Page 7 of What Is Love
Mother grabbed my upper arm, her grip tight, her warning clear. “Yes. I showed them some pictures of you.”
Everything about that was out of character for her. I couldn’t imagine her showing off pictures of me like a proud mother.
“Brandon has told us a lot about you, too. He’ll be down any minute.” Sharon turned slightly, gesturing toward the front door. “Let’s head in. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Something wasn’t right. I wanted to question so many things. Mother’s hand still latched to my arm helped remind me to keep my mouth shut.
As we were led through the Carmichaels’ house, Clay made small talk with Bill and Mother complimented Sharon on the look of her home. I was sure Mother was comparing everything the Carmichaels had to what we had. I prayed to whatever deity would listen that she didn’t see anything she found enviable. She was spoiled. I didn’t know a better way to describe her than that.She wanted everything she had to be better than what others had and spent tons of my late father’s money to make sure she did. And if she couldn’t…well, she didn’t throw herself on the floor screaming like a spoiled brat, but I would have preferred that. No, she threw a tantrum in a different way. She fed her jealousy and frustration with gin until it grew into something she couldn’t contain and then she would come looking for me.
The Carmichaels had a nice-looking home, I supposed. The interior design was contemporary, with whites, tans, grays, and small hints of vibrant colors like blue and gold here and there. To be honest, I forgot all the rooms and spaces as soon as we passed them. I didn’t care. I just wanted to know why we were here.
The moment we filed into the formal dining room, which was also a contemporary design with a long black table, plush white upholstered chairs, and a glass-and-metal chandelier hanging in the center of the room, house staff began taking our drink orders. Of course, Mother asked for her gin with a splash of lime, and before I could even open my mouth to say what I wanted, she spoke for me. “She’ll have water.”
Brandon showed up then, his Ivy League style caramel hair still damp as if freshly showered. He was dressed in tan slacks and a baby blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled almost to his elbows. “Sorry I’m late.”
I knew Brandon as well as I knew most of my fellow students—that is, superficially. He was the pitcher for Kendry Academy’s baseball team, which was astronomically better than its football team. He was also our school’s golden boy and seemed friendly with everyone. We hung out in the same social circles, saw each other at parties, had even talked a handful of times. In the past, he had asked to hang out. I knew he had been interested in me, but I didn’t feel the same.
Sharon stared at her son like he’d hung the moon. “No worries, honey. They just got here.”
Brandon’s amber eyes, which matched his father’s, flicked right to me. A boyish grin took over his face. “Hey, Lottie.”
I forced a smile. “Hello.”
Their house staff returned with our drinks and placed them at our assigned seats. Bill sat at the head of the table with his wife to his right and Brandon sitting next to her. Mother was sitting to Bill’s left. I was seated between Mother and Clay, directly across from Brandon.
The delicious smell of food hit my nose the moment the first course was brought in. It smelled so good that I became very aware of the hollowness in my stomach. The chef explained the first course as a delicate salad with romaine, chopped asparagus, snap peas, radish, and pan-seared shrimp. He went on to talk about the dressing, but as soon as one of the staff placed mine in front of me, I stopped listening. It was a small salad artfully placed in the center of a large white plate. Three small, peeled shrimp lay on top of the salad with their tails touching. The smell of ginger and other spices in the dressing filled my nose and made my mouth water.
“Enjoy,” I heard the chef say before leaving.
I looked around at everyone as I lifted my fork slowly. They all began eating. When I glanced at Mother, I found her already staring at me. She gave me a stern look that reminded me to be mindful of how much I ate before she began digging into her own salad.
I picked at the outside of my dish where the romaine wasn’t as dressed. Even though the bite was small, it was still really good. Every fiber of me was begging to eat more, to gobble down the savory-smelling shrimp. I hadn’t eaten anything today and yesterday I’d only had a bland, small chicken breast for dinner. The day before that had been my eighteenth birthday.
I lowered my fork. My hunger was quickly smothered as my thoughts strayed to my birthday. I hadn’t been allowed to eat anything at all that day. Mother had woken up very angry and immediately started drinking. When she got drunk like that…I glanced at my wrist to make sure my sleeve hadn’t ridden up. Thankfully, it hadn’t.
“Charlotte,” Sharon said. “Tell us about yourself. Brandon says you’re quite the artist.”
Before I could respond, Mother scoffed. “It’s just a hobby. I wouldn’t go as far as to call her an artist. It’s more doodling than anything.”
I wasn’t surprised by the belittling. Mother hated that I drew. She had wanted me to be a cheerleader just like she had been. I had been for a time. Nearly all of freshman year. However, what Mother had forgotten was that broken bones and bruise-covered skin didn’t mix well with cheerleading. I’d hoped she wanted me to be a cheerleader enough to control herself. Seeing how I didn’t cheer anymore, hope had betrayed me once again.
I glanced at Brandon and found him staring at me. He gave me a small, pitying smile that I found annoying. I returned my attention to his mother. “Yes. It’s just a hobby.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” Sharon said, not really sounding interested.
“What about school?” Bill asked. “You’re almost done. Will you be going to college?” The way he spoke scared me a little. It was as if he expected to be answered or else.
“We’re hoping Brandon will be getting his acceptance letters soon,” Sharon interjected before I could answer her husband. “We have our fingers crossed for Duke. His father went to Duke and his father before him.”
“What a coincidence,” Mother said. “Charlotte applied for Duke as well.”
My schooled expression slipped for only a heartbeat at her lie. I glanced at her. She was busy cutting off a small piece of shrimp and bringing it to her mouth.
Clay’s warm, large hand slid over my bare left thigh. I flinched before staring back down at my plate, heart beating fast and disgust squeezing my throat.
“Kendrys normally go to Brown, but my Charlotte is her own person,” Mother continued. “She more than likely won’t go work for her grandfather’s company even though her father did leave her his shares. I honestly don’t think the corporate world will suit her. So I don’t see the point of her going to Brown.” Mother picked up her gin with lime and took a small sip. As she went to set her glass back down, she added, “I’m sure her future husband can help contribute to the family business in her stead.”
Over the years, I’d mastered a schooled expression, but tonight I was struggling. Everything Mother was saying was…I didn’t know what to make of what she was saying. Yes, I’d applied for Brown at Grandfather’s insistence. Yes, it was expected of me to go work for him as my father had done. Ever since I was little, that had been what my family had planned for my life. I hadn’t known Father had left me his shares in the Kendry company. As for applying for Duke, I hadn’t. I’d only applied for Brown and, unbeknownst to everyone but Ms. Clark, an art school in California, not that I’d be able to go even if I was accepted. So why was Mother lying to them? What was she trying to gain?
