Chapter 5
The next morning, my mom has already left the house when I get up. Usually she goes to Detweiler’s Fresh Market to purchase produce for the week, and I catch up on my homework. But not today. Today, I’m meeting Anthony for lunch, so I hop in the shower. In the shower, when my skin comes in contact with water, the familiar pricking sensation spreads across my back. I reach behind to my back and the transparent markings swell just a tad. The websites hadn’t mentioned anything about these patterns, but I’m dying to find out what their purpose is—if any. I towel dry and pick out a pair of skinny jeans, a peach satin top and my gold wedges. I curl my hair and apply a little more make-up than usual.
Of all the places Anthony can choose to go to lunch, he picks his house. I’m not sure what to expect, but I know I don’t want to meet his mother. Being thrown up onto a stage where I have to perform and be judged is the last thing in the world I want to do right now, or ever. I lock the door to the house and drive east.
Pulling into the Founders Club, I stop at the wide double gates. Founders Club is known as the multi-millionaire luxury subdivision, and I’ve never been inside, only driven by the front gates.
“Where to, Miss?” the guard asks. His russet guard uniform blends in with the stucco guard tower.
“Uh, Mr. Anthony’s house,” I say, now realizing I don’t know Anthony’s last name. I text him quickly, hoping he’ll reply before the guard figures out that there is no Mr. Anthony or before he sends me to some stranger’s house. The text comes back.
My surname is Jensen and the address is: 10849
“Sir?” I say, leaning out the window. “Sorry, I meant the Jensen residence. My name is Sonia Fredriksen.”
“Ah, yes, Maureen phoned in and said she was expecting you,” the guard says.
I nod. Maureen must be Anthony’s mom and the thought makes me suddenly uneasy. Maybe I should call Anthony back and say I’ve fallen ill. I don’t want to have lunch with Anthony’s mom there because it would just be plain awkward.
“Thanks.” I drive in through the gates. There’s a large brick-paved roundabout and in the center stands a handful of Washington palms, surrounded by yellow and blue flowers that I don’t know the names of. I steer my car around the bend and take the road to the left. Numerous oak trees covered with Spanish moss grow on the golf course to the right, and a small river runs underneath the bridge ahead.
“Number 10849,” I say out loud, stopping at a huge white stucco house and peer out my window. Dark grey ceramic tiles line the rooftop and a red-bricked driveway leads into the three-car garage. A small red BMW stands parked in the driveway and I wonder if it’s Anthony’s, realizing I’ve never seen his car. Parking my car, I get out of the car and step up to the entrance doors inlaid with burgundy glass. I don’t even ring the doorbell before a maid opens the door for me.
“Welcome, Miss Fredriksen,” the maid says and smiles warmly. Her black dress looks like it’s been ironed a hundred times; there’s not a single wrinkle anywhere. She lets me in and closes the door behind me. “May I take your purse for you?” She holds out her hands.
“No, thank you,” I say, clenching it tightly, thinking it’s clearly a mistake coming here. This will be the most awkward lunch I’ve ever had. I swallow nervously and glue on a smile, ignoring my dry throat and clammy hands.
The grand foyer has amber marble floors. A huge crystal chandelier hovers over a glass table in the center of the octagon-shaped room, and on the glass table there are orange calla lilies mixed with white and red long-stemmed roses. At the end of the hall is another vestibule with round column pillars on either side, and in the room at the end are sliding glass doors, and beyond that, a pool. A stairwell curves up along the wall on the right, and paintings of nature adorn the stairwell wall. The railing is a Norse, swirling pattern constructed from brushed golden metal.
“Welcome to our humble home,” a woman says. Her short dark hair is slicked back behind her ears and with perfect posture, she reaches both hands out to greet me. “I’m Maureen, Anthony’s mother. My, aren’t you a beauty.” Her eyes are intense.
Ugh, I sense the performance has just begun. “Pleased to meet you,” I say, realizing immediately that formality is the word of the day.
“Anthony is just finishing up with preparing your lunch. Unfortunately I cannot join you today. I hope you’ll forgive me. May I take you to him?” Maureen says, locking my arm in hers. She smells heavily of super-expensive perfume.
I’m relieved to hear she won’t be joining us. “Sure—I mean—yes, of course.” I strain as pleasant a smile as I can manage. There’s something different about Anthony’s mother. Her demeanor demands me to call her mother, preferably with a capital M. And even if her physical appearance had been nourished by Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth, she looks too young to have a child Anthony’s age.
“Anthony was very excited to have you visit,” Maureen says.
Her warm smile puts me at ease, and I am much happier now that I know she won’t be joining us. “I’m glad he invited me,” I say. We walk through the foyer and into a hallway with ivory pillars.
“Mother, you didn’t have to escort her in here; she can walk herself. It probably made her feel imposed upon,” Anthony says as we enter the black and white kitchen. I notice how much more formal his tone is around Maureen. “Excuse my mother. She takes pride in treating our guests like hostages.” He smiles, but I almost get the feeling he means it.
“Royalty—not hostages, and there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” Maureen says. “I wouldn’t want your lovely guest to think that we’re rude.” She releases her arm from around me and I can finally breathe.
Anthony’s wearing a cobalt blue dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and it really brings out his blue eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in shorts and from the muscles in his legs, I can tell that he’s an athlete.
“So you cook?” I ask, pushing my wavy, loose hair behind my ears. As he moves closer to me, the scent of my favorite men’s cologne emanates around him.
“My mother taught me, but don’t set your expectations too high. I made sandwiches by myself, and it’s the first time.” He laughs. “Let me show you around the house before we eat.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sonia,” Maureen says and lightly touches my elbow. Then she nods faintly toward Anthony, almost like she’s reminding him about something. Anthony grimaces so subtly that I wouldn’t have noticed had I not been staring at him, and then he looks down at the floor.
“If you need anything, Anthony, I’ll be working on some of my affairs in the parlor,” Maureen says.
“Thank you, Mother,” Anthony says coolly.
Maureen smiles at Anthony, but her smile isn’t loving and there’s something in her eyes that almost resembles annoyance and stress. From the corner of my eye, I detect that Anthony’s face falls. Once Maureen has left, I turn to Anthony again.
“My mother’s a very busy woman, please don’t be offended.”
“I’m not offended at all. Kind of relieved, actually.” I raise my eyebrows and grin, hoping he won’t pick up on that what I said was not a joke.
Anthony smiles back and laughs. Taking my arm in his, he leads me into the hallway, steering us toward the living room. My stomach tightens. “This is the main living room,” he says. Off-white leather couches with zebra and orange pillows stand in the center of the room, facing a fireplace, which stands on the wall to the left of the hallway. There’s also a large flat screen TV in the room. “That’s the breakfast nook,” he says, pointing to a huge room decorated with what looks like European art. In the center of the room stands a long rectangular oak table surrounded by tufted dark brown leather dining chairs. “Through that hallway is the family room with the entertainment center,” he says, pointing.
I nod.
“I’ll show you the upstairs after we eat, okay?” he says.
“Sounds great.” I’m overwhelmed by
the obvious wealth his family has managed to accumulate, especially since Maureen is a single mother. My mom is well-off because of the insurance money we received after my dad died and because of the money she has been able to save up over her lifetime, but this is another level of well-off.
“I trust it’s all right that I invited you here. I thought it would be more relaxed than in a restaurant,” Anthony says.
I don’t want to be rude and tell him what I really think, so I just say, “It’s great, thank you.” We step outside onto the patio through the kitchen glass sliding doors, the wind softly caressing my face. Behind their home is a large murky lake, with lily pads and hot pink flowers floating on the surface.
“I hope you’re not vegetarian or something like that. I forgot to ask.” Anthony pulls out a wicker chair for me to sit. The table is decked to the nines, with white gold embellished china plates, wineglasses, sparkly silverware, and white linen napkins. He has really worked on this meal, I can tell, and he’s definitely doing a great job in endearing me to him.
“No, I’m a meat-eater.” I sit down and get comfortable.
He chuckles.
I’m a little suspicious about why he’s suddenly started to treat me so well. Does he want something from me? Maybe I accidentally used my flair on him, and that’s why he’s acting like such a gentleman.
“Sorry again about Friday, I had to pick up a young lady after cheerleading practice.” His smile grows wide and his eyes shine.
“Oh,” I say, slighted that he’s bringing up another girl, especially a cheerleader and is apparently very pleased about it.
“Yeah, my niece lives just north of here, almost in Bradenton. She’s twelve.”
I feel stupid for having misjudged Anthony and do my best to hide my blushing cheeks.
“Do you have any family around here?” He takes his seat across from mine and I try not to look at his muscular legs, so I focus on his eyes instead.
“No.” I don’t like talking about my family because I haven’t met them yet, and wouldn’t know how to explain it to Anthony. A white egret, flying past the screened-in lanai, catches my eye.
“Lemonade?” Anthony lifts the round glass pitcher and gestures to me.
“Yes, please.” While he fills my glass, I notice his gold ring with a crest that looks like a lion’s, holding an ax. Surrounding the lion is a serpent design.
“Where did you get your ring from? It’s lovely.”
“It’s an old Norse ring.” His eyes start blinking rapidly and he looks away. “So, no family?” he says.
I try not to grimace while wondering why he’s still asking about my family.
“I enjoy learning about where people come from. Do you have any grandparents or aunts and uncles?”
“Well, no not really, it’s just my mom and me,” I say, sipping my drink. It’s the perfect blend of sweet and sour. I don’t think I should tell him about my newfound aunts. “That I know of anyway,” I add.
“Your father doesn’t have any siblings?” Anthony asks.
“No, what about you? Any family other than your family in Bradenton?”
“Actually, they’re not really my blood-family. They’ve just been close friends of my mother’s for a really long time.” He holds up the plate filled with triangle cut sandwiches.
“Oh, okay.” I grab a chicken salad sandwich off the serving platter and take a bite, hearing the lettuce crunch as I eat. Anthony runs his fingers through his hair, wondering why he really brought me here.
“Yes, there’s a lot I could tell you, Sonia—about my life. I might not be as commonplace as you think.” His eyes narrow and he stares at me.
What does that mean? Is he trying to attract me with a mysterious personality? Strangely enough, when I think about his approach, it kind of works, but I’m not going to let him know that. “Is that what you tell all your dates?” I tease.
Anthony laughs, but looks tense. “I don’t date a lot.”
I raise my right eyebrow, highly unconvinced by his statement.
“It’s the truth.” He seems a little peeved that I find it hard to believe him.
“Okay, then,” I say, my tone playful. “I thought you said you had a date to prom.”
He sighs, displeased. “Why do you have to be so…skeptical?”
I try to filter the words that come out of my mouth, but for some reason they just pour out. “Well, when you make such a ridiculous statement, do you expect me to just play along?”
“How are my statements ridiculous exactly? I don’t question you when you said you don’t have any extended family, even though it sounds outlandish and is highly improbable that you don’t have anyone at all,” he says.
He has a point. Should I concede? No. “Okay, let’s just drop it and enjoy our lunch. I’m very grateful—and impressed—that you made such a lovely meal.”
“I’ll let it go for now,” he says and looks out across the lake, a slight frown on his lips. “Are you finished with your sandwich? I want to show you my bedroom.” He looks straight at me.
I must have tensed up because he notices.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just want to show you some of my Norse mythology finds. Is that all right with you?”
I kick myself again for having been so critical of him especially since the friendly atmosphere we started out with has disappeared. Maybe he isn’t like all the other boys I’ve met—that I judged him to be like. “Sorry,” I say, softening my voice. This date is turning into a disaster, and though I want to blame him, I suspect it has just as much to do with me.