Page 11 of By Any Other Name

“Can it wait?”

“Not really.”

Mom opens her mouth in slight surprise. She glances from me, to her attendants, and throws her hands up in exasperations. “Well, you’re a bit early. I wasn’t expecting you back for another hour, at least.”

“Yeah…that’s what I need to tell you about.”

“Well, go downstairs and I’ll find you when I’m done.”

“Where’s dad?” I ask over the sound of the blow dryer.

“In his office.”

My heart leaps. “Really?”

“Yes. Now, go.”

For once I don’t even care that she’s talking to me like I’m twelve. I’m more than happy to go downstairs and find my father while I wait for Mom to finish with…whatever the hell this is.

Idrop into my bedroom before heading downstairs. Of everywhere in this house, my room is the only place that I genuinely like—the only place that feels like me, with all its warm tones, spindly antique furniture, and moody florals. Crossing to my canopy bed, I furrow my brow at the black garment bag laid flat against the dark mauve duvet. An electric-yellow post-it note stuck to the front says:

Noticed you might need some new clothes!

My eye twitches.

Noticed you might need some new clothes.It’s my mother’s handwriting, and I can’t decide if it’s meant passive aggressively or not. I gained a tiny bit of weight…and? I’m also not a teenager anymore, gods forbid.

I let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh and cross to the dresser instead, pulling out leggings and a sweatshirt.

Twenty minutes later, I walk into my father’s study without knocking. He looks up from his desk and smiles, his eyes only betraying a hint of exhaustion.

“Etta,” he says by way of greeting. “I thought you were still at that…what was the thing tonight?”

I smile. I like that my dad, like me, doesn’t care much for Order events. He’s more interested in the practical magic aspect of the Order than the politics, and leaves all council matters to my mother.

“An arcane auction,” I say, sitting down in the chair across from him. “Although I didn’t see much on the list I would consider worthy of that title.”

His eyes crease in the corners when he smiles. My father is in his mid-sixties, gray-haired and gray-eyed. To me, he’s always seemed calm, mild-mannered, and a little bit lame—like a dad should be. It’s hard to look at this tweed-wearing, tea-drinking man and reconcile what I’ve learned about him as I’ve grown up. How old is his mistress this time? I dread the day that I’m older than my dad’s girlfriend, and as I’ve just turned twenty-one I fear we’re fast approaching that day.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, perhaps a little too boldly.

He coughs, uncomfortable—he likes to pretend I don’t know he rarely spends a single night at home, or that the book on his side of the bed likely hasn’t been touched in six months. “Your mother and I wanted to talk to you.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “Oh…about what Councilman Lawrence said?”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

Right. I’m flailing. I wish I didn’t have the kind of relationship with my parents where every conversation is immediately assumed to be catastrophic, but it’s too late to fix that now.

Just then, my mother sweeps into the room. “Alright. What did you want to tell me, Juliette?”

I look back at her in the doorway, then over to my father behind the desk. Distantly, I wonder if Mom is supposed to look any different after being air fried for the last thirty minutes. She looks about the same. Taller and willowier than I am, but with the same ash-blonde hair, which she claims is still natural, and a very pretty face that is mostly still natural even in her late forties. She’s a good twenty-five years younger than my father, and it’s never been a secret in our house that their marriage is more of a business alliance than a romantic relationship.

Given how miserable she is, one would think she wouldn’t want the same for me…but that’s“just how things are done.”

I lean toward her, my anxiety rising. “I wanted to tell you about the auction…”

Her expression goes as dark as it possibly can as I explain the nights events. She can’t furrow her brow fully, but if she could, I know she’d look furious.

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