I nodded. “I know. I had just called my engagement off. And then this happened, and I just couldn’t face it. I went back to Hayes, and I messed up everything.”
Babs whistled. “Did you ever!”
I swatted her arm lightly.
“But it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet now. I know I can. And, really, I have to.” I paused. “No, Iwantto.” Then I realized I had another piece of news to deliver. “Oh, and Hayes is moving in with Chrissy Matthews.”
Babs had practically no reaction at all, her face as placid as it had been a moment earlier. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” she said. “Seems pretty typical Hayes if you ask me.” Before I had a chance to respond, she said, “How do you feel about pork chops for dinner?”
I smirked at her. “Pork chops sound great. They’ll be my last decent meal before I return to a life of ramen and instant oatmeal.”
She made a horrified face. “I’d better pack you up some leftovers then.” She got up and turned back to me. “Jules,” she said, “I never doubted you for a minute. Not one.”
I watched her walk back into the house, feeling a little teary-eyed. Hayes was in the past, and, no matter what Professor Winchester said, architecture was my future. I was going to go inside and celebrate with my grandmother. All was right with the world.
I typed a quick thank-you email to Conner. All I had wanted to do since I last saw him was call him. Well, no, all I had wanted to do was get on an airplane and fly to New York and surprise him at the door of his apartment wearing nothing but a trench coat.
I finished reading his email.I’m so proud of you. I hope you don’t mind me sharing my thoughts. Your work is illuminating, and the world needs to see it. I want to see you more than anything, but I heard you on that boat. You aren’t ready. In the meantime, I’llbe waiting and working and dreaming about a beautiful yoga-doing, building-drawing heroine who makes great jokes about spaceships and has the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
I felt so warm and tingly inside that I couldn’t even muster up anger at Hayes anymore. Hayes was my past, my misspent youth. Conner could be my future. And so I typed back,I hope she ends up with a charming, handsome, and very generous architect who sweeps her off her feet completely. I can’t wait for that day when I run into you on a street corner.
I held the phone to my chest, hugging it as if it were Conner himself. I knew if I called him, he would answer. But maybe he was right. Maybe I should honor what I needed before I jumped into another relationship.
I swiped to refresh my email and saw the perfect response:I can’t wait for that wink.
I floated into the kitchen, where Babs was chopping okra. One look at my face and she laughed. “Oh, my darling girl, are we going to have cause to bring the wedding veil out again?”
I smiled. If we did determine that our veil was the Vanderbilts’, the right thing to do was return it. But that wedding veil hadn’t just brought my family love and luck. It had saved me. If it weren’t for its weighty presence and meaning, I had no doubt I would have married Hayes. I would have been his wife right now while he snuck out with Chrissy Matthews or, when he got bored, with whichever woman was next. What kind of life was that?
I walked up beside Babs and started chopping the onion on the cutting board. She nodded toward a pair of filled champagne flutes sitting on the counter, and I grabbed one and handed her the other.
We clinked our glasses. “To true love, in every form it takes,” said Babs.
“To true love.” Two months ago, “true love” would have meant Hayes, wedding vows, and a happily ever after. But, right now, I realized, I couldn’t think of anyone I loved more truly than the woman standing right beside me.
CORNELIAA Rotten EggOctober 9, 1933
Rose’s sitting room was one of Cornelia’s favorite places in the world. It was cozy and homey, with dark wood and low ceilings, comfortable furniture, and today, as there was a bit of a nip in the air, a roaring fire.
“How do you do it?” Cornelia asked Rose. “How is it that you have always seemed so very content?”
Rose laughed, setting her coffee cup on the wooden end table. Her long-sleeved floral dress was simple but flattered the curves that four children had lent her five-foot-two-inch frame. Cornelia eclipsed her in height, but, she was realizing, maybe not in wisdom.
“It’s just my nature, Nelly,” she said. “I’ve never wanted much, and I’ve always felt happy.”
Cornelia was bathing in shame now. “I’m sorry, Rose. What you must think of me. Poor little girl with the largest home in America, two healthy, beautiful sons, and a doting husband.”
Rose laughed and leaned forward, her short hair, curledaround her ears, staying put. “Nell, I know you better than most anyone, I’d daresay. You are a lovely person. Fun, vivacious, bright, outgoing—but you’ve never been one to feel terribly settled. You have a lot, but you haven’t found what makes you happy. And that’s okay. You’re young. There’s time. You don’t need to worry about becoming the woman you were meant to be just yet.”
Cornelia felt that Rose had hit the nail on the head. How she had tried. She had hoped marriage and children would make her happy like they had Rose. Then she had hoped that service to others would fill her cup, like it had for her mother. Or that throwing herself into the preservation of Biltmore would be the thing, like it was for Jack. Or maybe it was in big parties and good times, like it was for Bunchy. But, alas, Cornelia still hadn’t found her place.
Why couldn’t she just be happy?
Painting had helped over the last few years but maybe it wasn’t quite right. “I hope I don’t need to worry,” Cornelia said. “But I hate to tell you: thirty-three isn’t so young.” She paused. “Did I tell you I’ve started writing?”
“You have?” Rose said. “Like, a journal? Or stories? Or what?”
“A story,” Cornelia said. She didn’t add that her quest to find a publisher wasn’t going so well.
