“I promise you, I’m not,” he said, taking care to keep a measured tone. He clasped his hands together to try to rein in his fast-rising upset. “Butyouare ignoring everything thatIam saying.”
“Only because you’re not saying anything new! Don’t you think I know what’s expected of me? Don’t you think I know what sort of future I’m supposed to have? Of course I know! All of this”—she flung her hands out wildly—“is all I’ve ever known! Maybeyou’recontent to pretend that you’re happy with a life like this, but I hate it here.”
Arthur shut his eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. I hate that I have to be so careful every second of my life. I hate suffering through evenings whereI’m expected to keep my thoughts to myself while you run through a list of boring, pre-prepared conversation topics with whichever people we’re hosting, never bringing up anything that’s evenvaguelyinteresting because you’re too worried about how other people will see you.” She paused to take a breath. “And I know you hate it, too. You can barely even keep yourself together until whoever we’re hosting leaves and then you collapse onto the sofa with some wine while Charlotte tries to make you feel less miserable about everything.” Arthur’s mouth fell agape, and Emma cocked her head to the side. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’m not six. I’m sixteen. I know you’re unhappy. Especially lately. And I wish...” She let out a soft sigh. “I wish that you’d want more for me than a future like this. One thatyoucan barely even tolerate. I wish you’d let yourself see that there’s more to life than what other people think of you.”
Before Arthur could think of a response, Emma pushed past him. As he turned to watch her leave, he caught sight of a wall clock and his first thought was that they both still needed to change for his parents’ arrival. But by the time he opened his mouth, Emma’s words were ringing in his head, and he closed it again. God, what was wrong with him? Emma was right, wasn’t she?
Mind muddled from both the emotional conversation with Emma and lingering effects of wine, Arthur walked over to Emma’s bed and sat. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face. Why was he continuing to fret over his reputation? Over his family’s standing? Once upon a time, he hadn’t cared about either of those things.
But then Emma had been born. And Ella had died as a result. And Arthur had been left feeling like he was responsible for it. Ever since then, he had been working to rebuild his reputation. Partially for himself. Partially because he wanted to be more than his past impropriety. Partially because he wanted his parents to valuehim and respect him. But partially for Emma, too. He wanted his parents to respecther. He wanted a perfect future forher. One that was free from the shame and heartbreak and ridicule that he himself had experienced. Only now, he had learned that Emma wanted something else. She wanted her own future. One that was large and exciting and meaningful.
Arthur ruminated on this for a while, listening to the seconds tick by, and then, eventually, the clock began to chime, signaling that it was the top of the hour.
It was the top of the hour, and Arthur was not at all ready for the family meal.
And for once, he wasn’t even sure that he cared.
***
In the library, Arthur was listening to the crackling of the fire in the hearth while letting his thoughts flicker from one recent unpleasant memory to the next. It had been a little over a week since he’d received that verbal lashing from Emma. One week since he had endured the subsequent scolding from his parents for not being ready for their weekly meal on time, too. Neither of his parents had stopped scowling for the entirety of their time together, both of them behaving as though Arthur had been sitting there munching on lamb in a bed shirt rather than a perfectly fine morning suit.
It had taken both the criticism from his offspring and the sneers from his parents to make Arthur realize how far he had strayedfrom the ideals of his youth. All these years of being subjected to a set of rules that people only ever followed because they had every necessity in life taken care of—every need and want and wish fulfilled—had slowly changed him, corroding his core like continuous exposure to water causing iron to rust. Arthur had spent so much time being surrounded by these rules that he had begun to follow them and to even believe in their importance. But they weren’t important, were they?
Even though Arthur had been priding himself on his occasional nonconformity—taking Charlotte into his home and treating her like family, eating snacks and meals in various rooms of his home while splayed out on the furniture, leaving his hat behind for a few formal outdoor social events here and there—he hadn’t ever really turned his back on most of the expectations that he had been shouldered with, whether by his parents or by members of his social circle or even by the cultural milieu that permeated the whole of Chicago’s elite. And now, Arthur needed to make a choice. He could either continue to be a slightly more erratic version of his father—helping to perpetuate the oppressive mindset that he himself abhorred—or he could change.
While Arthur was busy pondering this, Charlotte came into the room and half sat on the arm of the chair.
“I know you’ve been busy—”
“Yes, busy being miserable,” he interrupted wearily.
“But I need to know whether or not you still intend to have the party celebrating the fair.”
Hanging his head, Arthur let out a low whine. “It seems pointless to have one.”
“I thought you were still hoping to exhibit?”
“I want to, but...” He paused and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Charlotte, I feel wrong for it now. I’ve ruined things with Jesse. I’ve been making Emma miserable for her whole life. How can I carry onand continue to pursue this silly, conceited dream of mine while knowing that my child hates her life and the man with whom I’ve fallen in love thinks that I’m nothing more than a snobbish fool?”
Charlotte squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve explained yourself to Emma. You’ve told her how concerned you are for her future.”
“But now every time I look at her, I see how truly miserable she is and has been. Prior to that horrible conversation I had with her—if you can even call it a conversation considering the fact that it mostly consisted of me being screamed at—I’d been telling myself that her behavior was only the result of her being in a season of life that we, as a family, had to weather before she eventually realized how lucky she was and perked up again. But now I know that she won’t ever be happy with the things I had originally planned for her, like a coming out party and of course the marriage that I hoped would soon follow it. And it hurts my heart to know that she’ll be unhappy if I have that sort of celebration for her now, but I’m not sure what’s next for her otherwise. I can’t fathom how to evenbeginto help her become a journalist.Arethere even women journalists?”
Charlotte only shrugged half-heartedly.
“I feel so useless. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect her and to put her in the position to have a better life than I ever had. Or that Ella had.”
Arthur’s chest tightened, and he winced from the resulting twinge of pain.
Charlotte said, “It sounds like thiswillbe a better life for her. At least, she’ll think so.”
“I can’t imagine that it’s easy for women out there.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not. But Emma is strong and smart and tenacious. She’ll manage. Especially with your support.”
If Arthur could manage to push past his Goddamned mental blockagetosupport her.
