Reception Read online

  Another rapping and I went over to the door and leaned my head against it, my breathing coming in long, steady gasps. I could hear my heart ease down.

  “Ansley? Are you there?”

  I lightly touched the door, feeling its chilly graininess under the pads of my fingers. Solidity, Leon. Right there.

  “We’ve gracious hosts, Ansley. They’d like to see you at some point.” The chilly disappointment was evident in my father’s tone. “I suggest you get yourself together. Right now.”

  It was enough for me right then, right there. I slid the deadbolt aside and pulled open the door, instantly saturating everything in a sheen of blinding, white hot light. I shielded my eyes with a shaky hand, squinting at him.

  I’d not seen him since the engagement party, and it surprised me that even though it had only been a year, he’d grown much greyer, much more haggard, less his dapper, gentlemanly self. It was me, I was sure of it. I’d done that to him. My issues. My sorry state. His linen suit was rumpled, his dress shoes dull from an evident lack of a routine shine job. Even his beard, usually so neatly trimmed, was thatchy and uneven. He seemed smaller, too, like he’d shrunk some in the wash, creased and crinkled.

  He also smelled of stale cigars. It wasn’t like him.

  He would never have lost sight of himself like that. Shay had learned to keep herself trim and together by paying close attention to him, following in his shadow. I wondered what she thought of him now and what she must’ve really thought of me for doing that to him.

  It was me, wasn’t it?

  Or was it the strain of letting his sparkling youngest go, watching her set off on a new path with a beau in tow?

  Or was there something I’d not been told? That could easily be a possibility. Lately, I’d often been left out of the proverbial loop due to my change in residency, so to speak, never mind the fact that my father had paid quite a bit of money for me to stay there, quite a bit of money for all of it.

  “Hi, Dad.” Routine civility. Not like I had a choice in the matter. He paid for a lot of things, including the cushy wedding digs, exposed wiring and all.

  He gave me a long once over, his lips tightening in disapproval, and I realized how I must’ve looked to him, schlubby tee, no bra, cutoffs, face puffy, hair everywhere. I realized, and as it normally went, I didn’t care.

  “Get yourself together,” he said. “This isn’t a vacation. It’s important that you’re present for your sister during her wedding day.”

  “The wedding’s not until seven. And it’s not like she asked me to be maid of honor. I just have to get my hair done, put on a fancy dress, and then spend the evening being delightful, looking like I give a shit about everything, right?”

  He froze, unable to speak. I didn’t get pleasure out of being blunt with the guy, but once in awhile, it put things in perspective for him, the realization that his daughter – that “other” one – had formed a life outside of his understanding and had…well, she’d been through some hell. Whether or not it had been “self-inflicted,” as he’d often reminded me, was entirely open to interpretation.

  Personally, I believe we don’t choose whom we fall in love with and get antsy over. I don’t see how anything like that could be considered “self-inflicted.”

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t leave it like that with him. We’d never bond, but at least, I could be kind, I suppose. “You know I’m cranky when I get up in the morning. There was this ongoing joke at the center that my best days were ones when I wasn’t on early shift duty in the cafeteria because they’d have us up at six—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “And you’re not to talk about it while you’re here. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not—Are you kidding me? You’re kidding, right? Shay’s apparently been telling everybody about it. I’d be surprised if she hadn’t said anything about it to the staff here, too. Aren’t they Nathan’s friends as well?”

  Dad held up a hand, shaking his head at me. “I said I don’t want to hear it. Now straighten yourself up, put on some nicer clothes, and be so kind as to make an appearance before breakfast is cleared away. You can manage that, can’t you?”

  And with that, he disappeared back into the white sunlight, huffing away to tend to groomsmen, reluctantly hang out with fellow father-in-law, or whatever it was fathers do during a wedding day. I immediately felt right at home because once more, Shay was in the clear, and I would get the prodigal daughter treatment as I had for a good while since.

  I kept my hand up, shielding my eyes from the light as I took a look around at where we’d landed, where the wedding would actually be held. It hadn’t been particularly helpful to come at night. Not much of a view then. Not necessarily much of a view of civilization in the daylight either. There were several connected casitas leading down the cobblestone drive towards a little chapel and a wide fountain lined with colorful tiles, a fountain that was, surprisingly, active and burbling. I couldn’t see past it as the drive curved down the hill. In the distance, ruddy brown hills sloped up and down in sporadic peaks, edging the dusty landscape. Bits of green sprinkled along the crests, reminding us that the drought was seemingly slowly ending but that it would still take quite a bit of time to come close to undoing the damage. The air was hot, promising a sweltering afternoon and evening, not exactly an ideal time for a wedding in the countryside.

  To Shay though, it didn’t matter. The sooner she could get hitched, the better. I never understood what the rush to anything so drastic was all about. I suppose it would make sense if a baby was on the way or if time was just slipping away quickly for the couple, but Shay was young and making a good living for herself. She’d mentioned wanting to have a family, babies and such, but only recently since she and Nathan had gotten serious.

  I had to remind myself that Shay was as conventional as everyone else, unable to think and then act differently, away from the herd. Small-town sensibilities and expectations, they tended to stick.

  It wasn’t like I’d not thought of what it would be like to marry Simon. Not only that, but there had to have been that sort of conventionality in me for me to have been so angry, so batshit crazy, about his having married another woman.

  I often felt as empty as the land around me. I didn’t have a place. I didn’t have any concrete hopes and dreams anymore. I didn’t have aspirations or goals. All I knew was that I’d felt more at home, the happiest, with other troubled misfits, in a rehab facility of all places.

  The far-off sound of a plane coming from somewhere in the wide, open landscape snapped me out of my daze, reminding me that my immediate goal was to get the wedding shit over and done with so that I could start again, wherever and whatever that was.

  #

  I managed to swipe a mini muffin and an overripe banana from the leftovers at the breakfast buffet in the dining hall. Dad had been right. The staff was a stickler for time, so they’d already started piling dirty dishes and buffet platters onto carts, readying them to be swept off to the kitchen. I’d not brought much in the way of proper casual attire, according to what I saw of the other guests lingering there in clusters at some of the tables that had been set up specifically for the event. Apparently, morning was for chunky jewelry and bright, crisp summer dresses, linen suits or dress shirts and chinos. It was not for a button-down shirtdress (“Wear something button-down, Tits McGoo, so you won’t mess up the ‘do,” Shay had nagged on the phone days beforehand) accessorized with thrift store leather belt, $5 flip flops, and my beat up bag. My bag was kind of weighing down my already achy shoulder and neck with its extra load of phone charger and old-fashioned address book (I never trusted storing vital info in a phone that was proven quite often to die during the worst possible times). Nevertheless, I was going to find an adequate place to charge my phone, even if I had to do it in someone’s car.

  A towering, flapping woman in a flowy turquoise dress, her wrists loaded with shiny gold bangles, flitted from table to table, chittering and
pointing things out to a sour-faced girl in standard black-trousers-and-white-blouse waitstaff attire, who seemed to be there to note whatever was wrong, according to the swan. Flower arrangements were plucked and fluffed; place cards were laid out, ready to be set in their proper spots once breakfast was finished; chairs were rearranged; the antler-adorned chandeliers were dusted free of cobwebs and on and on.

  While I was gathering up my meager breakfast, someone sidled up from behind, and I could feel hot breath on my neck. “Hay-lo, Ansley Boone. Been a long time, girl.” The voice, darkly husky, laced with something toxic. The musky tang of Old Spice and smoked meat that lingered there. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want the reminder that he was actually going to marry to my little sister.

  “Hey, Nate. How’s it hangin’?” I said and then popped the mini-muffin into my mouth. Blueberry, tartly sweet, not my favorite, but I was hungry, and it eased the tension happening, pounding there in my head. Low blood sugar, high tension. Answering the guy, well, I didn’t care, but for Shay, I’d keep it civil while scarfing down my breakfast.

  Nathan’s arm went around me, deliberately brushing against my waist as his hand grasped the handle of the pitcher of orange juice. “Pardon me, little lady, while I partake in a beverage,” he said with a low chuckle. He slid up beside me, loudly clearing his throat as he pretended to be interested in the act of pouring juice into a plastic cup.

  I took a step back. My body was growing uncomfortably hot and itchy. “So,” I said, in mid chew, and then swallowing down the last bit of sticky muffin, “Shay says you’ve relieved her of her vegetarian habit. Good going, you.” I snatched up a napkin from the stack and wiped my mouth with it.

  Nathan tossed back his drink and then smacked his lips loudly. Then he made a show of tossing his cup into a nearby wastebasket. “She does like her meat tender n’ juicy,” he said, turning back to me with a wolfish grin. “Who would’ve thought that angel would just go to town on a choice cut? Like she’d been deprived all her life of a tasty piece of rump.”

  I wasn’t about to play, take the bait, whathaveyou. That was what he did when Shay wasn’t around. He was like a frat boy who’d consistently failed to graduate from adulting school. Luckily, I didn’t have to hear anymore from him because Delia Card, his mother, came up from behind him, silently, coolly, in a musky, floral cloud of Chanel No. 5. She placed a hand on Nathan’s arm, signaling him to straighten. Nathan cleared his throat and faced his mother, kissing her on the cheek, ever the good son.

  “Your friends are growing restless, my love,” she said, keeping her ice queen gaze locked with his. “You boys should take up the Dughalls’ offer of a trip into town. We’re in need of more table wine. Your groomsmen’s gifts should be ready to pick up as well.”

  He smiled warmly at her, an act that was disarmingly human of him. “As long as they don’t drink without me, we’re good. Thank you for letting me know, beautiful,” he said and kissed her squarely on the lips.

  As if I hadn’t gagged enough already since arriving there.

  Delia pried him away, laughing up at him in a voice rich with champagne bubbles. “The ladies have hair appointments in a little while, so you and your friends make do in town without us. Now off you get,” she said, shoving playfully at him, urging him towards the door.

  Nathan smirked once more at us before he headed out of the dining hall. And Delia turned into me, beaming, while I set down my banana on a nearby table, one that had apparently been recently occupied judging from the used cutlery and wadded paper napkins there. Delia then took my hands in her own. Hers were dry and cold. Her bony thumbs rubbed at my palms, the thumbnails gently scratching.

  “How are you doing, Ansley?” she asked. “Your sister says you’re…renewed from your facility stay. It’s good, yes? I’m not all that familiar.”

  I wanted to bolt. Right then. Right there. Fuck the wedding. But the pull of Delia’s magnetic gaze, and her surprisingly strong grip, kept me there, locked firmly in place.

  You’re on display, but you can own this. Educate, Leon whispered.

  I offered Delia what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. “Yeah, I’m learning how to make my withdrawal symptoms moderately bearable. I couldn’t have come otherwise. When you’ve been medicated like that, you don’t just quit cold turkey. You can’t stop without some help.”

  “You know, there was once a situation with one of Rex’s many wayward cousins,” she said, almost deep in thought. “Heroin, or something awful like that. He’d been in and out of methadone clinics, rehabilitation facilities, various hospitals… In the end, he took his own life. Jumped from the 15th floor of his brother’s workplace. Cruel to come to such desperate finality, affecting everyone he’d ever loved, especially his own children. He had three little ones who never really knew him. I think they’re here with their grandmother and mother. You should meet their mother. I’m sure she can provide you with much needed empathy.”

  I never know how to react to those kinds of examples offered in sympathy, what others consider a “parallel” situation. They rarely ever are. As for meeting up with a widow just to commiserate about something so tragic, never mind something that has nothing to do with my own situation, well. I just nodded at Delia, let out a little murmur. Nothing comprehensible, no words to misconstrue. As I’ve learned, it’s all I can ever do in response.

  A fly buzzed around Delia’s carefully sculpted and pinned updo, hovering there, aiming for a landing spot. A friend joined him, and Delia made a face, creasing her glossy skin in strange places, creating fresh grooves she’d undoubtedly inject at some point. She released one of my hands to swat the pests away, and all of the blood rushed back into my hand to my fingertips, making it tingle all over in tiny sparks.

  She chuckled, a dry rasp of a sound. “This is what happens when one ventures out in the heartland. Carcasses attracting all sorts of pests. Bound to be plenty in this awful place.”

  I laughed along with her, a polite response I suppose. Maybe a little in agreement. At the very least, we had something in common: We both hated the resort.

  Still, Delia’s thumbnail from her other hand dug into the center of my palm, burning it. I couldn’t think of a kinder way to pull away though, so I gritted my teeth through the pain. She gripped it tightly, but her gaze was honed in on someone behind me. She smiled broadly and gave a little wave with her free hand.

  “Sweet girl, look at you there. That hair and dress, so lovely. You and your mother have impeccable taste,” she said, beckoning, her voice suddenly caramelized and sticky. “Your sister’s been sharing. Such fortitude and courage. You’re lucky to have each other through this. Quite a time to celebrate new livelihoods, new beginnings.”

  Shay came up beside me and put an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me into her. She was radiant in a daisy-patterned sundress I’d not seen before. Then again, it’s not like I would’ve recognized her as my sister anyhow. These people, they’d done what I’d failed to do as her older sister, great role model that I am. As for the Cards, they’d obviously turned her from low end casual, to high-end chic.

  She grinned at me, breaking the spell. Back to the girl I knew well, if only for a moment. “Yeah, I mean, I wish we would’ve known more about what was going on with her, but Ans…She’s never been the type of girl to let anyone in that easily.”

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. It’s not like I wouldn’t have said anything. They all had to know some pertinent details, right? Otherwise, I would’ve spent time in county prison rather than simply overnight in jail. She knew that. Our family had just never been the kind to air out emotional difficulties with one another, not until lately.

  The momentary distraction my sister caused allowed for me to twist my hand from Delia’s grasp, scratching the palm roughly in the process. When I glanced down at it, I saw that blood had started to well up in a crooked line down my palm. She’d actually broken the skin there. I grabbed for a paper napk
in on one of the buffet tables. At least it would give me an excuse to move away from Delia, who was cooing over Shay’s dress, having Shay turn this way and that so that she could admire it from all angles.

  I blotted at the scratch and then squeezed my palm, watching the blood seep, strawberry splotches forming on the napkin. I don’t know what came over me then. I was trembling and feeling hollow. I think it was a strange dose of curiosity, something pulsing and lingering there inside of me, egging me to bring the napkin to my nose and take a whiff. The coppery scent of it, of me, usually sent me gagging to the nearest toilet, but in that moment there, while Delia and Shay chattered about patterns and designers, dresses and fluff, all I wanted to do was inhale into my napkin, smelling myself, what made me, me.

  Shay caught me smelling my napkin and made a face. Her nose wrinkled, her gaze went flinty. She subtly shook her head at me, mouthing a perfectly rounded “What the fuck,” all the while she kept up her conversation with Delia. Delia was beckoning for a group of people who were collecting themselves from one of the dining tables, so she didn’t notice that Shay was paying only the slightest bit of attention to her. I quickly crumbled the bloodied napkin and tossed it into the trash bin near the utility table, feeling my face and neck go hot. If I could have traveled back to that point in time as an observer rather than a participant, I wonder if I would’ve been repulsed by my actions because looking back at it now, I couldn’t say what exactly had come over me, why the hell, what the hell possessed me to do that. I’d like to blame the withdrawal symptoms, but I don’t think—I don’t think madness—is anywhere on the list.

  It was bonkers of me.

  Even still, my headache had returned, pounding away; my heart was doing an unwelcome dance routine in my chest, and I felt my stomach twist and wring itself. So, naturally, in the moment, then and there, I chalked my actions up to side effects.