The Seven Boxed Set

by Sarah M. Cradit

  When it came right down to it, he didn’t much care, either.

  If he wasn’t marrying Catherine Connelly, then he wasn’t marrying for love.

  * * *

  The world was a blur when the guests arrived. Richard popped in to announce that the Hendricksons had arrived, and Irish Colleen turned into a whirlwind of activity, checking to make sure the tea was still hot, fluffing pillows, wiping her hands across the mahogany furniture to remove any last flecks of dust. She did this as if it was her, and not the Hendricksons, who had reason to be nervous. As if they, and not her, were from the most important family in the New Orleans area.

  Charles felt ready to vomit.

  New, unfamiliar voices sounded in the foyer. Irish Colleen’s was almost unrecognizable as well, having climbed several octaves as she anxiously greeted Cordelia and her father, Franz.

  What had Irish Colleen told Charles about this family? Next to nothing, but there were two things.

  Franz Hendrickson was German-born, and Cordelia, first generation American. He was a self-made textile merchant, and the light way Irish Colleen turned up her nose at “self-made” inferred he was a bit of an upstart. Charles didn’t remind her where she’d come from.

  “Franz, Cordelia, please, allow me to introduce you to my most cherished son, Charles.”

  Charles really thought he might puke, if not from the growing sense of impending doom, then from the bizarre and tart-like act his mother was putting on.

  “Charles,” Irish Colleen warned.

  He rose, for once the dutiful son, the son she wanted. The extension of his arm was robotic, and he didn’t remember willing his arm to do it, but some part of him must have. He shook first the hand of Franz, and as he did, he looked up into the dour, humorless face of the man who looked at least twenty years beyond what his age should reasonably be.

  “Charmed,” grunted Franz.

  Next was Cordelia, and Charles sucked in and held his breath until he saw her, and she came into focus.

  She wasn’t hideous.

  That was his first thought.

  His second was: there’s nothing at all behind those eyes. She’s dead inside.

  Cordelia’s handshake went no further than her fingertips. Her hands were ice-cold, and as she withdrew, she left her fingers extended, as if afraid of spreading whatever had passed from Charles to other parts of herself. She wrinkled her upper lip in what he supposed must be a smile, and the absolute pathetic failure of any personality from this woman made him want to fucking laugh.

  Of course, the least fun and interesting woman on earth would be who his mother picked for him.

  Irish Colleen directed them all to sit. Condoleezza appeared, as if on cue, and served the guests first, and then Charles and his mother. Franz sipped his tea with a polite and purposeful grace, but Cordelia made no attempt to even pretend. She curled her lip in disgust, a gesture very similar to her smile, and set it aside. A moment later, she brushed the teacup away from her, taking no chances that it might murder her.

  Charles tried to imagine having sex with her, but his imagination was smaller than what the job entailed.

  “Cordelia, please, tell us about yourself.”

  Cordelia laced her bony fingers together. Her thin lips hardly moved as she spoke, and she had a very light accent, much easier on the ears than her father’s. “I went to UNO. I majored in dance.”

  Charles snorted tea out of his nose. “Sorry. Sorry.”

  Cordelia leveled a look on him so intense he forgot what had been so funny.

  “I have a minor in music therapy,” she continued. Then, with a hard glare at her father, she added, “I’m sure what you most want to know is how well I’ll bear Charles’ children. I can assure you, the women in my family are all quite fertile, and I’ve had my period now going on a decade.”

  “Glad we got that cleared up,” Charles quipped, sipping his tea.

  “Charles,” Irish Colleen warned him again, under her breath but not quiet.

  Franz laughed without humor. “What my daughter means to say, Colleen, is that when they are married they should have no complications in providing a Deschanel heir.”

  Charles blinked in response. I may not be the smartest man, but I’m fairly confident sex is required to have a baby.

  “And you, Charles. Tell us about you,” Franz said.

  “Well,” Charles said, leaning back into the chaise. “I’m not quite the overachiever Cordelia is. I’m not allowed on any college campus in the city.”

  Irish Colleen gasped. She reached for her neck, but had forgotten a necklace that day, Her hand dropped, helpless, into her lap.

  “What a hoodlum,” Cordelia remarked. “I hear some women eat that up.”

  “Only the women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to have it,” Charles volleyed back.

  “So, Colleen, on the subject of appropriate dates,” Franz intercepted. He cleared his throat. “We should announce in the fall. That gives us adequate time to prepare all the legal documents, contracts, and what have you. And plenty of time to plan a spring wedding.”

  “Summer,” Charles demanded, for no other reason than his desire to maintain some modicum of power in this cattle call.

  Franz lifted a brow. “Summer sounds reasonable.”

  “Summer is fine,” Irish Colleen said quickly. “But, Charles, isn’t Colin marrying in the summer? You certainly wouldn’t want to steal the spotlight from one another.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” He settled his teacup back in the saucer. He’d never liked the shit and was tired of pretending for… for these weirdos. “They’re getting married this summer, Mother. Not next.”

  “Is Colin another hoodlum?” asked Cordelia.

  Franz shot to his feet. “Well, this was lovely, but Cordelia needs an afternoon nap. Colleen, shall we finish our chat while you walk me out? We can leave these two for a bit of privacy.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  They disappeared, and it was only Charles and the Wicked Witch of the East.

  “So…” Charles started.

  Cordelia checked her watch. “He advised to wait two minutes. Any less would be rude. Any more would be too familiar.”

  Charles rolled his head to the side. “Too familiar? He does know we’re going to be fucking in a year, right?”

  This drew the first real smile from Cordelia, but though it was genuine, it chilled him to the bone.

  “Clothes on,” she said. “Five-minute limits. No kissing. No talking. I’ll make whatever sounds you want, but if you touch me anywhere above the neck, I reserve the right to abort with no questions asked.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “Chick, you know we’re stuck together, right? I didn’t pick you any more than you picked me. Wouldn’t it be better if we tried to make the most of it? Have a little fun?”

  Cordelia stood. She brushed a piece of lint from her wool skirt. “I’ll be maintaining a property in New Orleans to retreat to as I see fit. You’ll have a fair share of conjugal visits from me, at least until I’m pregnant, and then there will be no expectation of any further conjugal relations until I’m cleared to be pregnant once more.”

  “I guess that answers my question,” Charles said.

  “Good. Bye for now.”

  Cordelia swept from the room, rigid from head to toe, dead in every way that mattered.

  He blew out a hard breath and doubled over, grabbing the arm of the couch.

  “For my sins?” he wondered aloud, but no answer came, and his next thought wasn’t about Cordelia at all.

  It was about Cat and how much he wanted to talk to her about this bizarre exchange. How she was the only woman—only person—he wanted to share these thoughts, or any thoughts with, and wondered if she was thinking something very similar about him just then.

  * * *

  The red light on Augustus’ phone blinked for over an hour. Evangeline acted l
ike she was his damn wife at times, checking closely the times he left the office and noting whether he’d eaten three square meals. She was exasperating. He could manage himself just fine.

  The clock read past ten. As usual, he was left to close the office, with its one other nocturnal habitant. Ekatherina’s soft, focused face was illuminated by her desk lamp. He could see her from his office, a direct line.

  Though he had work left to do and was inclined to work all night, he was nonetheless feeling the effects of the fatigue setting in. Ekatherina, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing, and if he didn’t kick her out each night when he went home, he suspected she would have slept there.

  Augustus switched off the light in his office and closed and locked the door. Ekatherina looked up, only briefly, and then proceeded, with visible reluctance, to pack up her own things. He ended each night with the feeling he was disappointing her, when it was she who worked for him and not the other way around. Puzzling.

  “Good work today,” he said, though he had no knowledge of what she’d worked on that day, or most days. He couldn’t have said with confidence what a day in her life at the office was like at all.

  “Thank you, Mr. Deschanel.” Ekatherina didn’t look at him as she slid herself into her coat and made for the stairs, where they would walk down together and say their goodbyes in the cool evening air.

  They stepped outside after he locked the office doors. The St. Charles streetcar rumbled by several blocks down, depositing French Quarter revelers on Canal Street.

  Augustus never knew what to do with the curious intimacy in these moments, where it was only them, standing on the street, searching for the right words to part. There were many things that rolled through his mind that never made it to words. I understand your drive. I see myself in you. I won’t let them bully you from doing good work. They don’t know what it must have taken for you to get here, and to prove yourself.

  “You have a nice night, Ekatherina. Drive safe,” he said.

  Ekatherina nodded and was already on her way as she replied, “You too, Mr. Deschanel.”

  Three

  Why Wait?

  Colleen was lost to her assignment when familiar voices appeared in the otherwise soundless lecture room. Professor Green had given her a key of her own last week, when she’d mentioned offhand that she had trouble focusing at home. He’d winked as the key exchanged hands, their little secret, and she felt an indistinct little thrill pass through her. A small confirmation that she was on the right side of the table now, and that her hard work was leading her down the correct path.

  “Colleen.” Rory spoke first. She recognized the heavy intonation in his voice… the one that implied hands shoved deep in pockets, a sort of shame painted across his face.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Colleen asked, without looking up. She sounded casual, she hoped, though her heart rate had begun an acceleration that would only rise as the conversation moved forward. The issue of focus wasn’t her only reason for choosing the lecture hall to study, and to grade papers for Genetics and Molecular Biology. This was a place no one could reach her unless she wanted them to, and the question she really wanted to ask the two of them was, how did you find me?

  “We’ve been calling for days,” Carolina entreated. Her platform heels clicked as she stepped forward, and then stopped, further evidence of the source of her hesitation. “Irish Colleen told us when you’d be home, so we even drove out to Ophélie, twice.”

  “A long drive,” Rory added. “Not that we mind, of course, but we really would like to talk to you about something."

  “Well, you could have saved yourselves the trouble.” Colleen scribbled a note in the margin of the test she was grading. Wrong formula. Check your lecture notes. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

  An awkward silence rippled through the chamber. “I know you’re busy, but we have something we’d like to tell you,” Rory said.

  “Go on,” Colleen replied, with a purposeful train of focus on the paper in front of her. She had re-read this student’s answer four times already. She wasn’t a seer, but she had an awful feeling about why her friends were here, and she’d put off this moment as long as possible.

  “Can you please look at us?” Carolina pleaded. “Please, Colleen. This is hard enough.”

  “Hard?” Colleen played coy. She capped the red pen and placed it neatly in the groove at the head of the desk.

  Carolina and Rory stepped around the desk. They stood before her, not too close, but close enough. Their body language said what their words didn’t.

  “Are congratulations in order? When’s the date?” Colleen quipped. Immediately, she chided herself for how cutting and bitter she sounded, which was a reflection of what she felt inside, though she had no right to. No right at all. You left him, and then you pushed him into her arms. And pushed her into his. You wanted this. You wanted this, and now you can’t pine after him like an injured doe who ran in front of the car praying for impact.

  “Well…” Rory and Carolina exchanged guilty looks. “We’re actually already married.”

  An invisible truck plowed Colleen from behind. All the blood in her face drained into her toes. She was grateful to be seated, because she had the strange and powerful sensation to sway. Married. They were married. An engagement would give her time to ease into the idea of her first love, and first best friend, united for all time. But married already… she had no time, and she was absolutely positive her first impression of the news was written clearly and in bold ink across the span of her face.

  “Congratulations,” she managed, mucking through the dry cotton feeling permeating her mouth.

  Carolina held up her left hand to show a modest, but beautiful diamond ring. “We… uh… well, you know my family doesn’t really have any money, Colleen, and uh…” She looked at Rory, but his eyes were married to his feet. “There’s a lot of pressure on the bride’s family to pay for a wedding. I didn’t want my dad taking out a second mortgage, and though Rory’s family has some money, we didn’t want them paying, either.”

  “I see,” said Colleen, grateful there was no greater response expected of her as yet.

  “We didn’t want to wait.” Rory.

  “We didn’t see the point in it.” Carolina.

  “It’s silly to go through all that planning for something you can just do, you know?” Rory.

  Nervous laughter wove through their volleyed exchanges.

  “And Rory is leaving for law school soon.” Carolina.

  “Soon.” Rory.

  “Yes, and there’s still so much to do!” Carolina.

  “It’s easier for us to get housing if she’s my wife.” Rory.

  “And we do want a family.” Carolina.

  “Not that we’re in any rush.” Rory.

  “No, no rush.” Carolina.

  “Yes, why wait?” Colleen said, when they stopped their incessant rambling and turned their focus to her reaction.

  “That’s what we thought!” Carolina, relieved.

  “Why wait for anything you want?” Colleen went on. “Why work for anything if you can just have it?”

  “Colleen—” Rory, evidently without a suitable rebuttal.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Colleen.” Carolina this time. She leaned over the desk, and her long blond hair fell forward. Colleen tried not to picture her leaning over Rory this way in bed. She did anyway and shuddered.

  “Yes, Carolina?”

  “You’re angry with us.” Carolina’s face folded into a pout. “You’re angry, and I don’t understand why.”

  “You must understand why, or you wouldn’t have worked so carefully into sharing the news. You wouldn’t have looked so nervous coming in here.” Colleen moved her hands from the desk to her lap.

  “That’s not fair,” Rory charged. He stepped forward and took Carolina around the waist. He looked at his wife and asked, “Can I talk to Colleen alone for a minute?”


  Carolina shook her head. She wiped at her eyes. “No, anything you have to say to her now involves me, too.”

  “Fair enough.” Rory sighed. “Colleen, you know how I felt about you. How I… loved you.” He squeezed Carolina closer, a small reassurance, though everyone in the room knew who Rory’s heart had beat the loudest for, even now. “I gave us more chances than you did, and your last words to me were that I should see where things go with Carolina. That we were perfect for one another.”

  “Evidently, I’m quite prophetic,” Colleen muttered.

  “You’re right, we were nervous to tell you. This time last year you and I were still… well, anyway, I took your advice, and it was the best thing I ever did.” He smiled at Carolina. “I love Carolina with all my heart, and I have you to thank for opening my eyes. Sometimes what’s best for us was there all along.”

  “You’re welcome,” Colleen said drily.

  “But you’re still one of my dearest friends,” Rory said. “I want you in my life. Carolina wants you in our life.” He touched her belly with his palm. “We want you to be the godmother to our child.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re pregnant, too?” Colleen nearly leaped from her seat. But this was easier… a little. Now she understood better. A shotgun wedding. This wasn’t a wedding of love, but societal necessity.

  “Don’t talk about it like it’s a bad thing,” Carolina whimpered. “We’re happy. Shouldn’t you be happy for us?”

  “I know what this looks like, but this isn’t why we got married,” Rory added, insisting.

  Colleen had used the past few minutes to regain control of her emotional state.

  She’d found what she had most searched for, the compartment where she could store this news safely, and without easy access.

  A door closed. Locked.

  She stood and extended a hand to each of them. “Forgive me. I am so happy for you both. Truly. And of course I’ll serve as godmother to your first child. What a tremendous honor.”