“This dress is wasted on you! You can’t appreciate it,” Caroline says, still ogling the dress.
“That might be true,” Lettie replies with good humor. “April sent me a bunch of evening gowns to try on for tonight, along with shoes and accessories.”
“What other dresses did she send?” Caroline asks, practically salivating.
“I can show you pictures.” I can’t help but appreciate how friendly Lettie is to Caroline, even though earlier, she pretended not to know her name. Apparently, she’s not one to hold a petty grudge. Caroline huddles with Lettie to see the photos on her phone.
And so, I find myself walking into the party, trailing behind my date and Caroline Bingham. I inwardly smile at this surprising turn of events. The moment I saw Caroline on the steps, I knew she would interfere with my date tonight. But I feared she’d flirt with me, not mooch up to Lettie. More than once, I find myself introducing both Lettie and Caroline to acquaintances. After tonight, my reputation as a player will be locked up. Thanks to Caroline, it looks like I brought two dates.
“Liam darling,” my Aunt Kate calls from across the room. Inwardly, I groan. I love my aunt, but she can be a lot. She has already scared away more than one romantic interest. As her particular favorite, she has promised (or should I say threatened) to select an acceptable wife for me. She has strong opinions about whom I date. I fear she won’t approve of Lettie, not because there’s anything objectionable about Lettie or that this is anything more than a casual first date—which I have to remind myself frequently. It’s just that anyone that I so much as have coffee with my aunt feels it’s her duty to vet. On the bright side, Caroline, who has already suffered my aunt’s inquisition, makes her excuses and flees. Good riddance! I have no desire to spend the whole evening playing third wheel to my date and Caroline Bingham.
“Liam! Don’t you look devilish.” Aunt Kate hugs me, and I’m surrounded by the heady scent of Chanel No. 5. She kisses me on both cheeks. I pull out a handkerchief to wipe off the inevitable lipstick. Aunt Kate is wearing what she calls the Debourgh diamonds, a diamond collar and matching earrings from Cartier that she bought for herself on her 50th birthday. Her jewels are so gaudy they look like costume jewelry, but I happen to know they’re real. She has promised to give them to my sister. But when she’s upset with Georgie, she tells her that she might as well give the “Debourgh Diamonds” to my future wife.
“Liam, darling, you made it. I wish you could’ve convinced my poor sister to come as well. It’s high time she stopped moping.”
Though I’ve had similar thoughts, it irritates me to hear my aunt criticize my mother.
“It’s not moping, it’s mourning. Mom misses Dad terribly, as do I.”
“But here you are, looking dashing, and you brought a date.” Her eyes flick to Lettie but only for a moment. “Anne is taking things too far. A year of mourning is more than enough. Women never miss their husbands. Men are such helpless creatures; they just create work for their wives. We’re always better off without them.”
“And yet, you insist I marry.”
“Only because you are such a catch, darling. It would be a crime for you to stay single. I’m certain you agree.” This last line she tosses to Lettie.
“Oh, definitely!” This satisfies my aunt. But I catch the sarcasm in Lettie’s reply.
“Lettie, may I introduce you to my Aunt Kate.”
My aunt puts out her hand for Lettie to shake. “Dr. Catherine Debourgh.” I see my aunt through Lettie’s eyes and realize she looks a little like Cruella Deville. She’s bony thin, wearing a red lace evening gown, and has short black hair with a shock of white coming up from her widow’s peak.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Debourgh,” Lettie speaks graciously, but I can see the mirth in her eyes. “I believe you know my roommate, Charlotte Liu. She’s a third-year resident.”
“Dr. Liu is your roommate?” She turns to me. “Dr. Liu is not a terrible doctor.” Coming from my aunt, that is high praise indeed.
“She’s a wonderful roommate,” Lettie says with warmth.
“And you.” My aunt surveys Lettie with an assessing gaze. “You’re quite a pretty thing and well-dressed.” So far, so good. This is the most generous my aunt has ever been to a date of mine. “What do you do?”
“I’m a caterer.” My heart sinks. Lettie must know that a woman who insists on being called doctor at a social function will not think highly of a caterer. Which isn’t even an accurate answer. Lettie is a team leader at Bennet Parties, and she teaches writing at the university. She’s purposely answering with the least impressive of her two jobs to provoke my aunt. I catch her eyes, which are dancing with mischief. Yeah, she’s totally doing this on purpose and wholly enjoying my aunt’s expression of barely contained distaste.
“She’s also a writer,” I add. I hate ruining Lettie’s fun, but I really want my aunt to like her. Lettie’s eyes go big with surprise. Oh, that’s right, she’s not the one who told me she writes. Jane did once when I was fishing for Lettie info.
“Ah, a writer,” my aunt says with begrudging respect. “I’ve thought of writing myself. I’m certain I have at least a couple bestselling novels in me.”
“I bet you do,” Lettie answers, all meekness. Aunt Kate nods along. “Just like I’m confident that I’d rock heart surgery. I mean, how hard can it be?” I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Lettie’s ability to maintain a straight face right now is commendable.
“No, dear me,” say my Aunt. “I would not let you in the operating room. I had years of training to get where I am today.”
“My point exactly.”
My aunt eyes Lettie again, not sure if she has been insulted or complimented. “And pray tell me, what sort of training have you done to become a writer?”
“Let’s see. To begin with I have my BA in English with a minor in creative writing. During my undergrad years, I worked for the college paper and the school literary magazine. I got my MFA in creative writing. Not to mention countless writer’s conferences and workshops.”
“Hmm... that is a little more training than I expected. What do you write?”
“Romance.” Lettie utters the word with great satisfaction. Then, she looks at me as if daring me to judge her. I do not dare.
