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“What’s her name?”
“Lennon.”
The call ended. What a whirlwind. I didn’t really get answers, but I sure as hell felt a lot more confident in my decision to piss my parents off with my public appearance with Eliza.
“Who were you on the phone with?” Mom asked as soon as I stepped out of my truck.
“Jude, just checking in. You know how he is.”
Mom gave me an eye roll, and that was the end of that conversation. I suddenly envied Jude for how our parents loathed him, how he was easily forgotten by them.
I walked into the house and hung out in the kitchen, making myself some coffee and waiting for my parents to wander in. It took two minutes before they were seated at the kitchen island and wanted an update on the last week and a half since I’d seen them. The idea of pulling a Jude and packing up and walking out was looking better and better.
“Things are fine, working like crazy on that capstone project. I met with my advisor who says I am right on track with it. The usual. Oh, also, I’m taking Eliza as my date for the auction.”
“Is that right?” Mom’s plastic smile faltered. “Are you sure that’s a good move?”
“What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes.
Mom looked to Dad who took over. “Basically, this is a chance for you to meet some new contacts for your internships. Rub elbows with people that are gonna give you the boost you need. I’d just think that Eliza might be a distraction.”
I snorted. “Yeah, to everyone there. Have you seen her?”
My mom looked mortified. “Trask Davis.”
“Yes?” I sipped the coffee.
“I think it’s a bad move. Take her to dinner instead,” my dad said.
My mom’s voice lowered. “Ifweknow she has a record, so do other people. It’s just not worth the heads turning. I am sure she’s a nice girl but…”
So that’s what this is about, our precious image as a wholesome family.I saw a thousand shades of crimson yet somehow managed to sound normal. “What happened to her was horrifying. She was a minor. The records are supposed to be sealed but I’m sure you know what happened with your line of work and who you know. She was not in the wrong, and the fact that you aren’t siding with her proves your talk of feminism is all wordplay.” I spoke the last words to my mother who finally looked truly stricken.
“I won’t have you commenting on my character. Have you read the files? Has Karina told you?”
“No,” I said, running a hand through my hair, wishing it were Eliza's fingers lulling me to sleep. “Eliza told me about it. She is someone important to me, and I expect you to give her the same courtesy you’ve given Karina.” I strode from the room, feeling better than ever.
Iknew Eliza was nervous with the whole auction thing, but I was giddy. I was fucking pumped. But I knew I needed help to make Eliza more comfortable. Which is where Rosalie came in. Her car was in the shop so I picked her up and drove us to the mall where she pulled me into all of the stores in search of the perfect dress for Eliza.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for her!” she squealed when I told her my plan.
I rolled my eyes. “You know how she is, I can’t believe you agreed so easily.”
She shrugged. “The biggest hang-up was the boyfriend. Kind of weird to explain, ‘hey I’m gonna go shopping with my friend’s boyfriend for a dress so he can give it to me to give to her, that’s cool? Great, see you in two hours.’” She laughed. “He actually offered to buy her a dress too.”
I’m not sure why I bristled at that. Eliza was my girl. Mine to take care of.
Rosalie must have noticed because she quickly added, “He’s a doctor, got the whole disposable income thing. He’s met Eliza a few times and knows her background. He doesn’t know her very well, he’s a bit older than us, but he’s the type of guy that sees a need and fills it, you know?”
“Gotcha,” I said, filing through the dresses on the rack. “Any ideas which one she’d like?”
Rosalie snorted. She wore a skirt and an oversized sweater, her blonde hair up in a messy bun. She was easy to talk to, lived a life similar to my Eliza, but she was bubbly. Not happier, but easier to talk to. Which I was grateful for, but it made my heart soar knowing I got the privilege of breaking through Eliza's icy exterior.
“Well,” Rosalie started after she finished chuckling at her internal thoughts. “She’d hate all of them. She’s not comfortable in dresses—not that she doesn’t like to dress up and feel pretty. But she doesn’t take compliments well, and wearing dresses usually brings in compliments.”
“Why not? Why can’t she accept praise?”
Rosalie bit her lip, thinking. She turned to face me. “She has been lied to all her life by the people closest to her. She doesn’t trust anyone, so when someone compliments her, she wants to lash out and call them a liar. But she’s so honest, doesn’t believe in flattery, and it bothers her that people try to pull one over on her, even though they’re not. That’s just my working theory though.”
