Page 2 of The Christmas Letters
The biggest difference between Chloe and me is that her mom, my mother’s sister, married a tax accountant from Summerville. They raised Chloe and her three brothers in the Charleston suburbs, on the fringes of the society our mothers grew up in. Chloe didn’t even have a debutante ball. My debut was treated like the event of the century. Bigger than Christmas. The most important step I would take to position myself in Charleston society.
Becausemyfather is a Ravenel. A partner at one of Charleston’s oldest law firms. A bastion of old Charleston society and old Charleston money. With a last name like Ravenel, you can’t go anywhere in this city without someone knowing who you are. At least who your parents are.
Chloe’s mom got a job working as the office manager for a chiropractor.
My mom got a job as the wife of her very rich husband. Chair the committees. Manage the household staff. Host the parties.
It’s fine for her. She’s good at it. But I want something different. Which means I cannot stand on this sidewalk forever.
“It’s for business school,” I mutter as I push through the doors. “For myownfreaking future.”
The heavy wood creaks with age, and the familiar smell of the historical mansion immediately fills my nose. Dusty books. Plaster. Ancient wood floors. If history has a smell, the old Henderson mansion is it.
Mrs. Greenly appears in the foyer of the old house. “Tess!” she says, a wide smile on her face. “Your mother said you’d be dropping by.”
Mrs. Greenly is prim and proper in all the ways she should be as a cultured Southern woman. Think Emily Gilmore with a side of Paula Dean’s accent.
I force a smile I don’t really feel. “Hello, Mrs. Greenly. It’s so nice to see you.”
“You too, darling.” She pulls me in to place air kisses on either side of my cheek. “I haven’t seen you since right before your wed—” She winces. “Sorry about that. I don’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
I manage a tight smile. “Mom said you’d have a list of volunteer opportunities for me to look over?” I say, completely ignoring her dig about my failed wedding.
I want to believe she didn’tmeanto bring it up, but I know better. Southern women are very good at needling in the sweetest way possible. But that doesn’t mean I have to play the game and needle back.
“Right, right, of course,” Mrs. Greenly says with a polished ease. “Come on back and we’ll chat.”
She leads me through a door just off the foyer and into her office, where she settles into the enormous velvet green chair behind the desk. “Now, let’s take a look,” she says as I drop into the smaller but still very green and very velvet chair across from her.
She turns a sheet of paper so I can read along as she slides her pen down the side. “Oh. Well, we can just scratch these off.” She draws a thick line across several rows of text. “And this one here, too.”
“Wait, why are you crossing them out?” I ask, tilting my head to see better.
Mrs. Greenly offers me a pained smile. “These are the committees Lydia Vanderhorst chairs. I just assumed you wouldn’t want—”
Ahh.Lydia Vanderhorst. My almost mother-in-law. I probablyshouldavoid volunteering on any of her committees. “Right. Understood.”
Mrs. Greenly pins me with a smile that almost seems genuine. “It won’t always be this way, honey.”
I nod. It won’t be. But only because I’m changing things for myself.
I try to turn my attention back to the list, but Mrs. Greenly slides it closer to her side of the desk, her hands hovering over the words in a way that keeps me from reading it. I look up, my eyebrows raised.
“You know,” she says, leaning forward, “I heard he’s dating again. My daughter Trish told me she saw him out on Folly Beach with a blond woman she didn’t recognize.”
I force a breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.Just stay calm.“I hope Prestonisdating, Mrs. Greenly. I want him to be happy.”
“Just not happy with you,” she says, a little too sweetly.
I barely suppress a sigh. The thing is, Preston Vanderhorstwouldn’thave been happy with me. At least not for long. I didn’t run away on my wedding day because I saw happily wedded bliss in my future. I was doing both of us a favor by finally being honest. Not that anyone in this circle will ever understand my decision. Definitely not his mother or Mrs. Greenly.
Why would anyonenotwant to beMrs. Preston Vanderhorst?
“Mrs. Greenly, I don’t have much time. Can we get back to the list?”
“Oh, right, right. Okay. Let’s see. There’s certainly a lot to do. Especially this time of year. The Christmas programs, you know, they take a small army to run.”
“Christmas? Already? That seems a bit ear—”
