Page 19 of Ardently Yours

Those poor, clueless boys don’t even understand the crazy family they want to be a part of. My pretty sisters have lured them into this circus.

And then, the most clueless of them all, Lydia’s boyfriend, whose name I also don’t remember, says, “I think there’s someone at the door.”

“Yeah, thanks. I think we got that, Sherlock,” I say, not biting my tongue.

“Liz!” Lydia hisses at me. “Don’t be mean just because your ex-fiancé is here.”

“Ex-fiancé?” George asks, bringing my attention back to him. “As in, Billie Collins?”

“Does everyone know my business?” I ask, standing up. “Yes, it’s Billie. And yes, he’s my ex-fiancé which is why Mama should never have invited him over for dinner.”

“Sit down, Elizabeth Bennet,” says Mama, threatening me.

“Really, Mama?” I ask, not budging. “I can’t even answer the door to let Billie in? You don’t trust me? Do you think I will chase him away like I did the first time?”

“I’ll get the door because you are getting on my nerves! You know how stress makes me irritable. You are not helping.” Mama scolds me in front of everyone.

I stand there feeling like a little kid who just got into trouble.

But being an adult must have given me some courage or some stupidity that leads me to say, “You are absolutely the most irritating person I know. And yet, I still came over for dinner knowing that you were just going to let me come tonight without telling me that Billie was here. He stopped by the cafe earlier and told me, which was a terrible surprise. And now this. Mama, you are not helping me, and you know it.”

The dinner table goes silent. No one moves. No one eats or drinks.

“Lizzie,” Papa says, intervening a moment too late. “You took it too far, darling.”

“Too far?” I ask, my voice raised an octave. “Mama started it, and I’m tired of trying to explain to her to stop meddling. This is not okay.”

“None of this is okay,” says Janet, standing up. “I’ll go and answer the door. Everyone, just take a breather, and we can try to enjoy dinner.”

I don’t sit down. Mama doesn’t either. We have a silent standoff. But we let Janet go, and she answers the door.

When Janet returns with Billie in tow, the awkward silence in the room gets worse. His smile fades as he looks around the table, seeing all of us looking conflicted. He locks eyes with me.

He holds flowers in his hand, a mix of pretty pastel flowers in a large bouquet. I can’t help but notice that they are beautiful. But like the flowers George bought me, they aren’t my favorite.

Then, I randomly think about how Will remembered what my favorite flowers are. I don’t know why I am thinking about that now. Will isn’t here. Billie is. George is. And so am I.

Billie walks into the room, still wearing his suit from earlier. Am I supposed to feel something for him? To be happy or sad? Am I allowed to be angry?

I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t want him here. I don’t want to try to enjoy dinner anymore. I take a deep breath, knowing that I have to deal with this even though I don’t want to.

“Mama invited me,” Billie says, nodding in Mama’s direction, and I hate it when he says ‘Mama’ like she’s his mother too.

She’s always had a soft spot for him. He could call her “Mama” when we were together because he was basically part of the family, but it’s not my fault he chose not to be anymore.

“We need to talk, Billie,” I say, fed up with this delusional world in which he thought he could just march back into my life and we could pick up where we left off. To my family and our guests, I say, “Go on, say grace and enjoy dinner. I’ll walk him out.”

“Now, Lizzie, stop this. He was invited over to have dinner. Let him eat.” Mama is delusional too, I realize. I look over at her, tired of her games.

“No, you invited him over and I don’t want him here, so I’m walking him out.”

“This is my house,” Mama says, applying pressure.

“And he was almost my husband, so I think I win this one.” I walk over to Billie and brush past him, gesturing for him to follow me as I head out of the dining room, through the hallway and out the front door. Once we’re outside on the front porch, I say, “You shouldn’t have come, Billie.”

“I came to see you,” he says, holding out the flowers to me. “And I bought these for you. You always liked these kinds of flowers.”

I wrap my hands around my chest; the warm breeze from earlier isn’t so warm anymore. My strapless pink sundress seems cute only in theory as goosebumps appear on my arms.