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Twenty-Two
Magnolia
I hadn’t expected that.
Not after the last couple of weeks, but especially the last few days…
I thought maybe we’d turned a corner. That maybe we’d work. Maybe the Fates weren’t sleeping on the job for once in their stupid existence, that the stars were going to align, and that when Beej heard I was staying, he’d run home, break things off with that stupid Australian, and come to my house, kiss me and the end.
Instead, he’s staying with her. And he’s displeased I’m back.
I don’t even know what to do — it feels too embarrassing to tell anyone, though I suspect that all of our friends already know, what with me looking at him like a lovesick school girl for the last week. I know Henry knows. He’s too decent to say it, of course. Still, he’s been around extra for no real reason, acting like he’s been coming to all the real estate showings for his own enjoyment and not just because I need him.
A tiny reprieve in the drama of all this is my uncle is in town from Russia.
He’s big and burley like Harley is but he’s scarier than my father because even ‘I love you’ in Russian sounds terrifying.
“Uncle Aleksey!” I skip into his arms.
I always try to get the leg up on Bridget with him because I get the impression that he’s the executor of his mother’s will.
“Mark-nolia,” he says in his thick Moscow accent. He gives me a hug. “So beautiful. Wonderful to see you.”
He pulls my seat out for me and I sit down next to him at the dining table, straightening out the short black jersey dress with multi-coloured embellishment from Dolce & Gabbana. I keep catching on things. Bit annoying. Definitely worth it.
“You remember Henry, of course.” I gesture to him and Henry gives Aleksey a smile as bright as his Grow Up oversized logo appliquéd cotton sweater from McQ.
Aleksey nods. “Boyfriend, da?”
“Boyfriend’s brother,” I clarify. “And no — he’s not — not my — BJ isn’t — no boyfriend!” I smile brightly.
Uncle Aleksey elbows his mother. “Is stroke?”
My sister and Henry start laughing.
“How’s my inheritance coming along?” I ask, laying my napkin over my lap.
“Good.” He takes a sip of wine. “We are diversifying.”
“Into what?” my father asks.
“Zoloto.”
“Oh, good! I love gold.” I nod. “Always chic.”
“And gases.”
“Less chic.” I adjust the Five Flowers Headband from Louis Vuitton.
Aleksey shrugs. “Is worth almost £5 billion.”
“Well,” I concede, shrugging my shoulders brightly, “a girl’s gotta eat, so…”
Bridge and Hen trade looks. I glance up, look across the table to see a man I’ve never seen before.
Short black hair, fair skin, nice enough eyes.
“Oh.” I blink at him. “And who are you?”
