Flossie grins impishly. “I know the perfect thing,” she states, rounding the counter.
“Oh, good. That will leave me plenty of time to browse for myself.” The customer laughs. “I don’t need any more books, but it won’t stop me from buying at least three.”
“You can never have too many books,” Flossie advises sagely. “And you know, if you buy a series, it actually only counts as one book. It’s just book math.”
I pullinto the wide driveway and kill the engine of my little hatchback, staring up at the house looming over me. Dusk has already fallen, and it only makes the dark green Craftsman seem gloomier than usual, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
The place is way too big for two people, with five bedrooms and four bathrooms. My parents refuse to even consider downsizing, believing that the size and location of their home—an influential neighborhood of Boston—is a symbol of their status.
A physical representation of their wealth and success.Tome, it just represents the place I grew up in and couldn’t wait to escape. A grimace twists my lips, but delaying the inevitable will only make this encounter worse. I suck in a lungful of air and pull myself out of my car, slamming the door behind me and wincing when the hinges screech in protest.
My footsteps echo in the quiet evening as I head up the footpath to the concrete steps, hesitating at the ornate wooden door. My stomach feels like it’s full of insects—flying ones that flutter around. Nothing as nice as butterflies because there is nothing about this place that fills me with anticipation.
Before I can reach out and knock, the door swings open, the housekeeper giving me a curious smile. “Miss Charlie,” she greets smoothly. “Your mother was just wondering if you had arrived.”
My mind ticks over, trying to work out her name. My mother goes through more housekeepers in a year than I do shoes. “Sorry,” I murmur, even though I already know I’m right on time. Anxiety still has me checking my phone and seeing that I’m actually three minutes early.
“Your parents are already seated in the formal dining room. Can I take your coat?” She moves to the side to let me into the house, shutting the door behind us.
It makes any escape attempts harder, but it would also be churlish to refuse, so I shrug out of the burgundy wool coat, draping it over her outstretched arms. “Thank you…Uh…”
“Johanne.” The housekeeper doesn’t blink as she fills in the blank, and my chest feels tight and hot, knowing I’m already failing miserably. And I’m not even near my parents yet.
“Thank you, Johanne,” I say quietly.
She nods, and I head for the dining room, knowing my sanity requires this dinner to be over with as quickly as possible—like yanking a bandaid off. My father is sitting at the head of the grand table. My mother sits at his right, and my usual place setting has been put across from her on his left.
They’ve gone for complete ambience tonight, the full set of candles already lit and flickering over the room. The low thrum of an instrumental orchestra quietly plays in the background, making me feel like we’re in a giant elevator.
“Charlotte,” my mother says tonelessly. “We were just discussing whether you would be coming or not.” Her sharp eyes slide to the doorway. “Dillon wasn’t able to make it…again?” The question is full of insinuation. I ignore it as I take my seat, laying my cloth napkin over my lap.
“Not tonight,” I say. “Dillion had to work late.”
My father frowns at me quizzically. “What is it he does again?”
My smile grows more pinched because I’ve told him at least a dozen times since I started dating Dillon.Another reason he shouldn’t come to these things.“He’s an investment banker.”
I can’t tell whether the news impresses or disappoints my father. He just hums quietly before saying, “Well, that explains why you latched onto him. There will always be work in finance. Books, on the other hand…”
Frustration itches under my skin as my mother adds, “It doesn’t explain whyhe’slatched ontoher, though, does it? You’ve seen the boy, Edmund.” She lowers her voice, but not actually enough that I can’t hear every single word. “They don’t suit.”
My father shakes his head disinterestedly. “You were worried about the girl never findinga suitable husband, and now you worry that she’ll lose the one she has her hooks in.” His lips carve a humorless smile across his angular face. “We shall just hope for the best, Agatha. Hopefully, Charlotte will…seal the deal, as it were, before the boy realizes the disparity.”
A numbness washes over me—the usual state of being I have when I step into this house, and my parents discuss me and myfailures. It’s not enough to block out my mother when she whips her glare in my direction. “The least you could do istry, Charlotte. It’s obvious, just by looking at you, that you aren’t using the gym membership I got you for your birthday.” Her lips are so thin they disappear into her face. “I’ve told the chef to prepare you a salad for dinner—no dressing. And you’ll have lemon water.”
I don’t say a word, my eyes dropping down to the table, feeling like the teenage girl who haunted the halls of this house, always knowing that her very existence was the bane of Agatha and Edmund Aldrige’s lives.
When my mother fell pregnant and learned it was a girl, she had dreams of a society miss who would follow in her footsteps; landing a rich, blue-blooded husband from Boston’s social elite, serving on charity boards, and essentially rising up the Aldrige status through procreation, good breeding, and knowing when to shut my mouth.
Guess I managed one of those things.
Dinner passes by in silence. The music was turned off when the first course—my only course—was served, our meal punctuated only by the scraping of silverware against plates. As soon as I finished, I pushed my plate forward, dabbing my napkin against my lips.
“Unfortunately, I need to go.” I give them a thin smile, not letting a single ounce of emotion touch my eyes.
“That’s fine,” my father says, noteven looking up.
My mother scowls. “You’ll be here next month.”
