“Same here. Best if you go out that way.” She jerked her chin at the sliding glass door, and I obeyed. Turned back and waved. She waved back, then made Teeny wave as well.
Seemed like I had a new friend.
CHAPTER 16
Lillie
I parked in the tiny driveway on Commercial Street, sighed and got out of the car.
“Oh, stop,” Beth said. “Fix your face. At least the food will be good. Do you think Beatrice will have free stuff?” As a longtime Chanel employee, my stepmother got lots of makeup, skin care, perfume and clothing.
“Probably,” I said. Chanel’s largest size was 16, which they classified as extra-extra-extra-large. I refused to wear anything of theirs on principle. Also, I was more of a scrubs/jeans person, anyway, and I didn’t usually wear makeup, so . . .
“I’ll take anything,” Beth said. “That suit she gave me a few years ago? I saw it online for more than a thousand bucks! Used!”
“Okay, calm down,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll give you something if you ask.” Maybe I should be asking her for stuff I could sell to increase my income. It wasn’t a bad idea.
Dinner at the Moms’ was never pleasant, so I’d brought Beth along as a buffer. Like most people, Bethie adored my stepmother. I didn’t hate Beatrice . . . I just didn’t fawn all over her like everyone else. Sure, she was beautiful, charming and talented, spoke four languages and could have comfortably chatted with the Obamas （and probably had）。 Someone who wasn’t in love with her was probably refreshing.
As for Mom . . . I had never understood her. If she loved Beatrice, it was in her own weird, passive-aggressive way. Why Beatrice had fallen for Mom was a mystery. Sure, Mom was also beautiful and smart, but kind? Not a word that ever leaped to mind. I remembered one time when I’d fallen out of a tree while playing, back before the divorce, and come in with bloody knees and scraped palms.
“What do you expect, Lillie?” she said. “If you’re going to play outside like a feral squirrel, you’re going to get hurt! Go wash up and put on some Band-Aids.” There was no boo-boo kissing in our house, no sir.
Her sole purpose in life seemed to be winning, which made her a fantastic lawyer. It didn’t seem to give her any real happiness, though. Brittle was the word that most often came to mind when I thought of her, which I tried not to do unless necessary. When I’d told her Brad and I were getting married, she said I was stupid. When I added that I was pregnant, she told me a child would tie me down. The house in Wellfleet—money pit. Being a nurse-midwife—“Why would you want to look at genitalia all day, Liliana?”
“You’re late,” she said as Beth and I walked in, proving my point.
“Hi, Mrs. Silva!” Beth said, as I had made her promise to do.
“It’s Ms. Clifton and has been for thirty-three years,” Mom said, raising an elegant, contemptuous eyebrow. She had changed her name to Silva when she married Dad, but snatched it back when she left him. Didn’t change her name for Beatrice, whose last name was Laurent.
“Not your first cocktail?” said I.
“You and your puritanical sensibilities, Lillie. You get that from your father. It’s so boring.”
“Bonsoir, Lillie!” Beatrice said, coming in for her Chanel-scented kiss-kiss on either cheek. She wore white jeans and a cream-colored off-the-shoulder sweater that looked amazing against her skin. Leopard-print high heels. “Bonsoir, Elizabet.” She left off the th sound, and Beth lapped it up.
“Comment ?a va?” Beth asked, the only sentence she knew in French.
“Très bien, chérie. Regardez-vous, si belle!”
“Hi, Beatrice,” I said. My sister was sitting on the couch, sipping wine. “Hi, Hannah. How are you?”
“Great. I had a lovely chat with my favorite nephew today.”
“Aw, nice,” I said.
“Such a good boy,” Beatrice said. “It must be hard for him, his parents divorcing when he is far away.”
“It’s not easy when it’s up close, either,” I said. “As I know firsthand.” Beatrice looked confused, then glanced away as the penny dropped.
“Lils,” Hannah said. “It’s been more than thirty years. I’m just gonna toss this out there, but maybe it’s time to let go?”
“I’m fresh off the divorce wagon of suckiness, Hannah. I think it’s acceptable that I get to bitch and moan a little. Why has no one made me a cocktail yet?”