Lily gives me a pointed look; I can tell what she’s trying to communicate. It’s like we have special mother-daughter telepathy. Be careful, her eyes caution.
“It’s Thomas Wentworth,” I say, refolding the napkin on my lap to avoid their stares.
Elizabeth slaps the table and Mrs. Clay startles. “No way!”
I look around the crowded room. The space is cramped and dark, like an old-fashioned pub.
“Dear God,” says my dad.
James leans back in his seat and smirks. “Well, I’ll be damned. Tommy Wentworth back from the grave.”
I shoot him daggers.
“Thomas Wentworth, really? Is he still off playing sailor?” my dad asks, leaning forward. Mrs. Clay meows.
“He was in the Coast Guard, Dad,” I say. “And no. He founded a very successful business, actually. It’s a hardware company that designs chips for computers.”
My dad uses a steak knife to cut into his lobster roll. “Well, good for him, I suppose. Maybe you should have married him after all.”
Lily guffaws. Her mouth drops agape, and I imagine my expression is a mirror image of her own.
“Are you serious?” she says. I give her a look to tell her to stop, but she ignores me. She’s in defense mode. “You’re seriously going to say that after you’re the one who discouraged her from the engagement in the first place?”
My dad releases an exasperated breath and puts down his utensils. “What are you going on about now?”
“You’re the one who wrote the letter, telling Mom to call off the engagement.” Lily is leaning across the table now, too, her fork in the air pointing in his direction as an accusation.
Dad waves off her concern, digs back into his roll. “I only wrotethat letter because Lottie asked me to. I didn’t much care myself, truthfully. I was happy to have someone take Rose off my plate, if I’m honest.”
My brain tries to simultaneously process the hurt and confusion and short-circuits. It’s like I can hear the synapses forming, the electricity flowing at rapid speeds as the past realigns itself.
“Are you being serious?” I ask my dad. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape from my throat, bobbing up and out of my mouth and spilling onto our lunch.
“Of course I’m being serious,” says my dad. “Do you really think I cared that much? It’s your life to live. I’ve never stopped any of your bad ideas before or since. Heck, I even let Lily run off and play artist.” She glares at him. “Lottie told me she was worried you were too young to be attaching yourself to someone with an uncertain future. She wanted me to caution you against it, so I did.” He chews and thinks. “Although, I suppose I did wish he wasn’t a Catholic.”
“Lottie did this?” I repeat to myself, barely more than a whisper. “This was Lottie’s idea?”
I can’t imagine it. Lottie was the one who held me as I cried, the one who comforted me when I received the letter. She was even-keeled, impassive, never taking a side in the debate as I went back and forth… Or was she?
Did she not subtly encourage me to listen to my dad? Did she not tell me that there would be others, other loves and adventures I had not yet met? Did she not emphasize how young we were, how rash we were being?
Did she persuade me?
This whole time I’ve resented my dad, but in reality, it was Lottie, my closest confidant, who was really to blame. And most of all, me, for being so foolish and easily molded.
It’s like the walls of the restaurant are falling down around me,everything I ever believed in collapsing at my feet. I’ve held Lottie up my entire life as a role model, a certain feminine ideal, the kind of person I strived to be. And all along, she was covering up this huge secret.
The waitress approaches. She has kind eyes and an optimistically high ponytail that bounces when she speaks. She looks around Lily’s age. “Can I get you all anything else?”
“What about your number?” James winks. Lily hides her face in her hands. “What?” he says. “I’m kidding, obviously. Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“We’ll take the check,” says Lily from between her fingers. “Thank you, and I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be right back with that,” says the gracious waitress.
I try to communicate my sincere apologies through my eyes without embarrassing her further. She comes back seconds later with a receipt and places it in the middle of the table.
“What a nice family gathering you have here,” she says. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
