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It’s the Friday after Thanksgiving, and I’m fleeing New York City two days earlier than regularly scheduled. The visit was not a warm one.
I’d arrived at my parents’ penthouse on Wednesday afternoon and ended up going out with a high school friend, who was also back in town, to catch up since my parents had a social function to attend that would last through the evening. The following day, I’d joined them, Barbara, and her newlywed husband, Geoffrey, for Thanksgiving dinner at the same hotel we had dined at since I was six.
The meal itself had been overly indulgent and grand, as was the conversation. By the time dinner had ended, it had been obvious that my presence wasn’t needed in New York—or even desired, for that matter. My father had promptly left for Italy on business, and my mother had made arrangements with Barbara to visit Geoffrey’s family in the Hamptons. Being an afterthought for the holiday, I’d decided to return to campus where stilettos and pencil skirts weren’t a requirement.
I’d devised a white lie about studying for finals and spending the weekend working on my thesis. None of my family had batted an eye about my soon-to-be absence, so I’d booked the earliest flight available.
I will be landing back where I truly belong in less than three hours.
“Flight attendants,” the pilot announces over the aircraft cabin, “prepare for takeoff, please.”
Settling back into my seat, my tension dissipates when the plane pulls away from the gate. It’s not long before we’re on the runway and ascending into the air. I gaze out the window, watching the world below become smaller with every passing second. When the New York skyline is well out of view, I close the shade along with my eyes, exhausted and free, drifting to sleep.
~~~~~~
“Evelyn,” my mother says, her high heels clicking across the hardwood floor of my bedroom, “I’m heading out for the day.” She stops by the window, drawing the taupe curtain to view the street twenty stories below.
“Where are you going?” I ask in my eleven-year-old voice, turning within my seat at the vanity.
“Meetings, darling. The charity auction I’m heading this year needs a lot of my attention right now. After that, I have an appointment with Gregor at the salon and then drinks with Charlotte and Daniella. I can’t very well let them down.”
“Oh,” I say, smoothing out the wrinkles in the skirt my mother purchased for me on one of her daily shopping excursions last week. The white eyelet trim is similar to the scallop on my bedding.
“Marisa will see that you do all your lessons,” she says, referring to our live-in au pair.
Marisa has been with me for the last two years, joining us after the previous employee went back to Europe.
“Be sure to brush up on your French. I hope she’s been conversing with you in it daily.”
“She has.”
“Good. I’ll talk to her about it as well. We’re all going with your father to Paris to meet up with our dear friends in two weeks. You need to be prepared.”
“I remember,” I reply obligingly.
“Yes. Well, you’ll want to be sure you can speak the language fluently to make good conversation with their son, Gerard. The Beauchamps are very important people to us.”
“Fera, Maman,” I answer, loosely replying, “Will do, Mom,” in French.
“Bon.” She nods, still gazing out the window into the sea of buildings. The fine fabrics hanging from the windows frame her elegant long physique tastefully. “Keep practicing. Don’t forget, you have violin in an hour.”
“What about my pottery class?”
“What pottery class?”
“Don’t you remember? I asked last week if I could take one. I gave you a flyer about it.”
“Evelyn, dear.” Her angelic eyes set within her angular face demand my attention. “I’m not so sure. You have more important things you need to be concentrating on right now. French, violin, and swimming on top of all your regular studies are really important if you want to get into an Ivy League school, which is a must. You don’t want to jeopardize your future.”
“I know this,” I say, lowering my head.
She approaches where I’m sitting, placing both hands on my shoulders. “Sit up straight. You’re a young lady, not a Neanderthal.”
I nod, not saying anything more.
“Now,” she continues, “I will see you tomorrow.”
“But I thought you said you were just going to be gone for the day?”
