Page 70 of Full Circle

“We’re gonna do some shopping in Savannah after class is over.” She glared at me for daring to question her.

It took sincere effort on my part not to roll my eyes. “And how am I supposed to make change for customers?”

“Go to the bank like a normal person!” snapped Desiree. She threw up her hands in impatience as if the answer was obvious.

“Desiree, I don’t have anyone to watch the restaurant so I can go down to the bank.” Talking to her often felt like talking to a toddler. She could rarely understand anything that didn’t directly impact her.

Like now. Shrugging, her curt response was, “Then put up a sign and close down for twenty minutes.”

Maggie sniggered at my facial expression, which had to indicate the murderous direction my thoughts were taking, but thankfully my stepmother was too distracted by counting the money to notice.

And so it had gone for eight long years. The moment I graduated high school, Desiree told me I had to start earning my keep by working at the restaurant. Everything I earned went right back into her pocket as “rent” for living in Nana’s cottage. She said it wasn’t right for me to live there for free any longer if I was legally an adult. A stipulation that wasn’t passed along to her two children. Marla had to help me out to pay Jesse’s salary more than once when there just wasn’t enough profit from the restaurant to cover it.

Somehow Desiree continued to have money to burn. Credit cards came to the house by the dozen, and she was constantly shopping. While the bills piled up, repairs or updates down at The Comfy Cushion were ignored, and the house my mama and daddy worked so hard to fix up fell by the wayside. The whole thing made me sick to my stomach. Most nights lately I stayed up, tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning, trying to get the math right to keep something afloat. It was like watching a slow motion train wreck of my parents’ legacies going up in smoke.

Having Hillary back at home made it far worse. She took a gap year after high school. In her case, that meant she moved to Las Vegas and tried to live a champagne lifestyle on a drug store beer budget. She came home with her tail between her legs, wallowing in self-pity, before Desiree convinced her to go away to college. Hillary was accepted at Georgia State and then immediately pledged to a sorority to live in their house. She spent five years there, attending all kinds of parties and pageants, but never completed enough credits for a degree.

My stepmother was far more concerned with Hillary getting her M-R-S degree, however, and foamed at the mouth when her daughter started dating William Thornton-Bellemere IV, the son of a Georgia congressman. After a year, they were engaged, and Desiree took out a second mortgage on the house and the restaurant, then sold two acres of land that had been in Daddy’s family for generations to pay for an extravagant wedding at the Thornton-Bellemeres’ country club. On the night of the rehearsal dinner, William was found with his dick in one of the bus boys at the restaurant. It caused a scandal that sent shockwaves through Atlanta society, and he fled town.

The scandal really hadn’t impacted Hillary at all, other than a few people questioning how she didn’t notice William was gay, but she had come back to our house carrying on as though life was over. Desiree’s solution had been more shopping and a fancy new car. Like anyone in River’s Run would be impressed that Hillary drove a Mercedes.

I knew Daddy would want me to help them and treat them like family, so that was what I continued to do. Hillary’s sorrow might have been ridiculous to me, but to her it was very real, and I empathized with her for that. She had always been decent to Iris, too, which made it easier to keep my opinions to myself as far as she was concerned.

Right on cue, the bell chimed over the door for the third time and my daughter walked in. With her bright blue eyes and long, blonde hair, she was the spitting image of her father. So much so that when she asked at four years old why we didn’t “match” like other mamas and daughters, I dyed my hair blonde and had maintained it ever since. Iris was the rainbow at the end of the storm, my light and only source of pride. Getting pregnant at sixteen should have been a nightmare, but instead became my saving grace. It was that tiny, squalling baby looking up at me with all the trust and love in the world that pushed the dark clouds away. And while I remained heartbroken at every milestone that I couldn’t share with either my parents or her daddy, Iris made my life worth every tired morning and sleepless night.

“Hey, pipsqueak!” Maggie cried, crouching down to scoop Iris into a hug.

“Aunt Maggie, you’re here!” Iris screamed. Her delightful laugh was a balm to my soul, pushing my irritation with Desiree out of my mind.

“Come along, Iris, and get changed,” my stepmother instructed. “We need to leave soon for your class.”

Our family dynamics were strange, and honestly varied depending on Desiree’s mood. Taking it one day at a time was best.

It still surprised the hell out of me that Desiree took my pregnancy in stride. We had all met with Mr. Hildebrandt, the superintendent, and agreed for me to be fully enrolled in distance learning after the doctor confirmed how far along I was. As soon as I completed all the necessary credits, I would have my diploma. Never once did Desiree pressure me towards adoption, something I never could have considered, but she did maintain strict rules about eating a balanced diet, practicing prenatal yoga, and attending all my doctor’s appointments. Her rules about Wesley never wavered; he was not informed of my pregnancy. Desiree and Hillary showed me a magazine article when I was six months along that had a photograph of Wesley attending a London movie premiere with a model on his arm. I cried every day until Iris was born over that betrayal.

On the day my daughter came into this world, Desiree and Marla both took me to the hospital. They each held my hand and coached me through childbirth. Desiree told the doctors I was not allowed to have any pain medication, that women had been giving birth naturally for thousands of years, but I was so delirious with pain and fear that I didn’t voice an argument. Shortly after they placed Iris in my arms, Desiree sent Marla away to get me some food, then gently took the baby from me. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, gazing softly at Iris’s tiny pink bundle, before leveling me with a cold stare.

“You know, because you are a minor and in my charge, that means Iris is technically my daughter, not yours,” Desiree stated.

Ice filled my lungs. What was she talking about?

“As long as you continue to do as I say, minding your manners and remembering where a hussy like you stands in society, I will let Iris know you’re her mother,” Desiree went on. “But the moment you become defiant will be the last time you ever see your daughter. D’you hear me, Celeste? If I ever catch you trying to contact that Madden boy again, Iris will disappear. That’s not what you want, is it?”

How could a voice so honeyed drip nothing but venom? Fear settled into my heart like a dead weight.

“I won’t do anything, Desiree, I promise.” It was an easy promise to make, given the alternative. Iris had been alive for all of thirty minutes and was now the axis upon which my world spun. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

“Good, then we have an understanding,” Desiree had agreed.

While she never helped with Iris as an infant, the more independent Iris became, the more Desiree threw her weight around. If I dared to disagree or question anything, Desiree would nonchalantly ask if I was being defiant. The gleam in her eye always told me that she remembered the threat; there was nothing nonchalant about her question.

Thankfully, Iris never caught on or seemed confused, and I knew better than anyone that a child could never hurt by having more people love them. Desiree and my stepsiblings all doted on Iris, constantly praising her and showering her with gifts and attention. When Iris was a toddler, Hillary and Desiree forced her into tons of beauty pageants. I was vehemently opposed, but bit my tongue. However, when Iris started dance lessons as her beauty pageant talent, we all discovered she had an incredible gift for ballet.

Hearing all the praise from dance instructors turned Desiree’s head, and pageants were dropped in favor of more dance instruction. Now, at only 10-years-old, Iris was the youngest ballerina ever to dance with the Savannah Ballet Company. Having her daddy’s height and lithe figure certainly helped. She attended dance classes five days a week in Savannah as well as private lessons twice a week that I knew firsthand cost a fortune. Desiree included their fees in my “rent.” It was all worth it, however, to watch my baby girl shine.

Right now at The Comfy Cushion, Iris nodded. “I’ll go change.” Instead of heading back to the office, however, Iris came over and wrapped her arms around me. “I love you, Mama,” she whispered.

No one had prepared me for how much those four words would knock the wind out of me. The first time I heard them, I burst into tears, scaring poor Iris in the process. All the stress from the diner and the house melted away every time she said it.

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