by Jamie Knight
When I pull into the round drive of the Morgan Estate, Lindsay gasps a little bit. She looks up at the house and grounds wide eyed.
“This place looks like a hotel,” she says.
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess it kind of does.”
My car is the first car in the driveway for once. I’m happy we have made it to the mansion before my cousins arrive. I park. We hop out quickly and grab our bags.
Silently, we walk up the stairs to my bedroom and drop our things off. I am eager to see Grandpa and introduce Lindsay to him.
“Now, I’m not sure how he will be feeling,” I tell her. “I just want you be aware it could be bad.”
“I understand,” she says.
It’s the first words Lindsay’s spoken in hours and it sets my mind at ease a bit. She is meeting the most important person in the world to me. Someone who has guided me towards a path of self-actualization and a better understanding of people. I want this to go well. And I freely admit, I want to win that contest.
We enter Grandfather Morgan’s bedroom. The family doctor is there adjusting a ventilator to help him breathe.
“Is it okay to come in?” I ask.
“Please do,” the doctor says. “I will give you some privacy.
It is pretty amazing that Grandpa has his own doctor on the premises. He worked hard to achieve this level of wealth. I can’t let one of my cousins get ahold of it.
“Thank you for all you’re doing, Doc,” I say.
The doctor nods. He gives a reassuring look, walks on by and out of the room. He seems like a good guy and I’m glad he’s here doing an excellent job. Hopefully he is helping to provide comfort to the beloved patriarch of our family.
It does trouble me seeing the rock solid foundation of the Morgans laid up in bed, attached to a ventilator no less. It makes me feel a little guilty that I’m lying to him about the engagement. But there really isn’t anything I can do about that now. Lindsay and I have chosen this path, and while it might not be one Grandpa might’ve wanted for me growing up, it’s the one I’m on. There’s no going back.
I take Lindsay’s hand gently and guide her towards Grandpa’s bedside. She seems so fragile for a moment and her hand is limp. But her grip tightens after a second, and I know then that she wants to meet him. She’s ready.
Grandpa appears to be sleeping but I can tell he’s actually fully awake. He might’ve been playing a game with the doctor. Always with the challenges and contests this man is. It comforts me that he’ll never change, even at the end.
“Grandpa?” I say quietly. He slowly opens his eyes and looks up at me. “There’s someone I want you to meet. This is Lindsay, my fiancée.”
I present her. Lindsay stands in front of him and waits for his approval. He smiles and reaches out to take her hand. She places her in his and doesn’t pull back. She is fighting her shyness, which impresses me. This is a daunting situation for anyone, no matter where you come from. Meeting someone new can always be a little nerve wracking, but meeting someone who is on the verge of passing on into the afterlife, that is something else. Not to mention there is the whole contest thing hanging over our heads.
“Please, sit with me a moment, Lindsay,” he says with a smile.
There is a chair next to the bed for people to stay and spend time with him. It’s an antique of sorts, with carved wood and velvet padded backing. She sits down in a very gingerly and delicate manner. I can see that this pleases Grandpa.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says. “I want to know where you’re from and where you met my Brent.”
“Okay,” she says gathering her strength. “I’d be happy to, Mr. Morgan.”
“Please, call me Grandpa,” he says with a smile.
“Okay, Grandpa,” she says. “I grew up a few hours from here. In Greenlake. My father runs the auto-parts plant. My brother and I both attend Pacific Day on scholarship. I’m majoring in chemistry.”
“Chemistry,” he says surprised. “How ambitious. You must work really hard.”
Lindsay nods. “I try to, Sir.”
“And I instilled that pride in your work in my Brent,” he says. “I taught him to value time, as it is rather short, and good people, because there are not enough of them. He continues to excel at learning the importance of the better things in life. Him bringing you here proves that.”
I can see her face start to go beet red. She is a mixture of shyness and happiness at the illuminating facts being told to her.
“Let me see your ring,” grandpa says.
She delicately lifts up her left hand.
“It is lovely,” he says.
Lindsay blushes and sets her hand back in her lap. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”
He smiles.
“That is kind of you,” he says. “Can you do me a wonderful favor and go to my desk and get something from the top drawer and bring it back to me?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” she says.
She gets up from the chair and walks over to the desk. She opens the drawer and looks inside.
“There should be a little black box in there,” he says. “Please bring it over.”
She grabs the box, closes the drawer, and walks back to Grandpa’s side. She presents the box.
“There it is,” he says. “Please give it to Brent. He needs it.”
She walks over to me. We give each other confused looks. I have no idea what’s going on.
“Now please take your ring off,” Grandpa instructs.
I can tell she is a little hesitant, as she has grown quite accustomed to wearing it. She takes the ring off and holds it in her right hand. I open the box and discover another beautiful engagement ring inside. It’s bigger and more elaborate then the solitaire I gave to Lindsay. I feel my face go pale. I’ve seen this ring before.
“Grandpa, is this what I think it is?” I ask.
“Yes, Brent. It was your grandmother’s,” he says, grinning. “Now don’t you have a question to ask Lindsay?”
Although I’ve already asked Lindsay to marry me, I think Grandpa wants to see me do it in person. Probably to gauge if what we have is real or not. Now is the time for Lindsay to shine. To show me just how great of an actress she is. To show me how much she wants to win.
I get down on one knee in front of her and bring the box up with both hands. She looks down at me and I see that her eyes are starting to well up with tears. Are they real or fake? At this point it doesn’t matter as Grandpa is watching.
I open the box and present the ring. Grandma’s ring is five carat cushion cut ringed with smaller diamonds in an art deco style. It’s a true treasure and one of the first things grandpa bought when he made his first million. I had no idea that he still had it.
Lindsay extends her left hand and I pull the ring out from the box and bring it closer to her finger.
“Lindsay Miller, love of my life, will you marry me?” I ask.
“Yes, Brent Morgan. I will,” she answers.
I put the ring on her finger. I can feel her trembling. Grandpa starts clapping as strong as he can in his condition.
“Well done, you two. Well done,” he says. Tears line his eyes.
I stand up and kiss her.
“What the hell?” Arron says.
We all turn to the door. My cousins are standing in the doorway glaring at us.
“Just what is going on here?” Collin demands. “Is that Grandma’s ring? That’s not fair, Grandpa! Why are you letting her have it?”
“Oh, be quiet, Collin!” Grandpa snaps. “Can’t you see these two are in love? Your grandmother would want nothing more than for Lindsay to have it.”
“This wasn’t mentioned as being part of the contest, Grandpa,” Arron points. “We didn’t know that you still had Grandma’s ring. I must formally object.”
“You can object all you want, Arron,” Grandpa says. “The fact is the ring is hers for now. And when she marries Brent it will be more than a moot point. It will be, literal
ly, carved in stone.”
I can tell Arron and Collin are clearly outraged by this development. They glare at us and ball their hands into fists. But really, there is nothing they can do about it. Grandpa Morgan has always done what he wanted to do, and they know that to be absolutely true. They can stand there and stew all they want.
Poor Lindsay, she is caught in the middle of the drama. She is starting to realize just how competitive the Morgans are. I hope she can handle the craziness now that my cousins know about us. I imagine they will do their best to try and break us apart.
“Arron and Collin, now just relax,” Grandpa says. “I want you to welcome Lindsay to the family. My hope is she will be a bright light to shine with us for a long time to come.”
My cousins know they better man up and play the game. To show any more resistance would be in essence futile. Better to buck up and accept this small measure of defeat with a sense of decorum.
Arron makes the first move and walks over to Lindsay. He extends his hand. She looks down at it and then over to me. I nod that it is alright. She shakes it.
“Welcome to the family, Lindsay,” Arron says.
It’s Collin’s turn next. He goes through the same motions and makes a good show of it in front of Grandpa. The old man has to be absolutely enjoying it.
“Aren’t you boys forgetting something?” Grandpa asks.
“What is that?” Arron asks in return.
“Congratulate your cousin,” Grandpa says. “He is an incredibly fortunate young man.”
This is a bit tougher for them to do but they pull it off. As much as my cousins might seem like nitwits, they have some skill sets that are admirable. And they have lost enough to me over the years to know how to fake graciously accepting they have been bested.
“Congrats, cuz,” Collin says shaking my hand.
“Happy for you and your girl,” Arron says patting me on the shoulder just slightly too hard.
For all of their top-notch acting, however, and the show they are putting on for Grandpa, I can sense the insincerity in their voices. The only thing keeping the peace is the fact the old man is still alive. The minute we leave the room, I’m not sure how my cousins will act.
Chapter Thirteen
Lindsay
It’s been a long day at the Morgan mansion. Brent’s relatives have slowly gathered here over the course of the morning and into the afternoon. Cousins, aunts and uncles have all arrived in limos and fancy cars. For the most part, they have accepted the news of Brent and I’s engagement with quiet smiles and curt handshakes. I try to be friendly, but no one seems to enjoy my smiles or polite questions. His cousins even seem quite hostile as they ignore me and glare at Brent throughout the day.
After our awkward greetings, Brent, I and his family are all now all gathered in the library. We are having drinks and appetizers before being seated for dinner. If everyone was dressed more formally, I’d think we were living out an episode of Downton Abbey. As it is, the crowd looks to be in their Sunday best. It makes me a bit nervous as I feel my dress looks cheap in comparison. All of Brent’s aunts look like they shop at Saks Fifth Avenue while I was happy to find my simple black dress at Forever 21 in the clearance section.
Brent pulls me aside before we go into the formal dining room. He has given me some coaching on how to handle fine dining. Which knife, fork or spoon to use first. The timing of the courses. Even how to properly use and re-fold your napkin after use.
“You got this,” he whispers to me.
I look up at him and nod, but I’m not so sure. It all seems so elaborate and overwhelming. He takes me by the hand, and we enter the dining room as a couple. A servant in a tuxedo directs us to our chairs. We have little name tags printed out to signify where we’ll be sitting. Brent’s has his name on it, while mine just says Guest. It makes me feel a bit left out, but I have to accept that I am very new here. They really don’t know me yet.
Brent pulls out my chair for me to sit down. I do so and he helps me move forward and into place. The table before me is full of different types of glasses, silverware and plates. There are pitchers of water and bottles of wine positioned in the middle within easy reach. I have never seen anything like it. Our idea of fancy while we were growing up was having a cart with all the Thanksgiving trimmings next to the kitchen table where we ate every night. Formality was saying grace before diving in.
After we sit down and some more small talk is made, as if we didn’t have our fill of it in the library, the salad course is brought out. It’s a nice mix of kale and arugula, with walnuts and cranberries. A raspberry vinaigrette is offered as a dressing. I look around the dining table to see which fork everyone is using when I remember that you always work in from the outside when it comes to utensils. I reach over and grab the small fork furthest away on my left.
A servant comes by and asks if I would like fresh pepper and I decline. Another comes by and asks if I would like fresh parmesan cheese. I say yes and he manually shaves off a few slices for me onto the salad. I take a bite and it is indeed scrumptious and I don’t even like these kind of dishes that much. The best ingredients do matter and that is one reason the rich do indeed eat so well.
Fresh bread is served. It is nice and warm, must’ve just been baked in the oven. I wonder what the kitchen here looks like? I’ll have to ask Brent to show me sometime. It has to be state-of-the-art with the most modern appliances. Our kitchen at home has all 90s equipment installed. The coffee maker might be the newest piece and that has to be at least ten-years-old.
An appetizer course of chilled shrimp cocktail and deep-fried calamari comes out. I do admit I love these dishes. I have never seen shrimp this large before. I have to be reserved and only take one at a time from the bowl. I want to scarf them all down in a ravenous manner!
Dinner finally arrives and it is filet mignon wrapped with bacon. The sides are grilled asparagus and a sweet potato topped with cinnamon, brown sugar and butter. I cut into my steak and bring a piece to my mouth. It tastes like heaven. Oh, what I have been missing! The best meal we had at home was ribs and Jersey sweet corn for Robert’s sixteenth birthday, the year my dad said he became a man. I thought I was living then!
After dinner they ask if anyone would like a coffee or cordial.
“What’s a cordial?” I ask Brent.
“It’s a liqueur,” he starts to explain. “They’re distilled spirits that are infused with different types of ingredients. Usually fruits, spices or creams. They are typically sweet and a nice accompaniment with dessert.”
Well, when they say you learn something new every day.
“What do you recommend?” I ask him.
“Ask for a snifter of Bailey’s,” he says. “You’ll like it.”
We order our after-dinner drinks, and I’m going with Brent’s suggestion. As we wait for the servants to bring our selections, Arron, Brent’s cousin, clinks on his glass to get everyone’s attention.
“We have an important event to celebrate this evening,” he says with a snarky grin. “Might we have some champagne? And caviar, too. From the private reserve stock.”
The aunts and uncles in the room nod, agreeing that the occasion of Brent’s engagement is cause for celebration.
Arron snaps his fingers at a servant to fetch some bottles. The gentleman in the tuxedo turns towards the kitchen to fulfill his duty. I can’t help but think how rude Arron went about it, however. I would never treat another person that way.
Our after-dinner drinks arrive. I take a sip of my Bailey’s and it is nice and creamy in my mouth. Some cakes and pies are delivered as well. I choose a slice of strawberry cheesecake. It’s delicious.
The champagne is brought out and poured for everyone at the table. Arron clinks his glass again and stands up to make a toast.
“I want to wish Brent and Lindsay congratulations on their engagement,” he says, but his smile doesn’t seem genuine. “I can’t say I want it to last for obvious reasons”—a few of Brent�
��s relatives chuckle—"but if it does, you have my blessing. Congrats!”
The whole group raises their glasses and responds with “Congrats!” as well. I find what Arron said and the whole sedate mood of the evening to be rather bizarre. But like a good girl I keep my mouth shut. I am completely outnumbered here, and I want them to like me.
I smell the champagne and swallow a gulp. I’ve never had it before and always wondered what the big deal is. It is bubbly and somewhat dry. It seems fine to me, so I take another sip.
Brent’s aunt, Henrietta, takes a sip and practically spits it back into her glass.
“This is complete rubbish,” she says in a ridiculously proper accent.
I keep sipping it. Really, it doesn’t taste bad at all. Henrietta sees this and points at me.
“Oh! Poor dear, Lindsay,” she says in a condescending voice. “How can you drink this swill? Have you never had good champagne before?”
I lower my glass and look around. They are all staring at me expectantly waiting for my reply.
“Oh, I’ve actually never had champagne at all,” I answer innocently and truthfully.
Everyone except Brent breaks out into uproarious laughter. This all escalated quickly. Like they’ve been waiting all night for the opportunity to strike.
I feel my face start to turn red again. I don’t want to blush in front of this family. My face turning beet red will probably make them laugh harder. I take a few deep breaths and rub my cheeks hoping that they are returning to their normal color.
Brent picks up a dish and offers it to me.
“Would you like some caviar?” he asks trying to move on and change the subject.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Fish eggs,” he says matter of factly.
“Oh no, I don’t want that,” I politely decline with a scrunched-up nose. Why would anyone eat such a thing?
Brent goes to pass the dish, but his cousin Collin grabs the plate. He keeps the dish in front of me and starts laughing even more.