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Agreeing, I nod my head. Yes, he’s a prick, but one with all the power and an impossibly loud voice.
“Did he mention when he’ll make the final decision?”
“No. Frederic needs to go over all the financial details before my future is decided.” My future could entail a horrible husband. One with wandering hands. Maybe one of Frederic’s buddies. A man who wouldn’t look my way, or worse, one whowilllook my way and expects things from me that I don’t want to give, like sex. I’m scared of the details. I’m scared of what they’ll want from me. What they’ll expect from me.
But I’m more terrified of not really living my life to the fullest. It has so much to offer, and I want to be a part of all of it. I want to live it, not wait for the grim reaper to knock on my door.
“Just try to change his mind again, Evangeline. Try. You never know. Maybe he’ll finally see reason.” I hear the pity in his soft voice. The helplessness, but also hope. A belief that things could take a different turn, and with that, I nod my head. It doesn’t hurt to try again, even though I can predict the outcome already, and it’s me in a white dress with a lace veil, walking towards a man of Frederic’s choosing.
“All right. I’ll try,” I whisper, knowing it won’t make a difference how many times I beg for time or input. Frederic won’t budge ever.
Topper gives me one of those sad smiles before he kisses my forehead softly, and I drink in the love he gives me. It reminds me of how precious Topper is and how dreadful my life would be without him in it. A true gift.
“I know what we need. A night out. You in one of those sexy dresses and me holding a cocktail in each hand.” It sounds horrible, but his excitement is electrifying as he wiggles his eyebrows. A sparkle shines in his eyes as if he’s already on the dance floor, dancing to techno music.
“That’s not happening,” I mumble.
“All right then, me in a dress and you holding two cocktails.”
“Not happening,” I repeat.
“What do you mean? We’ll sneak you out of the house like old times. Through the window and all.” I snort, remembering the one time we did try to sneak out at the blossoming age of fifteen. We didn’t get far before Mummy Dubois caught us red-handed, and house arrest was the result of our actions.
“I’ll think about it,” I add, not feeling in the mood to shake my arse at a sweaty, overpopulated club. Though it does sound appealing the way Topper’s already imagining it. I could use a drink or two and dance away the hours.
“You know what? You talk to Frederic. If he changes his mind, we’ll celebrate. If it all goes to shite, we’ll drown our sorrows and kiss freedom goodbye in style.”
“Deal.”
***
Frederic’s voice is muffled by the closed kitchen door, but by the tone of his voice, I can tell it’s a heated phone conversation. He’s snippy, short and raises his volume once in a while. It’s about work or else he wouldn’t bother with yelling at nine in the evening. It’s probably someone who didn’t follow his exact instructions or someone who outsmarted him.
This doesn’t make the situation ideal to breach the subject of my future nuptials. If Frederic's blood is already boiling, it won’t work in my favour. But it is a last try to save my future and to change my path to one where I can choose to go to school or not and choose who I’ll marry. If only he would listen for once.
I push open the kitchen door slowly, as if I was fourteen again and sneaking out of my bed at night to have my first sip of wine.
Frederic stands bent over the kitchen counter, suit creased from a long day at the office, eyes glued to a stack of papers that are littered in nothing but numbers. The tension moves through his shoulders as he cracks them to ease the pain.
When we were children, people told us we were the spitting image of each other. Light blond hair with large brown eyes and freckles all over our faces. Now, we are nothing alike, in more ways than just physical. We’d both lost those freckles, and with it, our innocence. His hair has darkened, much the same way his heart has.
He sniffs loudly before his face turns my way filled with frustration. The man on the phone speaks, but still, his brown, empty eyes look my way. Dark bags lie underneath it. He’s tired. Always tired.
What?he mouths. I wave my hands, indicating I’ll wait until the phone call is over. Frederic rolls his eyes before focusing his attention back on the person who’s complaining about a client not paying.
I fiddle with my fingers, turning the diamond ring my mum gave me for my birthday, around and around. My nerves are coursing through my body, making me sweat. My heart increases slowly with every minute he leaves me waiting. Even though I can predict the answer already, I’m still nervous to start the conversation.
Where do I start?Frederic, there’s no way in hell I’m going to get married. Hard, direct words don’t work with my brother. He’ll get agitated the minute I show a sense of anger, aggression, or any negative, hostile emotion. He has a short fuse, and people walk on eggshells around him. It doesn’t take much to set him off and I don’t want him to yell at me, because I’ll cower like a scared child.
He ends the conversation before he grabs his phone and throws it onto the old, grey wooden kitchen counter. It clatters in the empty kitchen, making me flinch from the abrupt noise. A loud sigh leaves his mouth. He rolls his shoulders before turning his head my way. One eyebrow is raised, and he gives me a glassy stare before his eyes flick upwards for a second.
“What do you want, Evangeline?” Hostility drips from his lips.
“Frederic, I thought about what you said this morning.” He breathes out loudly. He diverts his eyes to the white cupboards in front of him. His tongue runs over his teeth while he starts to tap the counter.
With every little movement he makes, my heart starts to speed up, my nerves racing through my body. I get unsettled by his reactions to my one and only sentence.
“Not again, Evangeline.”
