The Fable of Us (6 page)

That was the way it was with my mom and me—I went to her when she wanted, how she wanted. Never the other way around. This time included.

“Hey, Mom.” I headed her way and put on the face that said this was no big deal, coming home with years of bad history in my room right now. “Sorry I’m so late. Delays at the airport.”

Giving the cinnamon mint a hard suck right before I stepped into her arms, I lifted mine and wrapped them around her. The motion was stiff, forced. Hugging my mother came as unnaturally as breathing under water.

“But I checked your flight status all night. Not a single delay to be found.” She patted my back a few times, honey in her voice, vinegar behind her words.

My shoulders tensed, but they relaxed a moment later. I might have been out of practice, but stretching, manipulating, and all-around evading the truth came right back to me. “Baggage claim hold-ups. They thought they lost my bag in Phoenix only to find out another passenger had mistakenly taken it. Thank goodness they realized it before too long and ran it back to the airport for me.” I was talking too much, explaining more than needed. So maybe I was a little out of practice.

“What an unfortunate inconvenience,” Mom said, winding out of the embrace and stepping back. Distance was as important to her as it was to me.

We stood like that for a minute, quiet and watching each other, waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know, but something we’d been waiting for for years. Mom gave me a careful investigation, the one I was used to getting every time she saw me for the first time after a long stretch, and though she kept her thoughts to herself, her expression laid them all out to be read.

Sometimes I wondered if part of the reason I’d resisted my mom so much was because we looked alike. So similar in our features that when childhood pictures of her and me were put side by side, it was impossible to tell who was who. Where my sisters had taken on my father’s darker features—honey brown hair and hazel eyes—I’d gotten my chunk of DNA from our mother.

Though she’d been dyeing hers for years, our hair was the same cornflower blond, a stark contrast to our deep blue eyes. We were built the same—petite with curvy figures—and I’d even been told we moved in the same way. After growing up in her shadow, being mistaken as her by old relatives nearing senility, and earning praises for my looks—which I knew my mom cared about more than my being praised for my intelligence or personality—I rebelled with what I could.

I couldn’t change the way I looked, not much at least, but I could change the way I thought. I could change what I was made up of on the inside . . . and I had. Maybe a bit too late to make a difference when I’d still lived in Charleston, but enough to have made a difference in my life since.

“Look at you, already cozy in your jammies for the night.” Mom pinched the hem of my T-shirt, her gaze skimming the frayed cuffs of my shorts.

In California, this was the way most of the population dressed. In the South, within the boundaries of Abbott Manor, one didn’t dress like this unless they wanted the cops called on them after being mistaken as a vagrant.

“And what happened to that long, thick hair of yours?” Her hands moved to the ends of my hair, her fingers combing through it like she was hoping it would grow back to its former splendor right before her eyes. “Don’t you worry though, Clara Belle. Hair grows back, and when it does, don’t you dare see the butcher of a beautician who did this to you”—she gave a chunk of my hair a tug, shaking her head—“ever again. I’ll have Janine do a little asking around and find out who out there in California knows a darn about women’s hair.”

“It’s a big state, Mom. Might want to specify to Janine that I live in the Santa Barbara area, because I’m not driving to San Diego for a shampoo and style.” I held my smile and took a couple steps back, far enough away that my Mom couldn’t keep ripping through my just-above shoulder-length hair. The last time she’d seen me, my hair had still been long, halfway down my back, and so thick I could barely get a ponytail holder around it once. Everyone had loved my hair, touching it and claiming just how far they’d go to have the same kind. Everyone loved my hair . . . except for me.

That was why I’d walked into the beauty salon a couple years ago, had her hack off a foot to donate to Wigs for Kids, then thin out what remained attached to my head. I’d lost what felt like ten pounds of hair that day, and a thousand pounds of weight off my shoulders. I was my own person, no longer subject to the Abbotts.

“I’m sure we can find someone who will fit the bill,” she said. “A new hire at SuperTrims would be an improvement.” Her voice trailed off in that familiar way it had for years whenever she’d delivered an insult. She always masked it with a shrug and a just-barely audible tone, but it never tempered the intent of her message.

I made my smile stretch. Kill them with kindness—it was the Southern way. When in Charleston, do as the Charlestonians. “I’ve missed you so much, Mom. I’m glad to be back.”

She covered her chest with her hand. “I’ve missed you so much too, baby. You’d better not stay away so long again or else I might just have to lock you away the next time you come visit.”

I was considering replying with something along the lines of visiting family being a two-way street, then I reminded myself that I did not want my family visiting my home in California. I didn’t want them to be a part of the life I’d made for myself. They belonged here, not out there.

“Girls!” my mom shouted over her shoulder. “Your sister’s here at long last. You won’t believe what she’s gone and done to her hair.” She shot me a wink and waved. “It’s just hair though. It’ll grow back before you know it. Don’t worry a bit, Clara Belle.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” I replied, bracing myself as I heard a duo of heel strikes heading this way. From their pace, I could tell they weren’t in a particular hurry to reach me, though that might have had more to do with the height of their heels than their actual excitement, or lack thereof, to see me.

Avalee was the first to make her way into the foyer, a fairy in every way save for the pixie wings—small in size, wide and curious eyes, graceful in motion. Because of the decent enough age gap between us growing up, I’d always felt closer to Charlotte, though Avalee and I were more alike.

“Clara Belle!” Avalee gushed, rushing forward on, yep, heels that could have pierced through a rhino’s hide straight to its heart. “Oh my gosh, it’s really you!”

I winced as she rushed toward me. I was sure she was going to slip on the gleaming marble and crack open her skull.

“Did you see? Did you hear the good news?” Lifting her left hand, she kept rushing my way until her fist was half a foot from my face.

Given the size of the diamond projecting from her finger, I stepped back so as not to get stabbed in the cornea. “Congratulations, Avalee. That’s so great.”

I took hold of her hand and studied the ring long enough to mollify her. It really was a nice ring, sparkling like a disco ball and large as a quail egg, but I couldn’t imagine going about a person’s daily business while wearing it twenty-four hours a day. If it wasn’t snagging sweaters, it would be scratching kids’ faces.

“I know, right? I can’t believe it finally happened to me too!” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling like she’d been waiting eons to get engaged at the ripe old age of twenty-one. Down here, that might have held some truth.

“Avalee’s engaged. I’m getting married. When’s it going to be Clara Belle’s turn?” A different voice filled the foyer, spoken in a tone that seemed intent on rubbing my face in all of my mistakes.

“Hey, Charlotte. How are you?” I dropped Avalee’s hand and angled my body in Charlotte’s direction.

She was leaning against the doorway leading from the living room, arms and ankles crossed, bestowing a look upon me that made me wonder why I’d been invited to this thing in the first place.

“I’m about to marry Ford McBride. I’m doing fabulous,” she replied, a smile slipping into place.

I gave myself a moment to clear my head before replying. I wasn’t getting into this with her again. Ford McBride wasn’t worth fighting over. Ever again. “Cold feet?”

She stuck out her foot, a pink suede heel adorning it. “Toasty warm.”

“Must mean it’s meant to be then. You found your soul mate.”

Charlotte watched me for a moment, searching for anything that might give away that my words were anything less than genuine. She wasn’t going to find anything though, no matter how hard she looked, because I’d gotten over Ford so long ago, I couldn’t even remember what I’d seen in him at the time.

“Speaking of soul mates,” she said, shoving off the doorway and coming in our direction, “where is this new guy of yours?” She looked over my shoulders before scanning the foyer. “He isn’t the imaginary kind, is he?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Charlotte knew how to push me—she always had, and it had only gotten worse since she’d stolen my boyfriend. “He’s upstairs. Probably passed out asleep by now.” My gaze wandered up the stairs. No Boone in sight. Thank god, because I could barely manage this Abbot Estrogen Reunion on its own, sans bad boy from my past. “You’ll all get a chance to meet him tomorrow morning.”

“What’s his name?” Avalee asked, clapping in fairy-like excitement.

I shrugged. “His Name.”

She shoved at my arm, smiling like I’d just made a joke. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d take it if that’s what they wanted to think.

“Tell us something about him,” Mom piped back into the conversation now that we’d moved on to the topic of my beau. “When we found out you’d be bringing your boyfriend along, I can’t tell you how excited we all were. Your father and I . . . well, we’ve waited for this day for a long time.”

“Me to bring a boy home?” I asked, confused.

“You to finally get serious and settle down.” Mom’s continued smile was starting to creep me out. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a serious Botox job was responsible for the smile that redefined creepy.

“Who says I’m settling down and getting serious?” My eyes crept up the stairs again, wishing I could escape before answering any more questions.

“You do, silly girl,” Mom circled her hand in the direction of my face. “It’s that look on your face right now, and that sound in your voice. I haven’t seen you like this with anyone since . . .” She caught herself not a word too soon. Clasping her hands in front of her, she turned to my sisters like she was looking for a little help.

Avalee and Charlotte looked as surprised by Mom’s near blunder as I was. After Boone’s and my fallout, speaking his name had been like high treason within these walls. Even speaking
of
him had been a crime. I’d thought with all of the time that had gone by, paired with no shortage of other drama and debacles, Boone and what had happened would seem like old, tired news. Clearly not.

Avalee was just stepping forward to give me what looked like another hug—she was the “hugger” in the family—when someone else stepped into the foyer. Someone I hadn’t seen in years and someone, had he not been marrying my little sister, I would have wished to avoid for another fifty.

“Clara Belle.” Ford cracked a smile and leaned into the same doorway his wife-to-be just had. “I like your hair.”

Mom’s and Charlotte’s eyes lifted to the ceiling at the same time in the exact same way. Creepy phenomenon number two on this trip home—middle sister was becoming a clone of our mother.

“Hey, Ford.” My eyes fell to the ground for a moment under the pressure of his unwavering stare. I made them realign with his. I wouldn’t let him make me feel small and inconsequential again. “Congratulations. You know, since I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you yet. It’s really great you and Charlotte are getting married.”

Tension pressed into the room. Everyone knew what had happened between Ford and two Abbott sisters, and no one wanted to bring it up and call bullshit bullshit. We Abbotts preferred making nice and turning the blind eye—if only when it came to others of our “kind,” because the opposite was the way Boone had been treated.

Ford nodded a few times, not seeming to blink as he watched me. “How’s California treating you?”

I raised a shoulder. I didn’t want them to know how great it was or how much I loved my life out there for fear of them moving and ruining the good thing I had going. “Good. How’s South Carolina treating you?”

Ford’s smile went higher on one side. High enough that his dimple set into his cheek. “Good,” he answered, mirroring my nonchalant tone. “How’s that little business of yours coming along? Throw in the towel yet? Opening a business is always more work than people figure, and a good half of them fail in the end anyway.”

A hand slid up to my hip. What I’d ever seen in the elitist, conceited Ford McBride was lost to me now, but there must have been something redeeming in him at one time. Something more redeeming than his good looks and healthy trust fund.

“Not too bad.” Too much coolness in my voice.
Back off, Clara. Don’t let them get to you on your first night. You’re a wall. The Great Wall of Clara. They can’t move you, no matter what kind of blows they hit you with.

“If you ever need any consulting or expertise when it comes to running a business, I’d be happy to—”

“I’m sure Clara Belle can manage just fine on her own,” Charlotte cut in, marching toward Ford like he were being fondled by a house of horny sorority sisters.

“Yes,
Clara
can and has managed just fine on her own. But thanks.”

I didn’t know why I still tried. Clearly no one in my family would ever respect my wish to be called Clara instead of Clara Belle. Yes, that might have been the name on my birth certificate, but by my estimation, it was one name too many. Clara was my name in California, though I doubted it would ever be so here. Only one person down here had ever called me Clara.

“The first year is the hardest, you know, Clara Belle, when businesses either make or break themselves,” Ford powered on, ignoring his fiancée’s attempts to distract him from the topic or, more accurately, me.

Charlotte had wound up with the man, but for some reason, I got the feeling she felt like we were still fighting for him. I hadn’t even fought for him when I first found out about them, so it was a one-sided match on her part.