Page 75 of To Go
Stella’s jaw drops as she takes in the estate. Its flat front seems to run forever on either side, with strategically placed trees making it appear much larger. The pale brick house always felt very Victorian to me, from the shutters and the molding, to the mile-long, u-shaped driveway.
Charles, my parents’ butler, opens the massive front door, as he always has, and I can see Stella mentally cataloging everything, from the high-end art on the walls, to the veinedmarble flooring. Her heels click against the tiles as she timidly crosses the threshold.
“Oh, you’re like,rich, rich,” she whispers, leaning over to me.
“Yes, we are, dear.” Stella jumps about six feet in the air as my mother rounds the corner.
Yup. Bad fucking idea. Mother holds out her hand to Stella. The willowy, put-together silhouette of my mother drifts towards us, her blonde hair pulled into a severe bun. She’s wearing a festive sweater, but I would bet my left nut that it’s some bougie designer brand, and she’s paired it with heels. In her home. For Christmas with the family. Because god forbid she relax for the holiday.
“How lovely to meet you. Stella, was it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stella replies, and I can see her knees shaking.
She was about to fucking curtsy, wasn’t she.
Mother’s joyous laugh tinkles through the empty hall. “Oh, please, no need to call me ma’am.” Her charming smile is deceptive. “You may call me Mrs. Finlay.” Her voice turns icy.
Yup, there it is.
“Charles, please take our guest’s coat.” She gestures to Stella’s reflectively pink puffer jacket. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want it to get ruined or lose any of its…. character.” Stella’s face turns red with embarrassment.
Let the games begin.
Mother walks us through the foyer into the parlor. There’s an ostensibly warm fire going, giving the impression of familial joy. The seating, however, does not. It’s stiff, uncomfortable, and used for guests who my parents don’t want to overstay their welcome. Dad is already sitting there, watching the ice in his drink melt. His eyes only meet ours momentarily, appraising Stella, before he returns to ignoring us.
We share a drink in tense, almost-silence, with the only interruptions being a few polite but pointed questions.
“Sorry, may I use your restroom?” Stella asks politely.
“Of course, dear. Down the hall, third door on your right,” Mother answers, waving her hand dismissively. It only takes three seconds from when she awkwardly leaves the room for my dad to speak his mind.
“I’m surprised you actually brought her here,” my dad starts. He adjusts the sleeves of his tweed suit meticulously, like he’s daring it to be a hair out of place. Despite his shorter, paunchier stature, he always manages to make me feel small. I hate that I can see myself in him, in the grim expressions he gives everyone, the stern tone of his voice.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.
“Stella? Why? I’ve brought friends before.”
“Not girlfriends.”
“We’re not dating.” It’s a half-truth. We’re not dating, but we are very much together. “Besides, Beth used to come over all the time,” I remark, referring to the only girlfriend I’ve had that they’ve known about.
“Well then tell your fuck buddy she’s not going to find what she’s looking for here,” Dad snaps. “And get a haircut! You look homeless.” He growls into his drink. “You have big things ahead of you, son. You don’t need someone like her getting in the way. At least Beth was passable. She came from a good, solid family. She understood the expectations that you were going to have to meet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the only one left to carry on our legacy. Stella is a child. A whim. Your fascination with her will pass and you’ll see how much this… distraction… has set you back.” I shoot him a glare.
“Respectfully, mind your own business.” I try to sound as stern as he does with me, but now that I’m in the presence of my parents, it’s like I can feel my backbone reverting into jelly.
“She’s only with you for your money, James.”
“No she’s not.” Sometimes it seems like she barely wants me on a good day. She didn’t even know about my money until we pulled into their neighbourhood, at which point it was difficult to hide. She fought with me about splitting the cost of takeout the other night. If there’s one thing she’s not looking for from me, it’s money.
“You’re only deluding yourself. She’s a gold digger, through and through. You heard what she said when she walked in here.”
“Then I’ll set up a fucking treasure hunt for her in the backyard.” My shoulders tense and a dull roaring starts in my ears. It’s one thing to insult me, but it’s another to go after her.
“Language!” My mother gasps, clutching her throat like actual pearls might appear there.
