Page 22 of Betsy
“Bring her to dinner Friday at seven sharp.” Mother placed her napkin beside her plate, signaling the meal was finished. “No excuses.”
Aaron dipped his head, but not before I saw the tick in his jaw. Mother was formidable, but Aaron hadn’t received his reputation in the courtroom by losing arguments. If he didn’t want the two ladies to meet, he could spin the best excuse without Mother even realizing what he was doing. One of the reasons he remained her favorite. She couldn’t see through him like she could me.
“Shall we retire to the verandah for a digestif?” Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she exited the dining hall and moved through the study. She didn’t bother to look back to see if her sons followed. She’d raised us with a firm hand that expected obedience. Age didn’t erase those expectations for Cynthia North.
While my brother continued in her wake toward the French doors leading to the balcony, I paused in the room where my father used to spend the majority of his time. Dark mahogany wood-paneled walls and deep, navy-blue wingback chairs sat over an antique Persian rug. The room still faintly smelled of his favorite pipe tobacco, floral and spicy.
I looked to the far wall. To a painting that had hung between two built-in bookcases for as long as I could remember. I’d asked my father once why he had the painting and he’d told me it was an investment. One day, that work of art would be worth a lot of money. Maybe my nine-year-old brain had been curious how some paint and brush strokes could equal wealth, but I’d found myself in this same spot often, staring at the framed artistry.
A portrait of Jesus and a small child. The way He looked at the child had captivated me. Maybe because neither of my own parents had ever looked at me with such a loving and open expression. It was why I was so drawn to the imagery of God as our Father, even now as an adult. Maybe that was why I could forge my own path, going against my parents’ wishes and turning my back on a lifestyle that would garner their approval. Because I’d learned it didn’t matter what they thought of me; I couldn’t make decisions based on their opinions. There was Someone else whose approval mattered more. And even though I knew He loved me no matter what, there was no greater joy than the whisper I heard in my soul:You are My son; I am well pleased with you.
My fingers brushed the polished frame, then I walked out of the room. If I tarried any longer, Mother’s lips would purse in disapproval again, and she already hated the life lines deepening there. She’d blame me if they grew even more pronounced.
I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The coast curved in a crescent, jagged cliffs rising out of the sandy beach below. A million-dollar view, some would say, although my parents had paid much more than that for this manor on the hill. The smell of the ocean, briny and sharp, and the sound of the waves crashing, the tide’s ebb and flow, spoke peace into my core.
Mother returned inside and came back a few minutes later with a glass tumbler an inch full of sherry in one hand and an identical glass of ice water in the other. She handed me the water. “If you could turn that into wine, then maybe you wouldn’t need that real job after all.”
She fixed her gaze out over the endless horizon. Aaron approached the railing on my other side, cradling a glass of amber liquid. Port, if I had to guess.
I took a sip of water, the cold liquid charting a path down my throat. I licked my lips. Standing in front of an audience in the thousands didn’t make me nervous at all, but extending an invitation for one more to join that number made my knees clang together like tambourine zills. “I wanted to tell you…or ask you, rather. Umm…what I mean to say is…”
“What did I tell you earlier, Asher? Enunciate.”
I exhaled. “My band is going on tour, and our last venue is here locally. I want to invite you to come and hear us play, Mother. Hear me, that is.”
Her hand paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “You’ve never invited me to hear you play before.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to,” I admitted in a whisper.
She considered. Behind her ice-blue eyes I could see her weighing the pros and cons of accepting. She’d soften and then instantly stiffen.
I held my breath, almost afraid to hope.
Her spine snapped rigid. I had my answer before she even opened her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I cannot condone your life choices, and my presence at one of your concerts” —she spat the word as a vulgarity—“would only send the message that I support the path you are traveling, and that is something I can never do.”
I shot back the rest of the ice water in one cold swig. I wasn’t sure which chilled me more—the burn of the liquid or the woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally turning her back on me yet again because I didn’t meet her expectations.
No matter. I couldn’t let my actions—my life—be determined and directed by pleasing others. I had to keep telling myself that. Even if the rejection of my family stabbed like a knife to the heart.
9
Betsy
“How much do you think it’s killing Jocelyn that she can’t design and make your dresses?” I asked, standing outside the bridal boutique’s dressing rooms. “Or that she couldn’t even be here to see you try the gowns on?”
A well-known fashion designer in New York had flown Jocelyn across the country after seeing some of her designs that Amanda had posted on the social media pages she’d created for Jocelyn’s new business. Jocelyn had group texted us all the night before, her excitement pulsing in each letter and exclamation mark she’d used.
New York is amazing!!!!!!
I’ve never seen so much fabric, daring designs, and creativity in one place!!!!!
Will I wake up in the morning and realize it had all been a dream?!?!?
We’d assured her the dream was real and coming true. That the world had finally realized what we’d known all along—the brilliance of Jocelyn Dormus.
“She called me this morning and made me swear on the lives of the last remaining Javon rhinos that we’d send her pictures of every dress we try on.” Nicole’s muffled voice came from the other side of the white velvet curtain. She grumbled something under her breath.
