“Weeks ago?” I repeat.
“They take forever to arrive. Your mother and I had an appointment, but…” She trails away, her eyes darting nervously to me.
I wish I hadn’t taken that moment to attempt a bite of pot roast. It turns to ash in my mouth, and I have to force myself to swallow.
“I miss her, too,” Ginny says quietly.
I manage a small, but grateful smile.
It feels like business as usual for Daddy and Malcolm. Mom’s death is more about damage control than grief most of the time. I know Daddy misses her. I hear him crying in his office with the doors closed. It’s just like him not to let us see him vulnerable. Still, I can’t find the grace to feel sorry for him. Not after what he did to her. Instead, we’re all alone in our grief—locking ourselves in our respective rooms and working our way through the unexpected sorrow alone. But isn’t that how death works? We all go through it alone. I guess it’s preparation for the day our own comes.
“We could go try some dresses on,” I offer. I’m not the least bit excited to do it, but I have to remember that I’m not the only one hurting. The wedding doesn’t have to be a sad day. It can be what we make it.
“I’ll set something up.” Her eyes light up, and I know that at least one person at the table is looking forward to the future. Maybe someday I will, too.
“That reminds me that we need to rebook the photographer for the paper,” she says to Malcolm. “They’ll want do a feature on our engagement.”
“Do we have to?” he asks.
“Of course, you have to,” Daddy interjects, reaching for his glass of bourbon. I can’t help but notice he has drank more than he’s eaten this evening. Apparently, he’s on a liquid diet. “Appearances are more important than ever.”
Of course, that’s why he thinks they should do it. He cares more about what the outside world sees than what any of us feels.
“Why do we have to?” I can’t stop myself from asking. I’m tired of every moment in my life being a photo op. “I think that people should allow us time to mourn.”
“And they have,” he says harshly, peering at me over the cut crystal rim. “But that means you can’t get away with doing whatever you want forever.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Adair and I already spoke about her returning to school,” Malcolm interrupts. He’s trying to save me from our father’s interrogation, or at least, maintain some peace at dinner, but it’s too little, too late.
“Good, because she’s returning to school in January,” Daddy says.
“About that,” I say. “I’ve been reconsidering staying in Valmont.”
“You have?” His voice is dangerously calm and I do my best to stay poised.
“Everyone is so busy with their own lives,” I begin. I’ve been considering how best to broach this. I can’t exactly come right out and say that I want to run screaming from the only home I’ve ever known. “It gets lonely. Plus, I know Mom would want me to go out and see the world.”
“Your mother would want you to be near family,” he says, adding, “so that we can keep an eye on you.”
I cross my arms over my chest, abandoning all attempts at eating. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?”
Malcolm dabs his face with a napkin. “Maybe we can discuss—”
“Because someone had to drag you home last night,” Daddy continues, ignoring Malcolm.
“He was just making sure I got home safely!” I let myself get loud so that the heat blooming on my cheeks will look like anger instead of what it really is: guilt.
“Was he?” He doesn’t buy it. “If someone had seen—if someone had gotten a picture—”
“Who is going to follow me around in Valmont?” I ask. Really, he’s the height of paranoid. Of course, that’s because he knows that he’s skirting a very fine line when it comes to our personal lives. If the family draws too much attention—if someone starts to look into the details regarding my mother’s death—it could be a huge story. The kind that does more than hurt reelection bids.
“Exactly,” he says triumphantly, and I realize that I’ve wandered into his trap without realizing it. This is why he wants to keep me about in Valmont. We’re safe in our little enclaves. It’s not that none of our neighbors or friends care what we do. It’s that we’ve all arranged to ignore each other’s sins in favor of protecting our own.
“You let Malcolm go to DC,” I point out.
“Malcolm needed to go for graduate school and his internship. He’s going to be in the Senate someday.”
“Maybe I’ll run for the Senate,” I say.
Both Malcolm and Daddy laugh. Ginny frowns but she doesn’t stick up for me. Feminism only goes so far with this family, and we both know it.
“There’s not enough room in the Senate for both of us,” Malcolm says as though this explains why that would be impossible. And if there’s only room for one, it’s going to be him.
“Oh, stop dicking around, it’s because I’m a girl,” I say.
“Language,” my father warns.
“That proves my point,” I say, shoving my plate to the middle of the table. The maid appears, avoiding all eye contact and removes my plate. No one says anything about how little I’ve eaten. No one
