could do another hour. I could brainstorm titles. It wasn’t like I actually had to pay really close attention to this conversation. So far, it had just been Jeffrey pontificating about his law school curriculum, like he was applying for a job rather than hanging out with a girl.
“It’s basically like being an assistant for a judge,” Jeffrey explained. “It really helps your resume to work for the court for a year or two.”
“Oh,” I said. Actually, now that I thought of it, I’d heard terms like “clerk of the court” and stuff before. “Which judge will you be working for?” Judge, Judgment…there was something there, maybe? Nah, too much like Terminator 2.
“I don’t know, yet. I have to apply to positions.”
“So you don’t know if you’ll get the job yet?”
He looked up at me. “Well, I mean, of course I’m going to get the job. I’m at Yale Law.”
“Oh.” The waitress appeared with my food. Thank God.
Jeffrey frowned at my dish. “Are you sure you don’t want the roast beef? It’s terrific here.”
I speared a forkful of fish with possibly more force than strictly necessary. “I’ve had it before, thanks.” I’d been eating roast beef here since I was six. The Line. Down the Line.
“So, you have one year left at Canton, right?” he asked, as soon as I’d taken a mouthful.
I swallowed my bite of broiled rockfish and patted my mouth with a napkin. “Technically one and a half. I took off last semester and traveled around Europe.”
“How cosmopolitan of you.” He nodded in what could only be construed as approval. “That was probably a good choice. I often wonder if I should have deferred law school for a year and traveled, since I won’t really have another chance.”
He was only twenty-four. “You’ll definitely have another chance,” I said. “Why don’t you defer…clerking or whatever for a year and do it then?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Hannah,” he scoffed. “You have to strike while the iron’s hot if you want your career to be on the right path.”
I put a piece of broccoli in my mouth and started chewing. My not-career was on no path that I could determine. Had I already made a huge mistake? Did I need to know exactly what I wanted to do like Jeffrey and Dylan and Tess did?
“I have a whole schedule,” Jeffrey said, “but I don’t want to bore you with that.”
I bit my lip to hold back a snicker. “Don’t worry, Jeffrey,” I replied. “You won’t bore me with that.” Not in comparison to everything else he’d already said.
His eyes lit with delight. “Really? I mean, I thought it was kind of early, bu
t if you’re interested—”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “Why not?” He could tell me all about his five-year career plan or whatever. He could talk, I could eat my dinner as quickly as was socially acceptable for Hannah Swift, and we could be back home by 8:30.
He laid his palms on the table. “Great!” I hadn’t seen him so animated this entire evening. “So, we have about a month and a half before I have to go back to New Haven, which is kind of pushing it, but you know, there are weekends and holidays and stuff so I’m sure there will be plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time for what?” I asked, amused. “To tell me about your schedule?”
“And then some time next summer, after I graduate, of course. Though it’ll really depend on where I end up clerking and what my judge wants my start date to be.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. Had I missed a sentence while cutting up a piece of fish? “What will depend on that?”
“So some judges want to start in the fall and some want you right away in the summertime,” he said. “Which is a pain if you want to use that time to study for the bar, but there’s always the next summer.”
“Oh.”
“Which would probably be better anyway,” he said. “Since we’ll be settled by then.”
Suddenly, the hair on my arms was standing on end and all thoughts of titles had fled. Who was we?
“And you’ll still be at Canton for another semester,” he went on, blithely. “Which is actually pretty perfect. You can spend half the year finishing up your degree and then the other half you won’t have anything getting in the way of wedding planning. You want a big wedding, right?”
Halfway down my throat, the fish came back to life and started fighting its descent.
“We could even have it here at the country club. That would be kind of romantic. The location of our first date? We could put it in the announcement.”
I coughed, choked, and probably turned magenta. My eyes watered, but I could see Jeffrey looking at me, his face awash in concern.
“Do you need water?”
“I need a minute,” I managed to get out, covering my mouth with my napkin and hacking away.