Frowning, Arthur took a sip of wine. “Pathetic, isn’t it? I once thought of myself as some sort of rebel, but here I am, living in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Chicago, running a series of small businesses from afar and spending the bulk of my leisure time socializing with people whom I can barely even tolerate.”
“Not lately,” Charlotte said. “Lately, you’ve been spending a lot of your time with Jesse.”
“Mmm, that’s true, I have been.”
“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t approve of that.”
“I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but”—Arthur’s frown transformed into a scowl—“I really can’t seem to separate myself from my upbringing. I’m constantly worrying about what my parents might think of one thing or another. Constantly hoping that I can make them see my worth somehow. Or forgive me for that Goddamned night I spent with Ella over sixteen years ago. Amongst other things I wish they’d forgive me for, too, I suppose, but that one has been theonlymisstep I’ve made that had long-lasting consequences, andstill, they throw it in my face every month or two. Why can’t they look past that? More importantly, why do I care?”
Charlotte shot him a pitying look. “It’s normal to care.”
“I need tostopcaring. Otherwise, I’ll never manage to let Emma become the woman she hopes to be. If I keep fretting over what my parents will say about her choosing her own path, I’ll never have it in me to support her while she challenges the expectations that have been thrust upon her by my parents and by society and by, well, byme.”
“You never meant to hurt her, Arthur. You were only following what you’d been taught. You wanted the best for her. Or, what you oncethoughtwas best. All you wanted was for her to have a successful, stable,normallife. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Arthur made a face and shrugged. Charlotte was right. Mostly. Still, he wanted to do better. He wanted tobebetter. He’d been walking the line between very obviously caring about and pretending not to care about what his parents or their friends thought for the better part of his life, flip-flopping between making sure that he presented himself in public in the exact manner that was expected of him and making his own choices behind closed doors, like keeping a small staff and welcoming Charlotte not only intohis home but into his immediate family. Regardless of the pull he felt to try to break free from the shackles of his upbringing, he had resisted it, spending time and money and effort to improve his reputation and win back his parents’ love instead. All it had ever done was make him even more miserable. Hell, it had even made both Jesse and Emma miserable by proxy. Arthur still couldn’t forgive himself fully for how he’d spoken to Jesse back in the wintertime. How he’d insulted and hurt the sweet, smart, perfect man whom he adored.
Arthur needed to change. He needed to put this asinine harmful hope behind him. Or, well, he had to at leasttryto do that. Because the people who mattered most in his life were the ones who liked him for who he was, not who they wanted him to be. Charlotte and Jesse and Emma and even Patrick and Gertrude.
All of them knew that behind Arthur’s pretend poise, there was a silly, eccentric man who liked to eat biscuits on his sofa late into the evening, covering himself in crumbs; a man whose teeth were rarely ever not stained red once he’d had his favorite wine.
To hell with his parents. To hell with the rest of Chicago’s elite, too. Arthur needed to take back his life. He needed to have fun and spend time with the people who mattered.
Arthur threw back the rest of his wine in one fast motion.
Uncrossing his legs, he turned to Charlotte and said, “Next Saturday, let me take you to the fair. You and Claire. And Jesse. And Patrick. And Emma. And even Gertrude, if she wants, though she hasn’t exactly expressed interest and I know her knees aren’t what they used to be. Regardless, we’ll make it a whole, big event. We’ll have cider and sweetened popcorn and beer and whatever else. Hell, I’d take everyone on the big wheel if they’d finish constructing the damned thing. I want to have fun with the people in my life. I want to enjoy the fair.Reallyenjoy it. What do you think?”
Charlotte blinked several times.
“Alright, if that’s what you want. I’ll have to see if Claire has the money to—”
“Charlotte,” Arthur said with a laugh, “I’m paying for everyone, obviously.”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
Charlotte’s tentative smile broadened. “Thank you.”
“No, thankyou. Thank you for being my friend. And for liking me forme.”
He clinked his glass with hers.
“Isn’t that bad luck?” she teased. “Toasting an empty glass?”
“You’re right.” He set his wineglass on the side table and picked up the bottle, clinking that with hers instead. “There.”
He brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip while Charlotte erupted with laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jesse
On the following Saturday, Jesse was waiting for Arthur in front of the Administration Building at the World’s Fair. Giuseppe stood next to him, wearing a scowl as he scrutinized the large white structure that loomed over them. To their right, musicians played the song “After the Ball” from the bandstand on loop, its catchy tune enlivening folks as they passed and putting a spring in their steps.
Giuseppe set his hands on his hips before turning to face Jesse.
“It’s so needlessly showy, isn’t it?” he said.
