by Lauren Kunze
From across the table Gregory caught her eye.
“. . . Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Where are your parents?” she asked him while Vanessa turned and introduced herself to OK’s father. (“If he’s really a prince . . . does that make you a king?”)
“Should be here any minute,” he replied.
Overhearing, Mrs. Von Vorhees said, “You must be the Boltons’ boy, Gregory! I’m on the Committee for the Children with your mother.”
“Stepmother,” he corrected.
“Yes, of course. So you live right across the hall from the girls?” she asked, eyeing him in a way that proved that even women twice his age weren’t entirely immune to his charms.
“That is correct,” he affirmed.
“And you two”—she nodded at her daughter—“never?”
“Mom!” Vanessa shrieked.
Gregory smiled graciously. “I think most people eventually find that dating within the dormitory is ill-advised,” he said, avoiding Callie’s eyes.
Her father smiled. “That seems very wise of you, Gregory. Speaking of dating,” he added, turning to Callie. “Your mother phoned again this morning to insist that I ‘interrogate’ you—yes, that’s the word she used—about that Clifford . . . or Clifton. . . .”
“Clint,” said Callie, frowning into her lap.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “It’s a shame that he was too busy to join us at some point this weekend. Your mother will be extremely disappointed that I didn’t figure out how to get a picture for her on the phone camera. Camera phone? It’s one of these buttons here she showed me. . . .” he muttered, fiddling with his cell.
“That one there,” Callie said with a small smile.
“Vanessa!” her mother exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me that Callie has a new boyfriend! Or wait now, Clint, is that the same one from last semester . . . ?” she asked. Then, addressing Callie’s father, she added, “I like to stay updated on all the gossip, and since Vanessa and Callie are practically inseparable, I feel like I already know her—almost as if she were one of my own!”
Callie tried to return Mrs. Von Vorhees’s affectionate smile, wondering if she had any idea how much of her information was hopelessly out of date.
Her dad nodded politely. “I’m not sure about staying updated on the gossip,” he said, “but I do like to know exactly who thinks he can date my daughter and live to tell about it,” he finished, clapping a hand on Callie’s shoulder.
“Daddy!” she cried.
Gregory smirked.
“I just wanted to meet the guy for five minutes so I could put a healthy amount of fear in his heart,” Professor Andrews said with a laugh. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Not at all,” Gregory answered, laughing with him.
“So, tell us all about him, then!” Mrs. Von Vorhees pressed Callie, leaning in. “What’s he like? Where is he right now? Is it casual or have you two started discussing your future?”
“Well . . .” said Callie, glancing at Gregory, who looked like he wanted to hear about it just as much as she wanted to talk about it. “His name is Clint, he’s a junior, he’s about this tall, he’s from Virginia—”
“Yes, but what’s he like?” Mrs. Von Vorhees asked. “What kind of things does he like to do?”
“Uh . . .” Callie drew a blank. They had been dating for months now—if they were still dating, that is—how could she not know the answer to these questions? “Well, he likes government—”
“He likes government? What does that mean?” Vanessa’s mom interrupted.
“Oh, ha,” said Callie. “I mean, he studies government. I’m not sure if he likes government in terms of his political stance—”
“A Republican?” her father demanded.
“I believe his mother prefers the term ‘moderate with conservative leanings’?” Callie said, squinting. “And, um, he’s on the squash team with Gregory so he definitely likes squash—”
“Really?” said her dad. “Well, then tell me, Gregory: what’s your opinion of this Clint character?”
Gregory shrugged. “I guess if I ever had a daughter and she had to date someone, he wouldn’t be the worst choice.”
Oh, gee, thanks for the ringing endorsement.
“He has been busy lately,” Gregory added, “otherwise I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
“So, what do you study, Gregory?” her father asked as the dining hall staff brought out their entrées.
“Economics,” he said, “though I’m seriously considering switching to applied mathematics. I’m kind of . . .” He furrowed his brow, as if searching for the right word. “Disillusioned with the current state of the financial services industry.”
Dr. Andrews nodded. “I can certainly see why. Just today Callie and Matthew’s econ professor gave a lecture on white-collar crime and the fine line between ethical business practices and malpractice.”
Gregory nodded, pretending—probably—to listen closely in a rare display of politeness.
“A little soft on the complex mathematics side,” Dr. Andrews continued, “but still quite relevant as we’re continuing to see a proliferation of insider trading, Ponzi schemes, offshore tax evasion, short selling . . . Why, with the lack of regulation when it comes to hedge funds and private equities, it’s easy to understand how, even with perfectly legal business practices, some people get in over their heads.”
“Mmm,” said Gregory, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Callie tried to send him a telepathic apology for her dad’s tendency to lecture both in and out of the classroom. It was part of the reason she’d had such an advantage growing up, but it was also part of the reason that other people sometimes got bored.
Like Mrs. Von Vorhees, for example, who was employing the good old smile and nod tactic of conversation, though she had perked up at the terms equity and hedge funds. While she most likely couldn’t explain the difference between a hedge fund and her garden shrubbery, she did seem to know that the one with fund at the end of it involved men in suits and lots of money.
“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t your father leave Goldman to start his own, ah, hedge fund?” she asked Gregory politely.
Gregory, who had been midway through a sip of water, began to choke.
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Von Vorhees as he turned red. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I’m fine. Water—just went—down—the wrong pipe.”
“Your father . . .” Dr. Andrews began thoughtfully, “is he the Bolton who cofounded Bolton and Stamford Enterprises?”
Gregory nodded, glancing uncomfortably at his phone. He’s probably sick of always hearing about his famous dad, Callie thought suddenly. Where is the Mr. Bolton, anyway?
“Oh, that’s right,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said, failing to notice his discomfort. “I remember my husband saying that your father invented some entirely new type of trading algorithm— Algorithm? Is that the right word?”
Gregory shrugged.
“Well, we’ll just have to ask him when he gets here! Which will be sometime soon, I hope,” she added as a waiter took her dish away. “He’s missed almost the entire dinner!”
Frowning, Gregory checked his phone again. “I’m not sure what the holdup is. . . . Work, probably.”
Mrs. Von Vorhees nodded. “Oh, certainly. A man like your father must work all the time. Never home, just like Vee’s!” she said. “Sweetheart,” she added quietly while a waiter set a large slice of chocolate cake in front of Vanessa and she prepared to take an enormous bite, “I thought you said you were skipping desserts these days?”
Vanessa dropped her fork abruptly. “Right,” she muttered.
“So, Callie, tell me,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said when her father had turned, along with Gregory, to join the Robinsons’ conversation. “What’s your secret? How do you stay so deliciously thin?”
“Er . . .” Callie said, wondering how Vanessa’s mother could fail
to notice the way her daughter’s shoulders had slumped while she stared miserably at her plate. “Stress?”
Behind her mother’s back Vanessa began to eat the cake in huge forkfuls.
“Nonsense, dear, don’t be shy,” Mrs. Von Vorhees prodded. “Surely you must do some form of exercise to look the way you do.”
“Yes,” said Callie, thinking of the hours she’d been spending on the treadmill, particularly this past week, until her knee felt like it would explode. “I like to run. . . .”
“. . . from my problems,” she added under her breath. Across the table Gregory smirked, even though he appeared to be fully engaged in a discussion with the Robinsons.
“Maybe one day you could drag Vee with you?” Mrs. Von Vorhees suggested. “I think she would enjoy the exercise if she ever gave it a chance.”
Shoving her now empty plate away, Vanessa stood. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced.
“I’ll have to excuse myself, too,” Gregory said suddenly, grabbing his phone. “See what’s happening with my dad. . . .”
“Send my regards to Trisha!” Mrs. Von Vorhees called after him—Trisha being, presumably, the stepmother. “She’s really very naturally pretty,” she added, nodding at Vanessa’s retreating back when she and Callie were virtually alone. “If she would only take better care of herself . . . Spend a little less time shopping and a little more at the gym . . .”
Callie was silent.
“I know you think I’m being hard on her,” Mrs. Von Vorhees continued, “but I’m only telling her the things that I wish somebody had told me when I was her age. Why, even that Dana girl has a boyfriend, and I worry—”
“Vanessa has a boyfriend,” Callie interjected, confused.
“She—she does?” Mrs. Von Vorhees asked.
Whoops. Looks like the fact that she and Callie were no longer “besties” wasn’t the only thing Vee had been keeping secret.
“She didn’t tell you?” Callie asked.
“No,” said Mrs. Von Vorhees, her delight seeming to only slightly outweigh her hurt. “What’s his name? Is it serious?”
“I’m not sure how serious it is,” Callie said, “but his name’s Tyler Green, and he’s one of Clint’s roommates.”
“Tyler Green; Tyler Green,” Mrs. Von Vorhees repeated, and Callie got the distinct impression that she was memorizing it for the purposes of Googling him later: like mother, like daughter. “The two of you, dating the two of them—well, isn’t that lovely!”
Oh yeah, real lovely.
“Could you—could you not mention to Vanessa that I told you?” Callie entreated Mrs. Von Vorhees. “She probably, er, wants to surprise you when she’s ready.”
“Certainly, dear; it’ll be our little secret.”
Good.
“Though I do sometimes worry about the sort of things that she’s been hiding from me . . .” Mrs. Von Vorhees mused.
Sounds like maybe you should be, Callie thought. Suddenly she felt incredibly grateful for her parents. While there were certainly things that she could never in a million years confide in them (i.e., a certain X-rated tape: definitely due in part to the fact that her dad would go to jail for murdering Evan), she still kept them reasonably informed, and knew she could always go to them with a problem and expect them to be supportive instead of tearing her down.
Finding her dad’s hand under the table, she squeezed it and he squeezed back.
“It’s just been so hard on her these past few months,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said with a sigh. “What with her father moving out and now the divorce proceedings underway.”
Callie nearly choked on her dessert. “Wh—what?”
“I know that maybe this isn’t the proper place, but I just wanted to thank you for being here for her this year. It’s nice to know she has a friend she can count on while her father’s off doing—things that are inappropriate to say at the dinner table.”
Callie’s eyes were wide with shock.
“I shouldn’t have said that!” Mrs. Von Vorhees muttered, looking around to make sure no one had heard. “I’m sorry. You will look out for her, though, won’t you?”
Callie nodded. Her stomach plummeted while she replayed every nasty thing she’d said to Vanessa up until the moment she’d found her crying on the bathroom floor, when Callie had assumed the problem was Tyler-related instead of something much, much bigger.
“I’ll do the best I can,” she promised Vanessa’s mother as both Gregory and Vanessa reentered the dining hall. “My parents are divorced, too, you know,” she added in a whisper. “Almost five years now.”
“Really?” asked Mrs. Von Vorhees, giving Callie’s father another appraising glance.
“They’re still completely obsessed with each other,” Callie added hastily. It wasn’t a total lie: her mom had been known to e-mail, and now to call, her father frequently in matters where their baby was concerned.
“Hmm . . .” Mrs. Von Vorhees murmured. “Sweetheart, are you feeling all right?” she added to Vanessa, who had just plopped back into her chair looking pale-faced and sick.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Can we please get out of here now?”
“Well, I was so looking forward to catching up with Trish,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said reluctantly, eyeing Gregory. “She’s missed the last two Committee meetings. . . .”
“I just spoke with them,” Gregory said. “Unfortunately it looks like they won’t be able to make it after all.”
“Oh, how tragic,” Mrs. Von Vorhees replied. “Well, next time you speak with her, would you mind mentioning that we haven’t received her checks for the past two months either? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s for The Children,” she finished.
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” said Gregory, standing although he’d only just sat down. “I should get going, too. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Von Vorhees. And you as well, Dr. Andrews—Thomas,” he added, shaking his hand again.
“A real pleasure, Gregory,” her father said.
After cappuccinos and more small talk among the roommates’ parents, the dinner finally drew to a close.
“That’s a great group of friends you’ve got back there, Calbear,” her father said as he and Callie wound their way back to Wigglesworth. “Dana seems like she’s got a good head on her shoulders and Matthew . . . and that Gregory!”
“Yeah,” said Callie. That Gregory. He’d put on a pretty good show for the grown-ups, but she’d still detected hints of his bad mood at several points during dinner. Maybe when the weekend was over she’d finally have a chance to ask him—as a friend—if something was wrong.
“And the other two—the foreign ones—they’re hilarious. Renee, that little one’s older sister, seems particularly impressive. . . .”
“Mimi’s impressive, too,” Callie said defensively.
“They were all impressive,” her dad agreed. “I had no idea that you and Vanessa were so close!”
You and me both.
“You must be tired,” he added, watching her yawn.
“Kind of,” she admitted. “But I’m going to try to cram in some work before bedtime.”
“On a Saturday night?” he asked.
Welcome to my life. “Yeah, well, you know, there’s only one week left until spring break so . . .” She shrugged.
“Proud of you, kiddo,” he said, mussing up her hair.
“Proud of you, too, Dad,” she mumbled back, throwing her arms around his waist with such force that he stumbled backward.
“Whoa,” he said with a laugh. “If I’d known you missed me so much, I would have visited sooner!”
“’Course I miss you,” she mumbled. “Every day. Mom, too.”
“Speak of the devil, I think she’s calling me right now. . . . Uh-oh, looks like the third time tonight. I’d better take this,” he said. “See you tomorrow morning?”
“Yep!”
“Theresa?” he said into his phone, wandering away. “Yes, hi. . . . Fine. . . . How are you?
. . . Yes, I remembered to ask about the boyfriend. . . . No, I did not get a picture. . . . Yes, I remembered how to work the button. . . . No, nothing embarrassing . . .”
Callie laughed and shook her head before opening the door to her entryway. “Tell her I love her and that I’ll call her tomorrow!” she yelled after him. Turning, her dad waved. Then he disappeared down the stone path that led out onto Massachusetts Avenue.
When Callie reached the common room, Mimi and Dana were already inside. Mimi lay sprawled across the couch with one arm thrown over her forehead like she had just survived a war, and even Dana looked a little shell-shocked from where she sat in the overstuffed armchair.
“Mon dieu, what a nightmare,” Mimi muttered, letting forth a gigantic sigh.
“You might say it was a bit . . . intense,” Dana agreed, whose parents had spent the entire dinner giving Adam the third degree and reminding them of the promise they had “made to God, their parents, and themselves.”
“At least I will not be seeing Mama or Renee again until the wedding,” Mimi consoled herself. “That is, if my wedding does not happen first. . . .”
“What?” asked Callie.
“Didn’t you hear?” asked Dana, looking reproachfully at Mimi. “Mimi and OK are engaged.”
“It was a joke,” Mimi insisted, sitting up. “Elles ne voulaient pas se taire au sujet de mariage de Renee! De plus, si il y avait une chose,” she cried, holding up one finger, “que je pensais que je pouvais compter sur de ma mère, c’était son racisme! Mais non,” she exclaimed, throwing herself back down on the couch. “Même qui m’a manqué aujourd’hui. J’ai sous-estimé la capacité de ma mère au sens où la royauté est dans la salle. Il s’agit d’un sixième sens avec elle!”
“What . . .” Callie began.
“We are considering a winter ceremony,” Mimi said dolefully, covering her eyes with her hands. “After Renee’s in June, bien sûr!”
“Well,” said Dana. “I should think you learned your lesson: that lying can seriously backfire.”
“Can I be a bridesmaid?” Callie asked, giggling.
