Page 79 of If You Claim Me
“That’s sad. I’ve always wanted a dog. Once Victor and I went to a foster home with a dog. He was always chewing through his leashes,” Everly says. “What did you do with the raw steak after you gave your dog away?”
“I had to be vegetarian,” Isabelle explains.
“Until you went to university,” Portia says, connecting all the dots.
“What happened when you went to university?” Everly asks.
“I lived on campus, away from home, so I didn’t have to eat raw steak. I could eat whatever I wanted.” Isabelle smiles impishly.
“You could have cake for breakfast?” Everly’s eyes are wide.
“I could and sometimes I did,” Isabelle confides.
“I want to go to university,” Everly declares.
Everyone laughs and Cordelia tells her she needs to work hard and get good grades.
Isabelle grabs her sister’s arm. “Please, do not tell Mother any of this.”
“Of course not.” Portia makes the lips-zipped gesture and tosses the imaginary key aside.
Whenever I spend time with them, it’s like they discover a new piece of their family puzzle right along with me. It seemseveryone has been hiding stuff from each other, and Connor isn’t the only one who’s struggled.
Dinner is full of laughter, and Portia and Isabelle tell us stories about Connor growing up.
“Remember when Mother made him take piano lessons?” Isabelle says.
Portia rolls her eyes. “He hated them so much.”
“So much, but she wouldn’t let him play hockey unless he spent two hours on the piano first,” Isabelle adds.
“Why make him play piano before he was allowed to play hockey?” Flip asks, clearly confused.
“They didn’t want him to play,” I explain.
“Why not?” Flip’s eyes are wide. “He’s a natural. He’s one of the best defensive players in the league.”
“It’s physical, it’s violent, you can lose teeth, break bones, and it doesn’t require a university education,” Isabelle explains uncomfortably.
“But almost all of us played for our university team,” Flip replies.
I jump in. “They wanted him to work for Grace Hotels.”
Understanding dawns. “Right. Gotcha.” Flip sits back, expression pensive.
“So he had to learn how to play piano?” I ask, turning back to the sisters.
“At first he just banged away for two hours, but he gave himself a headache, as well as everyone else,” Portia replies.
Isabelle grins. “And then he moved on to learning the most annoying songs and practicing them until all our ears bled.”
I prop my chin on my fist, always interested to hear more about young Connor. “Did he get better?”
“Not at first.” Portia sips her cocktail.
“But he wanted the time for hockey.” Isabelle runs her finger around the rim of her glass, expression far away. “Every two hours on the piano meant an hour of hockey, and he was desperate for time on the ice.”
“I’m sure.” I nod. “Imagine being forced to do your least favorite thing to be able to do your most favorite.”
