Jack
I’ve been summoned.
Greg reached out this morning and informed me that my mother would like me to join her for lunch.
Why my mother couldn’t send me a text, like a normal person, I don’t know. She claims she doesn’t know how to text. Sometimes I think she’s deliberately trying to hurtle back to the nineteenth century.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Cooper, our house manager, says when he opens the door.
“Hi, Cooper. How are you?”
“Can’t complain, sir. Your mother is in the morning room.”
I really wish he wouldn’t call me sir. I’ve given up asking him to call me Jack. Ever since I turned eighteen, it’s beensir.
I take the stairs to the second floor, where the morning room and the dining room are. My mother even has Cooper set up the dining room when she’s alone. I have no idea why she doesn’t just eat at the kitchen counter.
As I approach the double doors to the morning room, I realize my mother isn’t alone. And she’s not talking to staff. There’s a different tone she uses with them.
I open the door to find my mother, Frieda Campbell, and her daughter, Gabriella, sitting and chatting.
It feels like I’ve walked into an ambush.
“Oh, Jack, so lovely that you could join us,” my mother says.
I plaster on a smile and go to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Mother. How are you?” Of course, I would never want anyone to feel uncomfortable, so I don’t mention that I was expecting this lunch to be just the two of us, and that Frieda and Gabriella were the last people I was expecting to see.
“I think I mentioned to you that Gabriella was back from Harvard finally.”
I then work my way around the room, kissing Frieda and Gabriella on the cheeks. “How lovely to see you both.”
I’ve known the Campbells for years. My entire life in fact. They’re one of the handful of New York families that move in the same circles. I was at the same prep school with Gabriella’s brother, Francis, although he was a year below me. One of my friends from school dated Gabriella after she graduated college. She went to Princeton for her undergraduate degree.
Gabriella Campbell would be a perfect match for me as far as my mother’s concerned. She’s impeccably well-mannered, has an acceptable surname and would ensure the Alden family name is continued in just the way my mother expects.
Except I don’t see Gabriella in that way. At all. I never have. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her. She’s pretty. Clever. I just… I don’t find her attractive.
“Your mother was just telling us about the ballet,” Frieda says, and my heart jolts in my chest.
“It was beautiful,” I say. “A great production.”
“Not that you saw the second half,” my mother replies testily.
“What I saw of it was wonderful,” I say with a smile.
“I love the ballet,” Gabriella says neutrally like she doesn’t love it at all, but thinks she has to say she does. I’m not sure it’s fair to compare, but Gabriella doesn’t love the ballet like Iris likes the ballet. I bet she doesn’tfeelit the way Iris does.
It’s been weeks now, but Iris’s still on my mind all day, every day. I keep catching glimpses of her in restaurants and walking in the park. But of course, it never turns out to be her. She’s long gone. But for the second or two that I think I’ve found her again, I feel happy.
It’s the in-between times that are a problem.
It’s like I have a black cloud hovering over my head, constantly threatening rain. Even my insides feel dark and cloudy. I used to take life in my stride. But now? Now there’s a veneer of gloom spread across each day and I can’t seem to shake it off.
I tried to find out Iris’s surname and contact details from the New York City Ballet. I figured, they must have records from when she paid. I pulled every string the Aldens have with the organization, but came up with nothing. They told me repeatedly that unless it was members who booked, they didn’t keep details of attendees.
“Jack will take you, won’t you, Jack. We have our box, of course. I’m sure you can find a suitable date.” My mother stares at me pointedly.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I say.
