As far as dinner goes, Honor decides for us: takeout. Dozens of black cartons of Thai food arrive from a fancy nearby restaurant called Ting. I help Honor and Eloise distribute the food onto china plates with blue-and-gold flowers and dragons. Ned sets the table with real silver chopsticks (and a little block to rest them on) and pours water for us, wine for Edward.
When I ask Honor where the closest bathroom is so that I can wash my hands, she pretends not to hear me. Eloise has to answer for her. Ned and Edward seem oblivious to her rudeness, and I’m not really sure what that means.
Over dinner, Honor steps into her accustomed spot at center stage, but tonight the performance is solely for her father. First she tells a couple of funny stories about Hardwick, almost as if designed to be something he’ll relate to from his own days there. She says, “Your favorite teacher Gigi is still there, and boys still crush on her.” She makes fun of Ms. Taubin’s little fairy-tale cottage with the chimney, and Edward laughs wistfully, saying he’s not surprised she ended up “squirreled away in there.” Apparently in his day, it belonged to Mr. Pengrove, another Hardwick eccentric who taught an AP ancient history class that involved the mandatory wearing of togas to the last class of the semester.
Next she asks her father all kinds of questions, drawing him out like a socially adept grown-up at a cocktail party, or like I would imagine a socially adept grown-up might, if I even knew any adults with her talent. What is he reading? Did he have a chance to see the new show at the Musée du quai Branly when he went to Paris in October? Did he see that interesting piece in Buzzfeed about election predicting? Should she still plan to come in one weekend in December so they can go to a hockey game together?
He pauses over Honor’s last question. “Maybe Wren would like to come,” he says. “Have you been to a hockey game before?”
Maybe he’s just trying to include me to be polite. “No, I haven’t,” I say.
Honor handles this intrusion by changing the subject. She turns to Ned, alternately quizzing him and giving him advice in an interested, sisterly manner—again, a performance for her dad’s benefit. Ned should really take Spanish as well as French next year because it’s so much more practical for travel. Interning in LA looks much more serious to colleges than interning in Hawaii and he could still surf. They still need to figure out with Mom about Christmas, and should they go to Paris for part of it or just go straight to Chamonix to ski?
It’s hard to know if Honor puts all this on, or if performance is all she knows. Maybe it’s an automatic response to her surroundings, just like it would be automatic for me to hole up in my room and listen to music. Only this seems much more exhausting. It’s not fake, exactly, but it’s definitely a show.
To Honor’s takeout-ordering credit, everything is delicious. The food is in some realm way beyond normal food. I forget that I’m nervous and eat a ridiculous amount. Luckily, so does everyone else.
When we’re done, Honor and Eloise decide to go out. They invite me, probably because Honor feels like she has to with her dad standing right there, but I’m so tired all I can think of is that mohair blanket. When I fall into bed a few minutes later, after brushing my teeth and not even bothering to wash my face, I sleep a perfect, dreamless sleep.
Chapter seventeen
Thanksgiving
The holiday arrives. Honor and Ned’s mother is remarried and lives in France, so they usually go there at Christmas as well as part of the summer but always spend Thanksgiving in New York. (I learn this all from Eloise, Honor’s official translator.) The Gibsons are planning to have about twenty people for dinner this afternoon. I’ll admit that when we got here, I was surprised to find zero preparations underway.
Hannah and I usually spend the day before Thanksgiving gathering, then lugging, bags of ingredients from the farmers’ market—including the giant turkey she always orders way in advance. We load up our old Prius with everything else we need from the big supermarket on Ocean. Everyone else is there, shopping for their Thanksgiving dinners, so the lines are insane. Hannah collects all the strays she can: reporters for the LA Times who have nowhere to go; Jonesy from the bookstore; Paloma, who teaches my mom’s yoga class—and one or two of my friends come over. I love it. It’s definitely my favorite holiday.
It doesn’t work like that at the Gibsons’. At all. By 9 a.m., the doorman is buzzing every two minutes for another delivery from the catering company. Trays of hors d’oeuvres line the kitchen counters: little round and square tartlets and toasts, perfectly decorated with leaf-shaped pastry or fluted edges, waiting to go in the oven. The Gibsons’ housekeeper, Nadia, is polishing, ironing, setting, and organizing.
While I’m laying out clothes to wear to Thanksgiving dinner—I decide on a black kilt and some ballet flats I ended up borrowing from Eloise—I hear a gentle rap on the door.
“Come in,” I say, expecting Nadia, who was in here a few minutes ago, unearthing holiday linens.
The door opens. It’s Ed on the threshold, looking sort of breathless. I’ve been calling him Ed since dinner last night, even inside my head, because he doesn’t want me to call him Mr. Gibson. Anyway, “Ed” works for me. I call my own mother “Hannah,” as everyone on the East Coast can’t stop pointing out.
“Wren, I have great news. Your mother is awake. I just spoke to her.”
“Really?” My heart leaps into my throat, if a heart can do that. Everything else vanishes. She’s awake. She’s actually awake. They said she would wake up, and now she has. “Can I talk to her?”
Ed blinks rapidly at me. His smile is as broad and easygoing as ever, but his eyes are unsettled. He rushes forward, and the next thing I know, he’s hugging me. “There’s something else you should know. When we talked . . . I’m not sure how—”
“I know.” I cut him off. “I already know.” I could kick myself. I wanted to hear him say it. My whole life I’ve been waiting to hear someone say, Wren, I’m your father. It’s me. Now I’ve blown my chance. But when I step back, I see relief in his face.
He takes a deep breath. Maybe he wants me to say more.
“Do Honor and Ned know?” I ask. My throat is tight. I want to hug him again, but I’m not sure that would be the right thing. I can’t tell. I wish I knew him better.
“No. Ned doesn’t. I don’t think Honor does,” he manages, regaining composure.
I wonder about that, about how much Honor has thought over our bathroom conversation. She could have figured it out.
I absently twist the black anchor at my throat and think back to that day in our room, when she first hurled that accusation at me. Maybe she was hoping I had stolen her necklace. Maybe she figured it out long before I did.
My father’s explanation (my father!) is a bit of a blur, but I retain all of the vital information. As soon as the school got in touch with the now-conscious Hannah, and as soon as the now-conscious Hannah found out I was in New York and staying with the Gibsons, she demanded to use her first lucid moments to speak to Ed. He says they almost had to hold her down. I can’t tell if those were the doctor’s words or if Ed is embellishing. Hannah told him everything. I guess she realized her secret was blown. Or maybe it hit her that she’d almost just left me an orphan.
“It’s funny,” he says, looking me up and down and smiling. “When Hannah wrote and asked if I thought I could help her daughter get a spot at Hardwick this fall, I wasn’t imagining it was for my daughter.”
“I bet,” I tell him. The words just sort of tumble out, though I’m afraid they sound rude.
Ed pats my shoulder, just the way I saw him pat Ned’s, then lingers in the doorway uncertain, maybe wondering if he should hug me again. It’s not a state he’s used to, I can tell. “I’m sorry I missed so many years, Wren,” he says. “I’m not mad at Hannah, though. I understand why she didn’t tell anyone, including me. I would have wanted her to stay, and they would have made her stay.�
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“Who’s ‘they’?” I ask.
“Oh, her family. Her . . . all the people we knew. At Hardwick. On Stone Cove Island. They have a lot of rules. And the rules always drove your mother crazy. She was not on board with people making decisions for her.” He looks straight at me, and a smile flickers on his face. “And she was well aware that unmarried couples and single mothers and globetrotting journalists were not in the rulebook.”
I can’t help but smile back. It’s true, I tell myself again. It’s really true.
“I like surprises,” he says. “They keep life interesting.”
It’s nice of him to say that. I hope he means it. “I have a feeling Honor may not feel that way.”
Ed’s face darkens for just a second. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to her. It might take her a little time. Ned’s the easygoing one. Honor’s so sensitive.”
Sensitive as Teflon. I keep that thought to myself.
“Are you okay, Wren?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m good. Everything is good.” I’m happy, I want to tell him, but maybe that’s too much to say out loud.
“I’ll let you finish getting dressed.”
“Thanks. I . . . Thanks,” I say.
Ed leaves and shuts the door quietly behind him.
How will he introduce me to his family and friends this afternoon? What will their reaction be? I would prefer to fade into the background, observe without being observed, let Honor keep the spotlight.
I realize that my palm is still pressed against my necklace. Normally, I never take it off, but wearing it somehow feels like flaunting the . . . situation.
I decide not to wear it. Today it feels like too much of a statement. It’s Thanksgiving. I should be thankful for what I’ve got, right?
I wish Chazzy were here. Then I wouldn’t have to do this alone. And really, I am thankful. Hannah is awake and alive, and I finally know the truth. Ed can tell the truth in his own way, in his own time. Anyway, it’s not my decision to make for him. My mother decided for both of us, a long time ago.
When I do get to talk to Hannah, early that afternoon, I remind myself I can’t be angry, not when I’ve come this close to losing her, the sum of my family until today.
The doctors give us five minutes because of her fragile state. I need to spend those five minutes being positive. But at the same time, I don’t understand how she could keep a secret like this, only to dump me on that secret’s doorstep. At home in Ventura, when it was just us, we had to be on the same side. I didn’t have a separate point of view.
“I’m happy you know,” she says, her voice paper thin. “It’s a good thing.”
“Me too.” I bite my lip. “But I really don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me before I went to Hardwick? It’s like some kind of cruel joke, sticking me here.” My voice sputters, sticking on the words.
“I didn’t know about Honor,” she says. “I’m sorry. I never would have put you in that situation if I had known you’d be in the same class. Or the same room.” She laughs, and I wonder if it’s the drugs she’s on. There’s nothing remotely funny about this.
“Mom, Honor and I are the same age.”
“I realize that,” she says.
“I don’t even get how that can be possible,” I say. Then I rephrase. “No, yeah, I get how that can be. But how did that even happen?”
She hesitates. “I know. It’s insane. It was just bad luck,” she says. “I had to go to Stone Cove Island for Carter Chisholm’s funeral—Aunt Helen’s son—and Ed happened to be there. He and Annabelle had broken up. She was going to move to London for a job. It was a moment. Too many Dark ’n’ Stormy’s at the Anchor Inn. We had a lot of memories and had been together for a long time when we were younger . . . I knew it was a mistake to go back there.”
“A mistake?” I spit, my positivity out the window.
“Not a mistake, Wren. Obviously. I didn’t mean you were a mistake.”
“So you just never told him.”
“I didn’t tell him. And when Annabelle found out she was pregnant with Honor, she decided not to go to London. They got married, and that’s about all I know.”
I open my mouth to respond and nothing comes out, so I just hang on the line in silence.
“Fate,” she says. “Can you believe it? ‘Of all the gin joints in all the’—how does that go? It’s from Casablanca. You’ve seen that movie, right? If you haven’t, I’m really a terrible mother.”
She isn’t making any sense. “I can think of some other reasons you’re a terrible mother.” It’s mean. I know. I’m so happy to have her back. I shouldn’t be mean.
“He wasn’t married then, if that makes any difference to you. He wasn’t seeing Annabelle. I didn’t think that—” She catches herself, coughs. Her voice gets a gurgle, like she has water in her throat. “Of course it’s up to you, Wrendle. I just want . . .” Her voice cracks. I can hear the doctors hovering near her bed, conferring in Danish. There’s fumbling on the other end.
“She’s sleeping,” one of them tells me in a thick accent. “She will rest more, and you can talk again. Goodbye.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
Right before the meal is served, I see Honor and Ned emerge from Ed’s study, looking dazed. They stare at me like I’m a ghost that has just materialized in their hallway. Then Honor looks away and sweeps by, making a show of not seeing me.
Ned steps forward, his lips parted like he’s going to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, he touches my arm. To say it’s okay or to see if I’m real, I can’t tell. He looks really young, I think for the first time, and there’s a lot swirling under that mellow, summery surface.
Before either of us can say anything, the doorman buzzes from downstairs, and we hear the clang of the elevator gate as the guests start to arrive. There’s no time for the long conversation we need to have.
Ed does not try to cover up by introducing me as Honor’s roommate, though I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Instead he treats me like a wonderful surprise, like I fell out of the sky and he couldn’t be more delighted.
He introduces me as “my new daughter—can you believe it?” He takes me around, arm across my shoulder, as if he just won the lottery. People laugh at his joke and smile welcomingly at me. No one, other than Honor, looks outraged or even disapproving. Or even terribly curious. Ned trails us, listening, but doesn’t join the conversations. Since I know that Ed hasn’t had time to fill in all the attendees in advance on my backstory, I have to assume that with their good manners, they must be impervious to shock, sort of the way Great-Aunt Helen is. Oh, your mother is dying? That’s terrible, but it doesn’t mitigate your inconveniencing me. Here the unspoken sentiment seems to be, Another daughter! How lovely, especially as she’s at Hardwick.
I feel like Cinderella, but at the same time I feel how hard it must be for Honor. I don’t know why I keep seeing her side, but I do. She’s not short of attention at this event, though. Her younger cousins crowd around her in obvious worship. The older ones tell her to come visit at college; I can see they fancy her a cool, younger version of themselves. But Honor’s distracted. All afternoon I catch her watching me. She looks like she would like to dissolve me in a vat of acid.
Eloise has been to lots of Gibson family gatherings, so she knows a fair percentage of the crowd. Occasionally she shoots me a questioning look, but I know she won’t cross Honor by asking me what’s going on. So I decide to lose myself in what I can’t control. The food is delicious. The meal marches along in a smoothly orchestrated fashion.
It’s not like our Thanksgivings, where a few people straggle in late, then somebody realizes we forgot the mashed potatoes, so we end up eating them with dessert. The Gibson holiday is not ragtag like that. Departures are smooth and polite. Ned, and the younger cousins get dressed in coats and hats for their annual touch football gam
e in Carl Shurz Park. Honor and Eloise exchange looks and sneak out to get dressed for something else. I imagine it involves Francesco, but I’m not in on it. The football game sounds more fun to me anyway.
I change into jeans and a woolly sweater. Ned lends me a hat and scarf because, despite my New England shopping trip with Hannah before I left home, I still never have the right clothes for the weather here. We leave the lobby together and fracture into small groups headed in different directions. I look up at the tall buildings of the Upper East Side kaleidoscoping above me, the sun sinking behind them, and feel like it has all been too much to fit into one day.
Chapter eighteen
Black Friday
Personally, I’ve never gotten Black Friday. I understand that it’s supposed to be the biggest shopping day of the year, the day shoppers are trampled outside malls, and fistfights ensue over the “it” item of the season that’s trending on Instagram.
But when you own a department store, it turns out it’s a really big deal.
Because Gibson’s Department Store belongs to Honor’s father, that makes Honor the Gibson Girl (the modern-day version, at least), and thus she is charged with ceremonially unlocking the doors as the stores open on this very special day. I go along with Eloise and Ned to watch Princess Black Friday greet her public.
The six-story, white-marble department store is like the tallest, most glamorous wedding cake you ever saw. A long line of customers stretches out the door and along Fifth Avenue, waiting to be let in. The portico above the door is carved in the old Roman style, where Us look like Vs: lawrence waring gibson & sons. Technically, Ed is the only son, so I guess the plural is just tradition. So W for “Waring,” not for “Wren.”
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