Page 29 of Making It While Faking It
“Honey, find your seat,” my grandmother says.
As she lifts herself slightly out of her chair, my grandmother’s finger guides me to a place setting marked by a card with my name written in pressed gold cursive letters. A lot of time and attention went into setting the tables. Gold is the theme of the night. The dinner, dessert, and bread plates are designed with ivory and gold stripes. The leaf doilies under the dinnerware are golden too. The design aesthetic is so different than usual. I have no doubt that Grandmother was in charge of tonight’s fluff show. She must’ve really wanted to affect the mood in the right way. Yet despite all the beauty around us, no one is glowing gold.
“Treasure Chest,” my grandmother says, “this is my husband, Hugo.”
Ohh…my jaw suddenly becomes unhinged. Achilles never said anything about the two of them being married.
“What?” my dad’s voice erupts. “You’re married?”
Ohh… she hadn’t mentioned it until now.
Grandmother looks at her husband with wide eyes that say, “Oh no, honey, I screwed up.”
I count one, two, now three seconds of silence, which are the calm before the storm. However, all of a sudden, I feel dizzy. I’m certain the adrenaline spike I experienced from my encounter with Achilles has worn off. My stomach is queasy and my head tight.
Two servers roll in tonight’s entrée on a silver cart. I’ve already gleaned from the plate beside mine that it’s braised short ribs with red wine sauce with a corn-and-roasted-carrot-type hash. The smell exacerbates my nausea.
“Well…” Grandmother’s husband starts. “Yes. We are married, but…”
Then, Leo starts laughing. It’s a laugh that begins slow and deep, originating deep in his body, perhaps in a place where old wounds bleed. The sound is so maniacal that he’s gaining the attention of everyone at the table. Even Orion stops making eyes at me to see if my father hasn’t morphed into an imp.
My mom and I lock eyes. She appears just as worried as I am as she clings to his shoulder and rubs the upper part of his back to support and calm him. That’s when I notice he’s wearing a light-blue dress shirt. It’s his favorite color. I think he was looking forward to tonight’s dinner until grandmother’s news ruined it for him.
“Babe, it’s okay,” Mom says consolingly. All the blood has drained from her face too.
“So this is it?” My dad laughs. “We’re fucking here because the two of you…” His pointed finger shifts between Leslie and Hugo. “Cheated on my dad.”
“I’m just as upset about this as Xander is,” Marigold says.
“Xander?” Heartly chirps. “You mean Leo.” She zeroes in on my dad, looking at him with pure contempt. “My husband is Xander, and the one who’s falling apart at the seams”—she points a lazy finger at my mother—“is her husband.”
My mom scoffs as if Heartly’s palm has just slapped her across the face. “Are you really going to make this about you and me?” My mom drops her elbows on the table, giving Heart a vicious look. “You know what? Since tonight is about the truth, let’s hash this out. Why are you always needling me? What is it? Are you jealous of me?”
Heart lifts her perfectly manicured eyebrows as high up as they can go, but she doesn’t say a thing. She’s not one to lose her cool after casting the first stone. But her reaction is a tactic more than a demonstration of collectedness. And this response of hers always drives my mom crazy.
Unfortunately, Paisley isn’t here, but after being caught in the middle of our mothers’ senseless squabbles, Paisley and I made a pact to stay out of the middle of them. That pact stands even if one of us isn’t in the room. In the early days, my mom seemed shocked that she couldn’t rile me up about the shit Heart supposedly did or said to her. But over the years, she finally understands, and I think prefers, that her battles with my aunt are her own.
Lowering her eyebrows, Heart tilts her chin slightly and then glares death beams at my mom. “No. I am not jealous of you, Londyn.” Heart’s voice is as steady as her shoulders.
My mom jabs a finger against the tablecloth. “Then stop taking digs at me.”
“I wasn’t taking a dig at you. I took one at your husband. For Christ’s sake, Leo, you’re not a little boy…”
“Enough, Heart,” Xander blares, watching my dad with his own brows knitted in concern.
My uncle’s booming voice is just what the table needed to restore silence and that same mood I walked into when I first entered the dining room.
But still, none of them notice that I am not doing so well. I want to ask if someone can turn down the air-conditioning. I’m so cold.
“Leo’s not wrong, Mother,” Xan says. “You did this all wrong.”
And oh, my aching head.
“Frankly, I don’t think we should be dining together since we have a hearing on Tuesday,” Max announces as he tosses his cloth napkin on top of his plate.
That one act from Max and noticing the untouched plate of food in front of the chair next to me makes me clutch my stomach. Is Achilles sitting next to me?
Someone else is laughing in pure amusement, and it’s my brother. “Grandmother.” His chair screeches against the wood as he scoots it back. He’s suddenly on his feet and is soon kissing our grandmother on the temple. “I came for your announcement. Congratulations, I wish you the best, but I have a team meeting to get back to.”
