Dangerous Engagement

by Charlotte Byrd

  My mother, who has never been very good with the needle, offers to help me alter the one that is too big. She goes through a few YouTube videos but quickly realizes that the job is too complicated for a novice like her.

  “I guess I'll just wear it as it is,” I say. “What else can I do?”

  “You could wear something else underneath it,” she suggests. “To help fill it out?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I guess I could do that. Though it is a little bit odd to wear a long sleeve shirt underneath a dress shirt. I think I'll just go with how it is and maybe take off the jacket if the evening calls for it.”

  “Don't be nervous, sweetie,” my mom says. “I'm sure they're going to love you.”

  I give her a faint smile. I am certain that they will not, but I do not want to go into it right now.

  Besides, it's not like I can tell her the embarrassing position in which they found both of us. We’re very close, but she’s still my mother.

  "So, what do you think about Aurora?” I ask, taking a sip of a beer to calm my nerves.

  “She seems like a very nice girl. But I do worry about the world that she lives in.”

  Even though my mom didn't recognize her at first, I have since filled her in on exactly what kind of family Aurora is from.

  When I get to dinner, Aurora's mother opens the door and welcomes me inside. Mr. Tate offers me a drink and I opt to have the same thing that he's having, scotch on the rocks.

  The scotch is served out of a crystal decanter, so I don't know exactly what brand it is, but by the way it tastes, I can tell that it is very expensive.

  The dark brown liquid is smooth to the taste, warming me from the inside out. I take another sip and feel a shot of liquid courage coursing through my veins.

  Aurora comes into the room, dressed in a pristine black cocktail dress and high heels. Her hair is pulled up halfway and there are pearl earrings dangling off her ears.

  She gives me a brief hug and a chaste peck on the cheek, the kind you give a cousin. Of course, I don't expect more. Her parents are here and I want to make a better impression than I had before.

  A woman in her fifties with her hair in a bun and a thick Spanish accent walks up to us with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. She is dressed in a gray and white frock, clearly delineating her as one of the help.

  When I extend my hand to introduce myself, she stares at me with big wide eyes without moving a muscle.

  “Why don’t you tell us about what you do for a living?” Mrs. Tate asks, taking an appetizer and leading me back to the sofa.

  “I work in a high school in the Bronx, a charter school that focuses on underprivileged children,” I explain.

  “Isn't everyone there underprivileged?” Mr. Tate asks.

  I'm not sure if he is trying to be funny or ironic and I don’t know how to respond.

  “Well, almost everyone is in comparison to you,” I point out.

  Mrs. Tate glares at me for a moment and then Aurora breaks out laughing.

  I'm tempted to apologize, but I don't see why I have to. What I said is the truth. He's a billionaire and compared to him everyone has less privilege.

  "Most of the students,” I say, “do not grow up in an environment that is particularly conducive to learning. They often live in very cramped apartments, with multiple siblings, sharing one room among many of them. As a result, they do not have a quiet place to study. Also, their parents, if they do have both in the house, work too many hours to help them with homework or any projects. It's an uphill battle for teachers like us.”

  “So, is this something you plan on doing for a long time?” Mrs. Tate asks.

  I swallow hard.

  I should lie and nod and tell her that it is something that I want to do for the rest of my life. Partly because it's probably something I'm going to get stuck doing for the rest of my life. However, if this is the only time that I get to interact with Aurora's parents, I don't want that interaction to be false.

  So, against my better judgment, I tell her the truth.

  “Actually, no,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

  She perks up a little bit and sits on the edge of her seat.

  My eyes briefly meet with Aurora's who furrows her eyebrows and looks at me with a confused look on her face.

  “The truth is that I want to be a writer," I say slowly. “In fact, I already am. I have recently had a short story published in the New Yorker. I enjoy writing very much and it's a real calling of mine. Unfortunately, up until this point I have not been able to make a living at it so I took the only job that I got offered after college, teaching.”

  * * *

  Mr. and Mrs. Tate seem to be taken aback by my honesty because they do not say anything in response for a few moments.

  Afterward, Mr. Tate offers to refresh my drink and Mrs. Tate asks me more about my teaching position. Aurora mentions that her mom sits on the board of a few charter schools in Manhattan. We talk about that for a while but it does not go unnoticed that they do not ask me anymore about my writing.

  Later that evening, after dinner is served, Mr. Tate asks me where I see myself in five years. This is a hard one to answer, and I simply shrug my shoulders and raise my hands in the air.

  “You really don't know?” Mr. Tate asks. He wears his thick flowing hair just below his jawline, a little bit longer than you would expect.

  He and Aurora’s mom look so similar they could practically be related, and yet Aurora looks nothing like them. While they are both tall and broad shouldered, Aurora is short and a lot curvier than her mother.

  While they have high cheekbones and thin aristocratic noses, Aurora's face is wider and a bit flatter. Nevertheless, she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but I cannot deny the fact that she looks nothing like her parents.

  “No, I really don't have a plan. I mean, there are certain things I want to do like write a novel, but in terms of where I want my life to be, I am not so sure.”

  Mr. Tate stares at me, shaking his head.

  “I know that you did not grow up with a father, son, but let me give you a little piece of advice,” Mr. Tate says, after a moment. “You should always have a five-year plan, a three-year plan, and a one-year plan. Without goals you do not know where your life is going. Without goals, you will just drift along and one of these days you will find yourself at fifty wondering what the hell happened.

  “If there are certain things that you want to achieve, you have to go after them. And you have to be willing to take out anyone who stands in your way.”

  "Is that what you did?” I ask.

  “You can bet on it,” he says sternly. “It's the only way that I would have gotten where I am. I don't know what Aurora has told you about us, but we both come from very humble beginnings.”

  “Yes, she mentioned that,” I say.

  “I was born on a dirt street and Gwen grew up with her grandparents, because her mother had her at fifteen. Some people would hide these facts, but we are proud of where we came from and how little we had. When we bought our first radio station, we spent our last cent on it and then went into debt for another hundred thousand. Our competitors thought that we were insane, but a year later we bought another one and another one. We knew back then that in order to protect ourselves, we had to spread our risk around. That way when one or two failed, which they almost always did, we would have others that didn’t.”

  “That sounds like a sound plan,” I agree.

  “My daughter here, is a lot like you,” Mr. Tate continues. “She doesn't have much of a plan for the future. She's getting her PhD in popular fiction, whatever the hell that is, and for whatever reason, I do not know. It feels a lot like she's just waiting around for something to happen.”

  "You know I'm right here, Daddy,” Aurora says. “You don't have to talk about me as if I'm not.”

  “I know you're here, honey. I'm just not sure that you ever listen to me.”

  She resists the temptation
to roll her eyes, finally succumbing but only a little bit.

  “But Aurora is my daughter and as a result she has certain advantages that you did not,” Mr. Tate says. “She will always have money and she will always have prospects, even if she chooses not to use them.”

  “Just because I am not interested in working for Tate Media at the moment,” Aurora says, “doesn’t mean that it is not something I might want to do in the future.”

  "Wake up, Aurora,” Mr. Tate says. “The future is now. You are twenty-five years old. In five years, you will be thirty. Do you know where I was when I was thirty? Do you know where your mother was when she was thirty?”

  "Things are different nowadays, Daddy,” Aurora says.

  “Yes, unfortunately, I have noticed a change. There used to be a time when you were an adult at eighteen. But now days, everyone seems to be a kid until they're forty.”

  “Anyway,” Mr. Tate says, turning his attention back to me. “Whatever may be Aurora's shortcomings, she's my daughter and she will always be well taken care of. You, on the other hand, will have to learn how to stand on your own two feet.”

  I clench my fists to subdue the anger.

  "Well, I do work for a living, fifty hours a week. During the school year, often more than that. I don't get paid much, but that's the reality of being a teacher. And in the summers, I work sixty, often seventy hours a week at the yacht club, bartending, and cleaning boats like yours, doing whatever it takes.”

  “Don't get me wrong, Henry. I am not saying that you are not a hard worker. I know that you actually work very hard, a lot harder than some people in this room.” Mr. Tate winks at Aurora who doesn't find the joke particularly funny.

  “All that I am saying is that to succeed in this world you have to be both a hard worker and a smart worker. You don't want to be one of those chumps out there working hard, doing backbreaking labor for twenty years, and then taking opiates to deal with the pain, and cutting your life short. No, you have to think for yourself. Whatever it is that you want, you have to go after it. No one else is going to do it for you. Do you understand?”

  I take a deep breath and look deep into his eyes.

  “Yes,” I say. “I do understand.”

  As soon as we get outside, Aurora grabs my hand and apologizes profusely over and over again.

  “I can't believe that my dad went on that tirade with you,” she says. “I'm so, so sorry.”

  “No, that's okay, it was actually very interesting to talk to him.”

  “Oh, come on,” she says, waving her hands and rolling her eyes. “You can't be serious?”

  I shrug and tilt my head. "I've never talked to anyone about this before. But I think he's right. I mean, maybe I am wasting my time. Teaching is not something I want to do, so why the hell am I even there?”

  “It's a good job and an honorable profession.”

  “Yes, that’s true if you are passionate about it.”

  “You're just letting my dad get to you,” Aurora says, tossing her hair. “You can’t listen to him.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, “he is right. I do need a five-year plan, or at least a one-year plan. I mean, looking forward, what are my goals for the year? What do I want to accomplish? Where do I wanna be this time next year? Maybe I need to ask myself these questions so I can finally get what I want.”

  13

  Aurora

  The following morning, my mother insists on meeting with me again for breakfast. They are going to Montana later today on their private jet for a few weeks, just to get away from everything. They do this every summer, and this is the third one that I have skipped.

  I love it out there – the wilderness, the big blue skies, and the solitude - are amazing. But when my parents are in the state, all of the oxygen seems to be sucked out of it.

  “So, what did you think of Henry?” I ask when the waiter brings us our croissants. I don’t want to be here but she insists until I don’t have a choice.

  Mom is having a mimosa, but it is a little bit too early for a vodka for me.

  “I think he's a very nice boy, Aurora. But he's not a very good fit for you.”

  I shake my head, averting my eyes.

  “What made me think that she would ever give me a different answer?” I wonder.

  “I just worry that you do not know your worth,” my mom adds.

  I shake my head again and cross my arms.

  “Please don't look at me that way,” she continues.

  “Like what?”

  "Like I am telling you something that you are actually surprised to hear. Is the only reason you are seeing him is to punish us for something?”

  I stare at her. She really is the most self-centered person I’ve ever met.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Of course not.”

  “I am seeing him because I like him,” I say.

  “Well, nevertheless, he is not a good match for you.”

  “So, you don't like him?” I ask.

  “Did I say that?”

  “Not in so many words,” I say with a shrug.

  “Aurora, I don't have time for your games right now."

  “Well, I don't have time for yours either. I don't understand what it is exactly that you don't like about him except for his lack of money. But, newsflash, Mom, no one has as much money as you do.”

  She shakes her head and stirs her coffee, making her diamond bracelet jingle.

  "Maybe not everyone is as comfortable as your father and I, but there are plenty of wealthy eligible bachelors that would make for a great boyfriend for you.”

  “So are you telling me that I can't date anyone who makes less than, what exactly? Is there some sort of cutoff point? You didn't seem to have a problem with Connor, and he makes $150,000 a year.”

  “Exactly,” Mom points out. “Connor was not rich by any standard, but he had a future in front of him. Henry, on the other hand, told us flat out that he has no idea what he wants to do in the next few years.”

  Your father was very disappointed with that fact.

  “I don't see why,” I say to myself.

  “He wants the best for you, Aurora. As do I. We are just very discouraged by the fact that you don’t seem to want that for yourself.”

  “You know what, Mom? There is more to life than money,” I say. “I grew up with and around lots of it and I wouldn’t say that it made me a particularly happy person. And yet there are people with a lot less who are perfectly content. Maybe they're onto something.”

  “You,” my mom says, pointing her finger in my face, “you have no idea what you're talking about.”

  She narrows her eyes and stares deeply into mine, with a menace that I don’t remember ever seeing before.

  “We have given you everything, and perhaps that was a mistake. You have no idea what it's like to be poor, or how terrible it is. I grew up living in motels that charged by the hour with my grandmother because my mother disappeared. She had one abusive boyfriend after another, not counting her husband, my grandfather.”

  “Not everyone who is poor grows up like that," I say.

  “Be that as it may,” she says, “that was my experience. And I never wanted you to go through anything like that. Why do you think your father and I worked so hard to get where we are?”

  “Are you serious?” I challenge her. “Are you seriously saying that you did it all for me? I hardly believe that.”

  “Well, we did.”

  “No, you didn’t. You may have sent me to the best schools and gave me the best of everything but you did not do it for me. You two were going after conquering the world way before I came along. You bought your first radio station before you ever contemplated having me. And you and I both know that.”

  “Listen, I don't wanna fight with you, Aurora. I don't wanna fight with you about what we did or didn't do. All I want to do is to ask you to stop seeing Henry.”

  “I don't understand why you care so much. Yo
u never cared who I slept with before,” I point out. “Connor didn't treat me very well, neither did some of my other ex-boyfriends. And yet you said nothing."

  “Connor had prospects,” my mom says, folding her hands in front of her and pursing her lips. “And as for those other ones, I knew that you would eventually figure your way out of those relationships.”

  “But don't you care that Henry treats me really well?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course I do, but it's not enough. I can see you getting serious with him even after just a few dates. And trust me, he will always be a weight around your shoulders.”

  I shake my head.

  “Right now, it feels like you can carry him because he feels light,” Mom continues. “But after a little while, he's going to start to feel like an anchor, and you’re going to feel like you’re drowning.”

  14

  Aurora

  Despite my parents’ protestations, we spend the rest of our summer together. Henry continues to work at the yacht club and on boats, and practically moves into my parents’ home in the Hamptons with me.

  It's a large five-bedroom villa situated on ten acres of prime oceanfront real estate.My parents’ travels take them to Montana, then Paris, London, and Rome while we stay here by the water and spend every possible minute naked.

  This becomes the most blissful summer of my life. We sleep in late, whenever we can, and Henry makes me pancakes and waffles from scratch. Sometimes, we run straight from bed to the pool. Other times, we put on our bathing suits and walk along the beach and bury our feet in the sand.

  We do not argue.

  We do not fight.

  We just lose ourselves in each other's company.

  We want to spend every waking minute together because we cannot get enough of each other. Each minute that we spend together is still not enough.

  I crave him more and more, the more time that passes. While he's at work, I spend my days waiting and occasionally writing. My PhD work fills the need I have in the pit of my stomach to put together words on paper, but during the long days of summer, my mind starts to wander and I think what if I wrote something else?