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“You’ve changed, Mr. Bardin,” she says, smiling.
“For better or worse?” I take an apple from the bowl on the counter and take a seat at the table as I bite into it.
“Better!” she says. “You’re calmer, more talkative. You spend far more time with the little one now than you did before and less time at work. Joyce has been good for you.”
And I wither instantly. She knows something is odd, but I haven’t told her about what happened. It’s not her fault that she made me sad just now.
“Joyce and I are no more, Mary,” I bury my face over the surface of the table.
“Huh, what did you do, Mr. Bardin?” Mary says, trying to joke, but it feels like a punch to the gut.
“I paid for her last semester’s tuition when she told me not to,” I say, mortified. Raising my eyes, I see that Mary is deeply confused.
“Joyce is the type who keeps her head above water on her own, and is very proud of it, Mr. Bardin,” she says. “You’ve probably shaken her world and offended her honor.”
I huff, listening to my own heart thumping in my chest. Mary turns her back to me, focusing on the food, but keeps on talking. “You were born rich, right, Mr. Bardin?”
“Um, yes,” I say, sitting up straight. “But I’ve achieved a lot more than I inherited. You can be sure of that.”
“I know,” she looks over her shoulder and smiles. “But you’re still different from me and Joyce. We were born poor. We were always sick because we lived in moldy houses, we wore hand-me-downs, and we relied on the school lunch program to actually have lunch. Worse of all, we were always told we wouldn’t amount to anything without help. But then you fight against it, and start, little by little, to achieve what they told you could not. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Bardin?”
I look at her, lost in thought, and unable to give a proper answer, I simply nod. It helps me understand more why she got so upset. I hurt her pride, and I know firsthand that can be difficult to deal with, but she has to let it go at some point because of the baby.
And because I love her.
“The food is ready. Should I start plating?” Mary turns to me.
“Sure, I’ll just—” The doorbell rings. “I’ll be right back.”
I go to answer the door, and it’s Jane who waits for me outside. In a fraction of a second, I frown and cross my arms, and take a step forward to block her way inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as one would say ‘get out’.
“I came to apologize,” she says in a fleeting voice. “I made a huge mistake.”
“You can say that again, but why apologize now?” I try to keep my anger under control, but it’s one of the harder conversations I’ve ever had to have.
She sighs. “She’s pregnant, Logan! We have to do something!”
“You have nothing to do with this, Jane. This is between me and Joyce!”
She tries to take a step forward and come in, but I stand in her way and don’t let her in.
“Logan,” Jane says, tears in her voice. “I’m just trying to help!”
“Your meddling put us in this trouble to begin with,” I say. I still haven’t uncrossed my arms, and I can see my fists are curled in white-knuckled grips.
“I finally looked into her eyes, Logan. She really loves you,” she says with pleading eyes.
I uncross my arms only to place my hands over my head, bowing down, feeling ashamed of myself.
“I really love her too, Jane. But thanks to you, I don’t know what to do now.”
We stand in silence for a long while. I don’t want to chase Jane away from my house, and she doesn’t have the guts to ask to come in. In the end, I’m the one to give in.
“Come in, we’re just about to have dinner.”
I step aside and Jane comes in, timid and scared as a little rabbit. I guide her to the kitchen, passing through the living room, and Anna beams at Jane’s presence.
