Mortified by her words, my jaw goes slack, dropping open. She’s happy about my art hobby, as she would put it, in the process of landing a man, but she still finds it beneath anything she deems of importance.
Foster releases a tentative grin in my direction and then returns his attention back to our fathers, who are in deep conversation about their golf handicaps and the possibility of a future game together.
My mother gawks at Foster likes he’s some sort of gift that’s been handed into her lap, and my stomach goes ill.
He circles his long fingers around the water glass, and I’m drawn to the clear substance contained within the crystal. I become lost in the small ripples creating a tiny tide within the brittle shell.
Daydreaming.
“Stanford is impressive,” my mother repeats again, as a reminder to me, while everyone is engrossed in their own discussions.
I need to escape this moment.
I dive deep into the fluid, allowing the bubbles and thickness to surround me in my mind, clouding out the noise of my mother’s encouragement toward a man she knows absolutely nothing about, other than his favorable prospects and bank account.
“I was upset about Gerard,” her shrilling voice echoes in my ear, “but there might be hope for you yet.”
My body morphs into a clear stream and becomes one with the cool substance, drowning to the depths.
“Foster and his family are fine people,” she adds. “And they already seem to like you so much.”
Gasping, I try not to let it consume me.
“Did I mention you look very pretty today?”
Enough!
I carry myself upward, breaching the surface of what everyone sees, ignorant to the fight below. Everything is calm and clear through their one-dimensional perspective. They see nothing—only what they want. They know nothing.
Out of my mind and into reality.
I am not the water.
I’m something else.
More than water.
The woman at my side sees me as a pawn in her game, a plastic piece to be maneuvered in the right direction, and now, she’s plotting to send me straight toward a new prize.
Foster.
My—
Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
He’s her choice.
We are just water to her—pretty and pristine and contained within the glass of her making.
“You’re almost perfection,” my mother says proudly.
“I’m more than water,” I say just above a whisper.
“What’s that, Evelyn?”
“I’m more than water!” I shout, surprising even myself, garnering everyone’s attention at the table. “I’m more than water.”
She nervously laughs, making light of my obvious temper. “I don’t understand.”
“No. You wouldn’t. You understand nothing about me.” As gracefully as I can muster, given the angst pumping quickly through my veins, I empty myself from the seat and take my clutch into my hand. “Excuse me. It’s best if I leave.” I glance in Foster’s direction. “This was a mistake.” I address Foster’s parents, “It was good to see you again.” I turn to my mother. “I’m not a prized mare for breeding. And you likely don’t want to hear this, but I won’t be getting my MBA from Yale or any other college. So, you can stop pestering me about it. It’s done. I’m not going.”
“Evelyn—”
“If you cared about my happiness at all, you would know why.” I step around where she’s seated and pause in front of my father. “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t ruined anything.”
With those last words, I turn on my heel and hastily exit the room. My body quivers with elevating adrenaline levels. I quicken my steps in hopes of alleviating some of the jitters. When I’m almost at the host stand to retrieve my coat, I’m alerted to hurried footfalls trailing behind me.
“Evelyn,” Foster calls. “Wait.”
I pause in my tracks and wait for him to catch up.
“Hey…” I utter with measured control.
“You didn’t say good-bye.”
“I’m sorry. Good-bye, Foster.”
I step away, and he grabs my arm, not allowing me to leave.
“We need to talk about this,” he insists.
“I’ll apologize to your parents and mine about my behavior. I’m sure a note will suffice.”
“No,” he stresses, “it was good to see that. It was killing me to watch you so…muted.”
“I should go.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.” I run my hand down his suit-covered arm. “Good-bye, Foster.”
“Good-bye? Wait, what’s going on?”
“I can’t…” My lip quakes.
“You can’t what?” His mouth tightens. “Evelyn?”
“I thought you were smart.”
He’s taken aback. “Apparently, not smart enough. Maybe you need to educate me.”
“I’m not living like this anymore.”
“Like what? You’re confusing the hell out of me.”
“This.” I motion to my outfit, then to his, and then to the room from where we came. “That! All of the society bullshit.”
“I never asked you to be a part of that. Hell, I never even expected it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “About my family? The money? God, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s impolite to talk about? Because I don’t want people to know? Because when they do know, all they see is a future for themselves and a giant bank account? Or maybe it’s because I wanted to make sure you loved me for me, first and foremost? Take your pick. All of them are the truth.”
“Never mind.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” he echoes back, trying to follow.
“Don’t you get it? You’re exactly what they want for me. You fit the mold. My mother was practically marrying us off to each other while we were sitting at the table. I swear, from the way she looked at you, she could see diamond-studded babies being spawned between us.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re their choice!”
“Their choice?” he groans. “Why in the hell should that matter? What’s your choice?”
My blood hammers heavily in my chest.
Tears threaten to expose my plight.
“I’ve never had one.”
I left. I walked away without one more word, and Foster let me.
There was nothing more to be said.
He understood.
After exiting the hotel, I grabbed a cab and had it drop me off at a park about a mile from my apartment. It wasn’t a place I frequented often, but I wasn’t ready to go home. My phone rang numerous times. I ignored it and finally turned it off.
Decisions come with the risk of consequences, and there’s no doubt that there are many waiting for me after today.
Brunch was a disaster on many levels.
My parents will hate me.
Foster will, too.
It’s been a few hours since I left the hotel. On foot, I meander along the sidewalks, back toward campus, and I lazily tread down the hill to my apartment. Parked at the curb, near my building’s entrance, is a luxury town car with no occupants, other than the driver. I gather myself and enter the brick structure, knowing that my mother and father are waiting for me upstairs.
I’m emotionally spent and give zero fucks.
Opening the door, I find my parents sitting casually on the couch, and Chandra is in the kitchen, flipping through a magazine.
“Hello,” I say, shutting the door.
My parents rise from their seats.
“E,” my father says in absence of my mother’s greeting.
“I’m going to head out for a bit,” Chandra announces, emptying herself from the kitchen. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” She
slips on her jacket and then embraces me for a brief wordless moment before exiting.
I shrug out of my coat and fold it over my arms, waiting for the expectant onslaught of disciplinary words from my mother and father. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’re here to scold me for my behavior and for blowing any potential business dealings with Blake Laboratories.
“Apparently, you’re still in town,” I state the obvious.
“Yes,” my father replies. “Your mother and I would like to have a word with you.”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to apologize for my behavior today?” I snip. “Because if it is, let’s just get it over with. I’m sorry, and I’ll apologize to the Blakes as well.”
My parents share a look.
“Why don’t you sit down?” my father suggests, gesturing to the red chair.
“Fine,” I submit, taking a seat where indicated as they lower back into the sofa. “I’m listening.”
Taking my mother’s hand in his, my father begins, “We’ve spoken to the Blakes about your outburst, and they are willing to overlook it. We’ve already apologized for you, but I’m sure they would appreciate hearing it from you as well.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually, there is.” He sits up straighter. “Their son had a few choice words for your mother and me about you. I won’t go into details because he wasn’t exactly tactful in his delivery, but we were very surprised, to say the least.”
“By what? That someone could speak so rudely to you?”
“Hardly.” My father guffaws. “I’ve been called worse over the years. However, the vitality that man possessed in regard to anything related to you was noted.”
“So, it got heated? Awesome. I’m sure that’s my fault, too.”
“No, he was very adamant that his opinions were his own and that he cares for you very much.”
“Very much,” my mother echoes in a familiar tone of insistence.
“Oh, give it a rest,” I implore. “If you’re here to ask me to fix this by dating their son, you can forget about it. I’m through with playing the part.”
“E, we’re not asking anything of you,” my father insists. “We’re just telling you as your parents that—”
“He loves you, Evelyn,” my mother states. “EJ, I mean.”
I focus on a vacant space near the window and whisper, “What do you know about love? I thought you only specialized in etiquette and breeding, which is a fairly sterile practice.”
“E, that’s unfair,” my father scolds. “First of all, those were his exact words. Second, your mother loves you more than you know.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
My mother lowers her lids. “I realize I might come off a little…pushy—”
“That’s an understatement.”
“But it’s only because I want the best for you.”
“How could you possibly know what’s best for me when you know nothing about me? All you care about are the right shoes and purse and table manners and galas and the right school and marrying me off to someone with a large quantity of stock shares. I’m not some doll you can dress up and play life with. I’m your daughter. A person.”
“Ev—EJ,” she utters, stumbling over my name, “I was just…I was trying the only way I know how, raising you and your sister just as I was.”
“But I’m not you or her. I’m nothing like either of you. We’re so different. You care nothing for my interests or my dreams. You’ve only seen your own wishes for me.”
“That’s enough of that,” my father sternly interjects. “Whether you like it or not, you, your mother, and your sister have a lot in common. You’re all beautiful, passionate, driven, and wonderful women. That being said, your mother and I might have been wrong when it came to the direction we’ve been leading you.” He wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “We were only trying to guide you the best way we knew how, but in retrospect, it might have been detrimental. We had nothing but your long-term happiness in mind. You can’t fault us for wanting you to have a secure future. That’s all we’ve wanted for you.”
“Your father and I care for you more than you realize,” my mother states, emotionally fragile. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about me. I accept that, but know that I love you, regardless of any of your decisions.”
“And that includes graduate school,” my father adds. “As much as we think you going would be for the best, it’s your decision. We will still love you.”
“That’s it?” I ask, stupefied. “Just like that, you’re letting it go?”
“No,” my father responds. “But I accept when a negotiation is over, and there’s no more room for debate. You’ve made your opinion loud and clear on the matter, and I’m man enough to submit to defeat.”
He rises from his seat and assists my mother to her feet as well. Assessing that this conversation is coming to a close, I stand, too. They quietly make their way to the door, and I follow to let them out.
“We’re still family,” my father says with his hand on the knob. “That hasn’t changed, and we will always back you even if we might not agree. We’re here for you. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I say, agreeing to the simple request.
“Here,” my mother says, pulling a small brown envelope from her handbag. “Foster asked us to give this to you.”
“What is it?” My hand tentatively takes the rectangular package.
“I’m not sure. He said he’d planned to show these to his sister, but you needed them instead. He gave it to us right before they left for the airport.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She offers an apologetic and hopeful smile. “Take care, EJ.”
“You, too.”
With that, my father opens the door and escorts my mother into the hallway and down the steps, leaving me alone in my apartment. I take a seat on the sofa and anxiously stare at the envelope in my hand. With trepidation, I unhinge the metal prongs, reach inside, and pull out the flat contents.
His eyes.
His mouth.
Foster’s face.
I took these. They’re mine. They’re him.
My vision blurs from wetness as I shuffle through the images. The four enclosed photographic copies I sent to Foster a few months ago bring back memories of one of our most intimate moments together. We’ve had many, but the day I painted scientific shapes and elements on his body is one to be remembered forever. It feels like the first day we ever truly met.
The pictures he’s sent for me to see are not the ones I took of his torso, which display my colorful work.
These are him.
His unique characteristics.
His face.
His soft gaze.
His vulnerable self.
Seeing him through the lens was like finding him.
I saw him that day. He was stripped bare.
He showed himself.
It scared me.
I unfold the attached note.
THIS IS THE FACE OF A MAN LOOKING AT A WOMAN HE LOVES. HE HAS NO MONEY OR PRESTIGE, ONLY A HEART.
The gallery doors have been open for nearly two hours. As promised, in attendance are many influential people from the art world, both locally and nationally—buyers, sellers, dealers, and individuals—looking to commission pieces by up-and-coming artists.
“Congratulations,” I tell Wolfgang, wrapping my arms around him. “A buyer and a new commission! That’s impressive.”
“Thanks,” he responds, clinking his champagne glass with mine. “I’m kind of in shock.”
“Why? Your piece is spectacular. I’m not surprised one bit, and I couldn’t be happier for you.” I sip the crisp liquid from my flute. “However, if you don’t want to do it, I’d gladly take the work off your hands.”
“You’re such an opportunist.”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Wolfie. You’d better get ready for the wolves
because it’s gonna be a fight.”
“Is this part of your business teachings?”
“Possibly. I’ll send you a handbook on the rats in the industry.”
It’s been nearly a week since reality took on a new meaning at brunch with my parents, Foster, and his family. It took me a few days to come to terms with what had happened, who Foster was, and what I truly wanted. Having a free choice for the first time in my life was new territory, and I wasn’t sure how to focus, but soon, my decision and direction became clear—once I let myself see beyond all the barriers.
Like second nature, I emerged myself into my art as a means to reveal my desires, and it helped in more ways than I’d expected. I enlisted Wolfgang’s help in making my project come to life because it was nearly impossible to cast my own body, and Chandra was on vacation with Jeremy for the break.
Wolfgang was also a supportive ear, allowing me to vent all of the untold truths about my family, Foster, and myself. I revealed a part of myself, often held in secret, and the physical act of creating something new helped me to truly know what was in my heart without any obstacles. The product of this process was also able to impress Professor Turner enough to land me a coveted space in his show.
He called my piece “a vehement beauty.”
Being at this event is truly an opportunity of a lifetime for many, including myself. Earlier in the evening, I was approached to create a piece to be displayed in a well-known aquarium. I’m truly honored.
Mid sip of my drink, I’m tapped on the shoulder.
I turn around.
My mother and father have genuine smiles plastered across their faces while they stand side by side as a pillar of properness with their coats in hand.
“We need to get going,” my father states, looking at his timepiece. “We have a plane to catch, but we wanted to say good-bye first.”
“I really appreciate you coming,” I say wholeheartedly. “I know it wasn’t on your schedule.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” my mother adds. “We wouldn’t have missed it. There are a lot of really wonderful pieces here tonight.”
I’m unsure if she’s being polite or honest, but either way, she’s making an effort.
More Than Water Page 27
