34. Peace
I hadn’t expected New York summers to be so glorious. Sunny July days made for fantastic beach weather, which was ironic considering I was stuck in Manhattan.
Adam was busier than ever, succeeding in his quest to become the most diligent law student to ever hit Columbia University, which left me in the unenviable position of trying to kill time without injuring my happy ever after. In order to do that, I’d had to tweak my attitude.
Calling a truce with the purple circle was a necessary evil. Occasionally dealing with them wasn’t too toxic to my soul. It usually just resulted in fake niceties, false smiles and an overwhelming urge to shower afterwards.
Apparently, the best way to prove that I was with Adam for the long haul was to actually stick around for the long haul. Six months into my New York life, Parker realised it. Even Kinsey eventually realised it. The only one still holding out for my demise was Whitney, who retained the opinion that I was nothing more than a home-wrecking whore. Other than electric shock therapy or filing for divorce, nothing was going to change her mind. I’d long since given up the fight.
Seraphina and I had become unlikely friends. We had next to nothing in common, but she was great company and nowhere near as dreary as the rest of her purple circle teammates. I was surprised to learn that she had a creative streak. She was a student at an elite design school, a gig as prestigious as any Ivy League college.
I had to admit defeat when it came to appreciating her talent, though. I tried to appear enthusiastic as we sat in a coffee shop, poring over her latest portfolio of designs. But to me, yellow denim and pink tulle didn’t seem like such a great combination.
“These are great,” I lied encouragingly.
“They’ll look better in the flesh,” she replied, snapping the folder shut. “I’m going to find some girls to model them and have my very first photo shoot.”
“Well, that’s exciting.”
“I was hoping you’d see it that way,” she replied, shifting agitatedly in her seat. “I was hoping you’d shoot it for me.”
“Who are you going to get to model for you?”
A lot depended on her answer. I had vast experience when it came to photographing amateur pageant princesses, a task Ivy still called on me to do on a regular basis. But I’d never photographed anyone experienced enough to recognise that I was a complete amateur.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Probably Whitney and Kinsey.”
“I would love to shoot Whitney and Kinsey.”
“Great,” she enthused, ignoring the double entendre. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
I had no qualms about helping Sera out, especially if it involved taking pictures. Photography was the one thing that had kept me sane and grounded over the months. My portfolio had become so huge that I found myself changing the pictures on the walls at Billet-doux every few days. Some sold and some made their way into the back storeroom, which had now become too crowded to walk around in.
Other than occasional fairy high teas, decorating the walls with pictures was practically my only contribution to Billet-doux, which pleased Ryan no end. I played by the rules and attended every meeting he summoned me to, which usually consisted of him pretending to ask for my input or threatening to send my pictures to the bottom of the Hudson if I didn’t clear out the storeroom.
I’d given up trying to rebel against the life I’d stumbled into. I just took solace in the fact that it was temporary. I didn’t hate living in Manhattan, but as the months slipped by the prospect of leaving was something I began to look forward to more each day.
***
No matter how hectic Adam’s schedule was, Sundays were always reserved for the two of us. We usually headed out for a late breakfast and took the rest of the day as it came. That particular morning, we ended up at a café in Central Park, sitting at an outside table eating chocolate croissants. The sun was warm but the smile on the face of the boy sitting opposite me was warmer.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, a little unnerved.
“I can’t help it. You’re incredibly beautiful.”
“Had you forgotten?” I teased. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen me.”
Adam saw through the lightly veiled dig. His grip on my hand tightened as he brought my fingers to his lips. “I’m doing my best, Charli,” he defended. “School is crazy right now, the workload is huge.”
“I know,” I mumbled, feeling a little guilty for even mentioning it. “But I miss you when you’re not around.” Sometimes I missed him even when he was around. Quiet nights in that were sabotaged by hours of extra studying made it feel like we were both working toward a law degree.
A long walk always remedied the sins of spending too much time apart during the week and eating croissants for breakfast. Plenty of people milled around, enjoying their lazy Sunday morning. Occasionally we’d step to the side to make room for joggers or people walking faster than us, but it still didn’t seem crowded. Central Park was one of the few places in New York that never felt congested to me. The winding paths, trees and rolling lawns had been my saviours more than once.
Adam favoured the walking route to the Conservatory Water over all others. The pull for him was the model sailing boats that were in abundance when the weather was fine. That day was no different. His attention drifted to an impressive yacht being manoeuvred around the lake by a small boy. The boy’s father constantly tried giving him instruction, but short of wrestling it away, he had no chance of getting hold of the remote control.
“The sails aren’t rigged properly,” whispered Adam from the corner of his mouth. “It could go much faster.”
I looked at the father trying to win the war against his boy – who giggled manically like an evil professor every time he lurched for the controls. “I don’t think either of them are worried about the lack of speed,” I joked, whispering the words into the sleeve of his shirt.
“She is beautiful, though, right?” he asked, gawking at the model sloop as if she were some long lost lover.
I took a closer look at the little blue boat bobbing on the lake. “It looks like La Coccinelle,” I said.
“She does,” he agreed, glancing at me as he smiled.
I suddenly felt a little ache for home. Memories of Adam working on the rundown old boat he had lovingly restored in Gabrielle’s shed flooded my head. It reminded me of how much had changed since then… and how much had stayed the same. I was a little older, a fraction wiser and still madly in love with the boy with the cerulean eyes.
“Adam, when we leave here, where will we go?”
He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, making my forward stride reminiscent of a drunk being accompanied home.
“I don’t know,” he replied, sounding totally uninterested. “I thought you’d have it all figured out.”
“We could go home for a while, to the Cove.” It was the very first time I’d mentioned going back to Australia. It might have been the first time I’d even thought about it.
“Of all the places I thought you’d want to go, I wasn’t expecting it to be there.”
“Do you hate the idea?”
Tightening his hold, he pulled me in impossibly closer. “I don’t hate any of your ideas.”
Sometimes I wondered if ambiguity was a skill taught at Columbia. If so, he was undoubtedly head of the class. Talking about our plans beyond the end of law school wasn’t one of Adam’s favourite topics, and he avoided it like a pro.
He was slightly tormented by the fact that I hadn’t found my niche in New York. It no longer bothered me. Once broken down, the reason why was a simple one: I just didn’t belong. And Adam hated being reminded of it. And making plans beyond life in New York was the biggest reminder of all.
I stopped walking, forcing him to a stop. “Eventually we’re going to have to talk about this.”
“For now, I’d rather you just find your place here and settle in,” he replied, either missing or ignoring my ire. “Life happens while you’re making other plans.”
“You’re seriously going to rip off John Lennon quotes to lecture me?”
He replied slowly, trying to mask his amusement. “No, Charlotte. I’m merely suggesting that you do what you used to do best and live in the moment.”
I pulled free and began walking away. I should’ve known he wouldn’t follow. Adam never followed. When it came to enduring my hissy fits, he was the master. In order to continue the conversation, I had to stop and turn back. “Do you want to know what else John Lennon said?” I asked, stamping back toward him.
“Well, he was the one who urged us all to give peace a chance.” He flashed me a lazy half-dimpled smile, which was his most crippling form of warfare. “Maybe you should give it a try.”
“You’re an idiot,” I accused. “Which is ironic, because he also said that behind every idiot is a great woman. That would be me.”
He reached out to me the second my rant was over, kissed the corner of my mouth and dipped me so far backward my hair brushed the ground. “I’ve always known that to be true.”
“Good,” I huffed, clinging to him. “As long as you know.”
He swiftly righted me. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
It was an almost-argument we’d had a hundred times before, and the outcome was never any different. I was left making plans in my own head, biding my time until I’d mention it again.
***
Adam had been right about one thing. My modus operandi of living in the moment had waned over time. I put it down to a lack of inspiration, but the quirk wasn’t entirely lost. Somehow I’d managed to transfer a little of my craziness to my mother-in-law.
Spending time with the queen once she’d given up the quest to oust me from her kingdom was harder than avoiding her when she hated me. To preserve my sanity, I made sure our bonding sessions were structured events. Keeping her away from ritzy boutiques and introducing her to markets and vintage thrift shops brought out a whole new side of her. When I could get Fiona out of her Manhattan headspace, she could be an extraordinarily interesting person, especially when talking about her pre Jean-Luc life.
She’d once told me that her first job was as an usherette at a cinema. “They used to issue us with gorgeous black silk stockings as part of the uniform. They were much better quality than I could have afforded. I literally worked for stockings,” she remembered. She giggled then, totally unabashed by the revelation.
I loved how far we’d come. Not everyone welcomed the change, though. Ryan was constantly accusing me of bringing out the worst in her, especially on days when she’d decide to return to her roots and introduce her family to pieces of her heritage. That day’s lesson in tradition came via her decision to singlehandedly cook Ryan’s birthday dinner. Both of her sons had been dreading it since she first mentioned it. Now that they were sitting in her lounge room, minutes away from actually eating her home cooked meal, they looked positively terrified.
I’d grown up eating abominable meals cooked by Alex. She’d have to be a truly terrible chef to top his efforts. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” I insisted, unsure of which brother needed the most reassuring.
“The woman hasn’t cooked a meal in twenty years,” said Ryan bleakly. “There’s a reason why.”
“You’re both being babies.”
Adam shook his head. “He’s not exaggerating, Charli.”
Ryan interjected. “I didn’t even bring a date. I couldn’t think of anyone I disliked enough.”
The glass doors began to slide open and I shushed them, fearing it was their mother. Jean-Luc skulked into the room, completing the trio of sullen, frightened men. Grandma Nellie shuffled in behind him carrying the cutest little brown dog I’d ever seen.
“Has your mother come to her senses yet?” Nellie asked, directing her question at her grandsons.
They both answered in unison. “No.”
She lowered the pup to the floor and he scurried up onto the couch and sat beside me.
“I didn’t know you had a dog, Nellie,” I said, patting the furry mutt.
“I don’t, dear,” she replied. “I borrowed him.”
I frowned, confused. Ryan started laughing, which set his father off. Adam shook his head, showing no sign of catching the joke I’d missed.
“His name is Chester,” explained Nellie. “My neighbour Bruce said he likes scraps. I imagine there will be a lot of scraps tonight.”
I thought they were all being most unfair, but even I couldn’t help giggling when they all erupted. The only thing that killed the humour was Fiona walking into the room. “Darlings,” she crooned, walking toward us all with her arms outstretched. I stood up first.
She hugged me much too tightly, made an insincere comment about my hair looking pretty and turned her attention to Ryan, who stood up and hugged her as if he had no choice. “Happy birthday, son.”
“Thank you Mom,” he replied. “Dinner smells wonderful.”
He was clearly lying. I could smell something rather acrid, reminding me of the time Mitchell set fire to the handle of a frying pan.
“It’s roast beef,” she said proudly. “Cooked entirely by my own fair hand.”
“Great,” he replied, drawing out the word.
In what looked like an attempt to rescue his brother, Adam stood and approached her. “I’m sure it will be amazing,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.
“Thank you darling,” she purred, pinching his cheek. “You’re such a good boy.”
“Why is he the good one?” complained Ryan. “I said it smelled wonderful. All you got out of him was a half-hearted amazing.”
Nellie’s chortle had a strange effect on Chester. He let out a gravelly little bark which made Fiona jump. “What on earth is that?” she asked, horrified by the little brown fur ball that had set up home on her couch.
“Moral support,” replied Adam, setting off the laughter again.
***
Chester’s talents as a garbage disposal were almost wasted. The Décarie men managed to down most of their meal without too much of a performance. Nellie flat-out refused to eat what she didn’t like and settled for an endless glass of whiskey and a few roasted potatoes before calling it quits and going home. I wondered how upset her neighbour Bruce was going to be when he found out she’d forgotten to take Chester with her.
I thought it was the best meal I’d had since I’d left home. The stodgy, hearty roast dinner threw me right back to my childhood when I’d gatecrashed family dinners at my best friend Nicole’s house. It left me feeling a little nostalgic and wishing I’d worn looser fitting clothes. The queen wasn’t a bad cook. She was a homely English cook whose talents were entirely wasted on her too French-American family.
“We have dessert,” announced Fiona, standing up. “I made that too.”
Adam let out a low groan and I ground my foot on top of his. Everyone else sitting at the table looked as unimpressed as he sounded.
Chester and I were the only ones looking forward to dessert. Adam didn’t have a sweet tooth. A man who hates chocolate is no authority when it comes to judging desserts. I was practically an expert, which is why disappointment pinned me to my chair the minute Fiona re-entered the room with Ryan’s homemade birthday cake.
It was so lopsided that everyone tilted their heads to look at it. Worse than that, it was covered in a thick, lumpy layer of marzipan icing. I detest marzipan.
“Not stomping on my foot now are you, Coccinelle?” whispered Adam. I shook my head but said nothing.
“It’s a pound cake with almond icing,” announced Fiona. She drove a candle into the top of the cake, which seemed to require the same effort as hammering a nail into concrete.
“Fabuleux, mon chéri,” praised Jean-Luc in a convincing tone that only an attorney could accomplish. I secretly hoped the whole cake would combust when she lit the candle. Ryan didn’t exactly jump to his feet to blow it out. I imagine he was hoping for the same thing.
“Faites un désir!” Fiona said urgently.
I leaned across to whisper to Adam. “Did she just tell him not to eat it because it’s poisonous?”
“No. She told him to make a wish.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
I was surprised to see Ryan’s thoughtful expression when he stood up. He was actually debating how to spend his wish.
“Don’t over-think it, Ryan. Just believe it. À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible,” I told him. Every person at the table glared at me as if I’d just cursed them. Fearing I’d botched the pronunciation, I translated quickly. “Nothing is impossible for a willing heart.”
“Charli! You’ve been holding out on us,” Fiona accused, beaming. “We thought you didn’t speak French.”
I shook my head, feeling embarrassment burn my cheeks. “I don’t.”
Adam gave my hand a secret squeeze under the table. “She only knows the important words.”
“Make your wish, Ryan,” I mumbled, chagrined by my big mouth.
“I did. But the cake is still here.”
Adam laughed. The only thing that saved him from the queen’s wrath was the fact that everyone else cackled too.
“You will eat it. And you will enjoy it,” she commanded, waving a knife at us, instantly proving why she was the queen.
The evening didn’t last much past dessert. There was a fair chance that everyone was feeling as ill as I was. Once I could feel the sticky lump of cake I’d hidden in my napkin and stuffed in my pocket seeping onto my leg, I knew it was time to get out of there. Adam suggested that we escort Chester back to Nellie’s apartment. No one protested, least of all Chester, who seemed grateful to get into the cool night air.
“He suits you, Charlotte,” teased Adam. I stopped for the umpteenth time so Chester could sniff at an invisible spot on the pavement. “Maybe we should get a dog.”
“We have enough trouble looking after ourselves, don’t you think?”
“I think we’d do fine. We should definitely get a dog.”
“Adam, no dog,” I said seriously. The last thing I wanted was to lay down roots. Getting attached to a dog that we weren’t going to be able to take with us when we left was a dumb idea.
He draped his arm around my shoulder and we began walking again, giving Chester no choice but to follow or be choked. “Alright, no dog.”
“Promise me,” I demanded, tugging on the side of his shirt. “No surprise puppies.”
Adam laughed blackly. “Okay, Charli. No puppies.”