“Mrs. Bennett,” she said gently. “I’m afraid we don’t have any fresh lemon here at the salon, but Amber would be glad to get you that Tab.”
Mrs. Bennett twisted in her chair and pressed her lips together in a fine line. “How long have I been your customer, Gina?”
Momma blinked and her hand holding the comb hovered in the air. “Well, let’s see…about five years or so.” I could tell she was trying to keep the conversation light, and I could also tell that she was a little rattled by Mrs. Bennett’s angry tone and flinty glare.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I’ve graced this establishment of yours for five long years, and I’ve referred at least a dozen people to you. Why, most of my friends from the country club come to you and likely keep your business afloat! The very least you could do to show your gratitude for all that goodwill is to send your daughter out to get me some fresh lemon for my cola. And remember, it would only take one phone call from me for half your clientele to find another beautician.”
Behind me the salon’s phone rang. I heard Darcy on the other line booking an appointment and I knew she probably had yet another customer on hold. Then, the bell over the entrance rang, too. Someone had just come in for their appointment. The Saturday rush had arrived.
Momma stepped forward and swiveled the chair slightly to turn Mrs. Bennett back toward the mirror. “Amber, would you please head down the street to the grocery store and bring back some lemons?”
I couldn’t believe she was backing down when she knew Darcy was already struggling because I’d been late, and we were just starting to get busy. But Momma didn’t look at me. Instead she focused on combing out a section of Mrs. Bennett’s hair.
I glanced in the mirror and saw Mrs. Bennett studying me with a crocodile smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said woodenly.
“Be quick about it,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I’d like to be sipping my cola by the time your mother puts me under the dryer.”
The grocery store was a half mile away, and I had no transportation other than my Reeboks. The day was already hot and humid, and by the time I jogged to the store, collected the lemons, and got back, my makeup was running and my hair had gone completely flat.
Darcy shot me a pained look as she checked out a customer while trying to book a client at the same time. The phone was lit up with people on hold, and there was a line at the door of people waiting to be checked in.
I knew Darcy really needed help, but I also knew that Mrs. Bennett would throw a fit if she didn’t get her Tab right away, so I held up a finger to Darcy and raced to the back with the stupid lemons.
After using my own change to get a Tab from the vending machine, I sliced the lemon quickly, hung it over the edge of a glass, and darted over to Momma’s station. Doing my best to push a smile to my face I said, “Here you are, Mrs. Bennett.”
She made a face at the glass. “Is that clean?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“It doesn’t look clean,” she said.
Behind me I heard a customer complain loudly to Darcy that she’d been standing at reception for several minutes and hadn’t been checked in yet.
“I promise it’s clean, Mrs. Bennett,” I said, looking to Momma, who I hoped would back me up.
“Amber,” Momma said softly. “Please get Mrs. Bennett another glass.”
I pressed my lips together and turned to hurry to the back and dig out another glass. My heart was racing with anxiety, and I could hear both the constant ringing of the phone and the bell above the door dinging. Still, I took an extra twenty seconds to wipe down the glass with a towel and hold it up to the light to make extra sure that it was smudge-free, then rushed it back out to Mrs. Bennett.
“No ice?” she asked me when I again attempted to hand her the glass.
I bit my lip hard enough for it to hurt, and instead of arguing with her I turned on my heel and went to the back again to grab a few cubes from the ice tray.
The third time I headed to Momma’s station I got there just as Mrs. Bennett was getting up. She refused to take the glass from me and instead walked over to the dryer Momma pointed to, waited for her to lower the hood over her rollers, asked for a magazine to read, rejected the one Momma offered her, then, at last, took the glass from me, only to hold it up and say, “I said lime, not lemon.”
I sucked in a breath and beside me Momma did, too. Mrs. Bennett eyed us as if daring either one of us to challenge her. Everyone knew she’d told me to get her some lemon.
I looked at Momma, whose face was flushed with her own anger. In the background another customer was getting angry with Darcy, who sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
“Amber,” Momma said. “Please go back to the store and get some limes for Mrs. Bennett.”
I stood rooted to the spot, so angry my hands curled into fists. Mrs. Bennett was being ridiculous, punishing both Momma and me, and for what? Because Momma hadn’t taken her suggestion to ground me for being fifteen minutes late?
“Amber!” Momma said sharply. “Do as I say, child.”
“But Darcy—”
“She’ll manage! Now, go, and remember, bring back some limes for Mrs. Bennett.”
She emphasized the word to let Mrs. Bennett know she couldn’t change it to oranges or grapefruit when I got back.
Mrs. Bennett actually chuckled; she thought the situation was so funny. I turned to leave, but not before she got in a parting shot. “Next time, Amber, perhaps you’ll remember to be punctual.”
“THANK YOU FOR BEING PROMPT, LILY,” Grandmother said. Somehow I’d managed to fix myself up and hustle over to the main house in time for tea, coming through the door at three thirty on the dot.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, a little out of breath. Hoping she hadn’t noticed that I’d rushed over, I went directly to one of the chairs in her elegant—if slightly dated—parlor. We were surrounded by an overflow of printed fabrics, wood buffed to a reflective sheen, and the smell of lemon-scented furniture polish. The large room overlooked her extensive gardens, and the staff made sure to include several fresh flower arrangements all around the room. Grandmother sat erect in her wing chair, her silver hair styled in an asymmetric bob and her bichon frise, Hamlet, settled on her lap.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Lily; why do you have to wear so much makeup?” she said, her face pulling into a frown as she handed me a cup of tea.
“I was just playing around,” I told her, twirling a lock of my hair around my index finger and suddenly feeling foolish.
My effort to take more care with my appearance had ended in a smoky eye, lots of blush, and false eyelashes look that might have been better suited to a night out at a New York club. Sophie and I used to play around with this exact look when we wanted to feel glamorous and grown-up. I think she’d been on my mind a little too much that afternoon, and I might’ve been influenced both by fond memories of Sophie, and maybe seeing Dad’s pregnant girlfriend in Grandmother’s driveway.
“I saw Jenny,” I said.
My grandmother made a sound of disgust while I stirred sugar into my tea with a small golden spoon. “Can you believe that little tramp actually came here looking to get her paws on the family money?”
I could believe it. “What’d she say?” I asked, feeling a bit smug that Grandmother had referred to Jenny as a tramp.
Grandmother rolled her eyes. “She came here on the pretense of delivering the news that she and your father are engaged,” she told me. “They’re getting married in December, right after the baby is born.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “Was he going to tell us?”
“I doubt it,” she said.
I dropped my gaze to my lap. I don’t know why, but it stung that he hadn’t even tried to contact me about his plans. I mean, I was really, really mad at him, which should’ve acted like a barrier to anything hurtful he could’ve said or done, but I was quickly learning that anger didn’t make my heart bulletproof.
; “Lily,” Grandmother said, leaning forward to peer closely at me. “What is it you’d like to do with your life?”
Apparently, we were off the subject of Jenny and onto the subject of me. I hesitated while I thought about my answer. It felt a little like Grandmother was offering me a trick question. At last I decided to tell her the truth.
“I’d like to become a behavioral scientist,” I said.
Her lids closed in a protracted blink. “A…what?”
“A behavioral scientist,” I repeated. “I’d like to work with animals, study their behavior, and try to figure out how to communicate with them.”
This was an idea that’d formed over the summer and solidified in my mind when I was working at the horse sanctuary. Many of the animals that came to the rescue had been terribly abused, and I’d felt such a connection to them. I’d also been so impressed by two of the women who worked there—trainers specializing in assisting the animals to get over their traumas.
One of the trainers, a woman named Rachel, had told me that she felt it was always the responsibility of the animals to try to assimilate themselves into the world of the humans who took care of them, and when the humans were poor communicators, the animals often felt the brunt of that miscommunication in the form of abuse. Rachel had shown me how simply watching a horse or a dog or a rabbit for an hour or so could teach me a lot. She’d been so right and I’d come away with a much bigger curiosity about the world, and why we all behaved the way we did.
Grandmother, however, appeared less than pleased by my aspirations. “You want to study…animals?” she said, as though that was something vulgar.
I squared my shoulders. “Yeah. I think I might go into veterinary science first, and then continue on to become an applied animal behaviorist.”
Rachel had had those exact credentials, in fact.
Grandmother’s next reaction left me cold. She laughed. She actually laughed at me.
“Oh, come now, Lily,” she said, as if she’d just gotten the joke. “If you’re interested in medicine, then at least go to medical school and become a doctor or something similarly palatable. I can’t imagine a Bennett mucking around with the livestock, for God’s sake.”
I pressed my lips together and heat seared my cheeks. When I’d first told Mom about my experiences at the animal sanctuary, and how I was thinking about pursuing a career in the behavioral sciences, she’d encouraged me wholeheartedly, and I’d felt really good about wanting to go into something unique and intriguing. Grandmother’s reaction wasn’t something I’d been prepared for.
“I’m not interested in becoming a doctor,” I said, careful to rein in the bitter and angry response I wanted to spout. I knew that Mom and I had to be nice to Grandmother until Mom got on her feet.
Grandmother made a tsking sound. “Lily,” she said, touching her gray hair with a light hand, as if to check that it was still perfectly coiffed. “No heir to the Bennett fortune will be schooled in veterinary science.”
I stared at her, forcing myself to display no emotion whatsoever. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about her fortune. Money had never bought anyone in my family any form of happiness. Instead, I’d seen it used like a weapon to control and limit the choices of the people that I loved, and it sickened me.
Still, I did care about Mom, and knew that if I balked, Grandmother would remind me that the roof over my head, and Mom’s residency, were all her doing.
“I’m not totally sold on it,” I lied. The taste of the subtle deception was bitter on my tongue.
It seemed to satisfy my grandmother, though.
“I thought as much,” she sniffed. “You will study business—at Yale, of course. We need a savvy businesswoman in this family to take over for me someday.” She paused to consider me. “How are your grades, Lily?”
I had a 3.8 GPA coming into this year, but I definitely didn’t want Grandmother to know I had my sights set on UC Davis in California, which was the best school for the field of study I was interested in.
“They’re okay,” I said, playing it off like I was a little embarrassed.
Grandmother made a face. “We’ll get you a tutor. I suppose you can always attend Georgetown if we can’t get your grades up enough. I’ve got a close friend on the board there. She owes me a substantial favor.”
I took a sip of my tea and kept in the sigh I desperately wanted to exhale.
Grandmother prattled on. “Yes, business at Georgetown will be an excellent direction for you. I have a great many enterprises that you will be taking over once it’s time to ‘pass the torch,’ as they say. I think it’s also prudent for you to study the law, Lily. We’ve never had a solicitor in the family, and I find that the more money I make, the more my attorneys try to lay claim to it. I’d like someone at the helm to keep those sharks in check.”
I nodded, like I was on board with the whole plan, then sat back and listened dully as she laid out my future. After twenty minutes, she finally talked herself out and went back to focusing on my appearance.
“What is happening with your hair, Lily?” she asked, waving a hand at the top of my head.
Heat once again spread through my cheeks. “I need to get it highlighted,” I said, reaching up to swipe a strand behind my ear.
Grandmother’s disapproving frown returned. “You’ll go see my stylist, Gina,” she said. “She’s very good, and she’ll take care of you. You’ll come home looking like a proper young Bennett.”
I sat forward. No way did I want the same person who made my grandmother look like an elderly Anna Wintour anywhere near my hair.
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “Mom can drive me to Richmond this weekend to see my old stylist.”
Grandmother was too busy picking up and dialing the phone next to her to pay my protest any attention. A moment later, she was ordering someone on the other end of the line to book me a session with Gina.
“Seven o’clock? That’s perfect. My granddaughter will see you then.”
Once Grandmother finally released me, I headed back to the guesthouse to mutter unkind things to myself about her and get something to eat. Thanks to my nerves, I’d had very little at lunch that afternoon. After making myself a sandwich, I washed a lot of the extra makeup off and sat down at the computer.
Grandmother was such an overpowering force in our lives now, and I knew that if I told Mom about our conversations, she wouldn’t hesitate to march over there and tell Grandmother to stuff it. That wouldn’t be good for anyone, so I decided to keep the conversation over tea to myself.
Because I was squarely in pouting mode, I decided to snoop around Sophie’s Instagram page. She’d posted a ton of selfies from the first day of school—of course. I dabbed at the subsequent tears, and I went back a little further to the photos of the two of us on our first day of our sophomore year. God, we were so excited to start school then. Sophie had braided our hair in matching fishtails, and I thought we’d looked so pretty that morning. In a weak moment, I considered responding to her text.
But after staring at my phone for a good minute, I didn’t feel brave enough or forgiving enough. She’d betrayed and hurt me too deeply for me to trust her ever again. Instead, I gave in to another temptation. Digging through my backpack, I pulled out the folder I’d been given at orientation. In addition to the map of the school, it also held a directory of students and instructions to Chamberlain High’s Intranet. After locating the directory, I flipped to the pages where all the students were listed in alphabetical order by grade.
There were three Coles. Cole Drepeau, Cole McDonald, and Cole Stewart. I turned to the computer and logged into Facebook, hoping that the Cole I’d met that morning had a profile. After plugging Cole Drepeau into the search field I let out a little whoop when I hit the jackpot on the first try. Then my breath caught as I took in the sight of him. His account settings were very private but at least I could look at his profile picture, which was so flattering. It showed him standing in a sleeveless tee; his tan,
gorgeously defined arms flexing slightly while slung casually around the shoulders of two other guys to his right and left. All three boys were laughing into the face of the camera, as if the photographer had just told a particularly funny joke.
Around Cole’s neck, he wore a dark leather cord strung with a yellow bead, and around his wrist he wore a similar cord also strung with more yellow beads. The accents were subtle, but they definitely added to his level of hotness.
Hey! my bossy, rational side thought. What the hell are you doing looking up some new guy when Tanner just cheated on you?!
To which the side of myself that is a general admirer of hot guys replied, There’s no harm in looking.
My bossy side wasn’t fooled, but I still couldn’t force myself to turn away from Cole’s profile.
I studied the photo, only slightly ashamed of myself for cyber-stalking him, but I loved that he’d chosen this image to use as his profile pic. It clearly showed Cole’s lightheartedness. He looked like the kind of guy who laughed easily, held deep friendships, and was generally well-liked. Maybe that was me doing a whole lot of projecting, but there was just something friendly and kind about his face. I found myself sighing a little as I looked at his photo, and immediately rebuked myself again because I was being an idiot. No way was I ready to be thinking about getting involved with somebody else—I was still smarting from the breakup with Tanner.
But then I wondered: was I really heartbroken over losing my boyfriend, or losing my boyfriend to my best friend?
If I was being honest with myself, I was far more hurt by Sophie’s betrayal than Tanner’s. The truth was, I missed her way more than I did him.
But even that admission didn’t make me ready to start something new. At least, that’s what the practical side of me thought. And yet, when I stared at Cole’s photo, I couldn’t shake this feeling of familiarity. I couldn’t quite reconcile the sense that I knew him from somewhere. It felt like we’d met before this morning.