Page 235
Story: Champagne Nights
“That is enough!” she shouted at me. “Your father and I are so disappointed in you.”
“Why, Mother? Because graduating at the top of my class at Yale, running the company with Dad, and doing exactly what you’ve both told me to do my entire life isn’t enough? I don’t love Kirsten. I’m not in love with her, and I never will be. Why can’t you understand that?!” My voice grew in intensity. “You cannot make me love someone!”
“He’s right, Mother. You cannot force us to love the people you want us to,” Addison spoke as she stepped into the room.
“This is none of your concern, Addison. Go to your room,” my mother spoke.
“No. I’m an adult, and you can no longer tell me to go to my room. I’m happy Henry called off the wedding because I don’t like Kirsten. I never have, and I never will.”
I didn’t want her involved, so I needed to stop her.
“Addison, go upstairs, and we’ll talk later,” I softly said to her. “Go on. I’m okay.”
“Actually, I’m going out. Call me later,” she said.
I gave her a nod, and she walked out of the room. After I heard the front door slamming, I turned my attention back to my mother.
“So that’s it?” my mother asked. “You’re choosing that deaf girl over the woman you’ve been with for the past three years?”
“Stop calling Ellie that. Is that how you would have referred to Abigail if she were still alive?”
She went to speak but stopped herself and stared at me with a narrowed eye.
“Is that why you’re so infatuated with that woman? Because of Abigail?”
“No! Of course not! Ellie is a magnificent woman, Mom. My God.” I got up from the couch, slammed back the rest of my scotch, and walked over to the bar.
“She’s not right for this family, and you better never bring her around.”
“Why? Because she doesn’t come from money or from a well-known family? Or is it because she’s deaf? Because if you even hint that’s the?—”
“That is enough, Henry,” she scolded as she got up from the chair. “If you want to continue seeing her, there will be consequences, and you won’t like them. Consider yourself warned.” She walked out of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
ONE MONTH LATER
Henry
I’d barely spoken to my parents the past month. My father was home recovering, and when I’d stop by to see him to give him updates on the company, he would say maybe two words to me. My mother didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I knew they always held grudges. I’d seen it with other family members and with some of their old friends. But I never thought they would do that to their children in a million years.
I opened my eyes and noticed Ellie wasn’t in bed. Looking at the time on my phone, it was two a.m. I got up and walked into the hallway, where I saw the light filter from under the closed door of the room where she painted. When I opened the door, I found her sitting on her stool and softly stroking the canvas with her paintbrush. Walking up behind her, I wrapped my arms around her and softly kissed her neck as she continued to paint. She set down her paintbrush and turned her body around so she was facing me.
“Why are you up?” I asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. It happens sometimes.” The corners of her mouth curved up into a beautiful smile. “Do you want to paint?”
“I don’t know how.” I smiled. “I can paint walls, but that’s about it.”
“I’ll help you.”
She got up from the stool and told me to sit down as she handed me the paintbrush.
“Dip the tip of the brush in the gray paint.”
From behind, she wrapped one arm around me, took my hand that was holding the brush, and lifted it to the canvas. Her hand guided mine as we made prominent waves amongst the blue color that was the sea.
“See. It’s easy,” she spoke.
“Why, Mother? Because graduating at the top of my class at Yale, running the company with Dad, and doing exactly what you’ve both told me to do my entire life isn’t enough? I don’t love Kirsten. I’m not in love with her, and I never will be. Why can’t you understand that?!” My voice grew in intensity. “You cannot make me love someone!”
“He’s right, Mother. You cannot force us to love the people you want us to,” Addison spoke as she stepped into the room.
“This is none of your concern, Addison. Go to your room,” my mother spoke.
“No. I’m an adult, and you can no longer tell me to go to my room. I’m happy Henry called off the wedding because I don’t like Kirsten. I never have, and I never will.”
I didn’t want her involved, so I needed to stop her.
“Addison, go upstairs, and we’ll talk later,” I softly said to her. “Go on. I’m okay.”
“Actually, I’m going out. Call me later,” she said.
I gave her a nod, and she walked out of the room. After I heard the front door slamming, I turned my attention back to my mother.
“So that’s it?” my mother asked. “You’re choosing that deaf girl over the woman you’ve been with for the past three years?”
“Stop calling Ellie that. Is that how you would have referred to Abigail if she were still alive?”
She went to speak but stopped herself and stared at me with a narrowed eye.
“Is that why you’re so infatuated with that woman? Because of Abigail?”
“No! Of course not! Ellie is a magnificent woman, Mom. My God.” I got up from the couch, slammed back the rest of my scotch, and walked over to the bar.
“She’s not right for this family, and you better never bring her around.”
“Why? Because she doesn’t come from money or from a well-known family? Or is it because she’s deaf? Because if you even hint that’s the?—”
“That is enough, Henry,” she scolded as she got up from the chair. “If you want to continue seeing her, there will be consequences, and you won’t like them. Consider yourself warned.” She walked out of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
ONE MONTH LATER
Henry
I’d barely spoken to my parents the past month. My father was home recovering, and when I’d stop by to see him to give him updates on the company, he would say maybe two words to me. My mother didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I knew they always held grudges. I’d seen it with other family members and with some of their old friends. But I never thought they would do that to their children in a million years.
I opened my eyes and noticed Ellie wasn’t in bed. Looking at the time on my phone, it was two a.m. I got up and walked into the hallway, where I saw the light filter from under the closed door of the room where she painted. When I opened the door, I found her sitting on her stool and softly stroking the canvas with her paintbrush. Walking up behind her, I wrapped my arms around her and softly kissed her neck as she continued to paint. She set down her paintbrush and turned her body around so she was facing me.
“Why are you up?” I asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. It happens sometimes.” The corners of her mouth curved up into a beautiful smile. “Do you want to paint?”
“I don’t know how.” I smiled. “I can paint walls, but that’s about it.”
“I’ll help you.”
She got up from the stool and told me to sit down as she handed me the paintbrush.
“Dip the tip of the brush in the gray paint.”
From behind, she wrapped one arm around me, took my hand that was holding the brush, and lifted it to the canvas. Her hand guided mine as we made prominent waves amongst the blue color that was the sea.
“See. It’s easy,” she spoke.
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