Page 52 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Gen

The china on my mother’s long dining room table is pristine as Gerta, Ken’s housekeeper who I’ve grown rather fond of during these awkward family gatherings, arranges the name cards in the center of each plate. I watch as she sets mine down and glimpse at the next one in her hand.

William Chapman

I pluck it off the plate she’s gingerly set it on, staring at it in the palm of my hand long enough for her to notice.

“Is Mr. Chapman not joining us this year?” A curious look sits at the forefront of her gaze and tears spring to my eyes, both sad and relieved I don’t have to see him this year.

I almost want to laugh at the formality of the question.

Will has come for every Thanksgiving since eighth grade, more constant than the revolving door of stepfathers who graced the head of whatever table we found ourselves at.

I crumble the paper in my fist, meeting her gaze and hardening my jaw .

“No, not this year.”

My mother flies through the door, hair still in rollers as she narrows her eyes at Gerta.

“I don’t believe Ken is paying you to socialize with my daughter.

Please finish the table setting.” Gerta looks down and quickly fills Will’s place with a name I don’t recognize, the act sending the chill of loneliness deep into my bones.

My mother’s glare moves to me as she sizes up what I’m currently wearing: sweatpants and an Astor Hill Athletics hoodie.

Obviously, I’m planning on changing ahead of dinner but the grimace sitting on my mother’s prim face almost makes me wish I wasn’t.

“I laid out a dress for you,” she says, her tone dripping with disgust and I sigh, not having the patience to put up with her.

“Thank you, maman.” I grind my teeth, turning back into the hallway I just entered from.

“And make sure to do something with that bird's nest! Tes cheveux sont en désordre!” I choose to ignore her as I march into the guest room my mother and Ken have me set up in. His home is probably my favorite of the several I’ve found myself in over the years.

There’s a coziness to it even though it is massive.

Maybe it’s the warm lighting, the lived in furniture, or simply the fact that I don’t totally despise Ken.

He’s kind to my mom, and god knows he wants to have some sort of pseudo father/daughter relationship with me, paying for anything I’ve even suggested wanting over the past few years.

I give it a year before my mother fucks it up.

I pull the silk garment off the bed, the fabric having no stretch, and I can tell that it’s going to fit just a little too snug, the way almost everything my mother buys me does. I sigh, pulling it over my head and stand in the mirror .

I wish Grant was here.

The thought crashes into me for what feels like the millionth time today. Every thought somehow brings me back to him, makes me miss him more.

I grab my phone off the dresser to my left and flip to our messages.

I start to type but realize I’ve already said everything there is to say.

I’ve said sorry. I’ve told him that I choose him.

That I love him. The ball is in his court and from where I’m standing, he seems to want nothing to do with it.

Like the idea of us repulses him now. I try to block the image of him on the that basketball court out of my mind, the way he couldn’t even look at me.

The pain slices me from the inside and I quickly click over to the group chat Sloane started at the beginning of break, desperate to think of anything else.

Happy Thanksgiving Please tell me that I’m not the only one contemplating running away from home this evening.

I sit on the bed behind me, the fabric of the dress tugging against my skin and I start to worry that if I even smell the food in the dining room, the dress will rip.

Sloane

I’m drunk, so not all is lost

Olivia

I have news. You’ll never guess who I’m with…

Jean

Who? Who? Who???

Sloane

Please we are on the edge of our eats!!! !

I smirk down at my phone, thankful that this weird little makeshift friend group has come together when I needed it most. Something shifted after I told Olivia the truth.

Sloane would say she had to pull teeth to get me to even talk to Liv, but after she begged me to ambush her the other night, something clicked between us.

We started off cordial, but at some point it felt like the ice between us melted.

Like we realized we have no reason to not to like each other, and every reason to.

I even helped her pack for break after Ian broke the story in the Astor Hill’s paper about her crazy insane love triangle, quietly thanking god that it kept his prying eyes off Grant and I.

Olivia

Ben

Jean

YASSSSS bitch I knew he’d come crawling back.

Olivia

I suck in my stomach taking myself in via the full length mirror in my room. Then I let out the breath, watching how the dress pulls taught.

Fuck this.

I move to my suitcase, pulling out a sweater and a pair of dark washed jeans—an outfit that is definitely not formal enough for the occasion, but much more my speed and doesn’t feel like being stuffed in a sausage casing.

I replace the dress, feeling much more myself, before going downstairs to join the others.

The entire dining room is full of people, a few who I’ve met in the past during social events held by the northeastern elite, but mostly people I’ve never seen in my life.

“You’re underdressed.” I hear a deep, rough voice beside me and turn to see Davis, Ken’s one and only son.

He’s a big shot lawyer in New York, already wildly successful at thirty two, thirty three?

I’ve only spoken to him in passing, once at our parents’ wedding, and then once last Christmas, to which he had brought some gorgeous model who talked my mother’s ear off.

Safe to say, she was less than thrilled.

He’s giving me a knowing grin and I laugh for the first time since being here.

“Yes well, after years of having to order my dance uniforms, my mother still manages to forget my size.”

“Ah.” He takes a sip of the champagne flute he’s holding, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well knowing Aurélie I will prepare myself for World War III.” He winks, starting to walk toward his seat.

“Let me know if you need back up.” He mocks a salute and I roll my eyes, wishing my mother sat us closer together.

None of my stepfathers in the past have had children; my mother made it a rule in her hunt for the perfect bachelor.

I always assumed it was so she would be the only heir to their fortune.

Maybe if I grew up with Davis, or had another sibling all these years I wouldn’t have leaned so hard on Will.

Maybe having someone on my side the way Grant had Sloane would’ve made everything hurt a little less.

I find my seat and glance over at the young boy sitting beside me, the seat originally meant for Will.

He’s hiding a Nintendo Switch under the table and I can’t help but remember the times Will would bring his Gameboy and we’d pass it back and forth under the veil of the table cloth.

I bite the inside of my cheek, letting my eyes refocus on the place setting in front of me only to meet the glare of my mother.

Her eyes are pinched and I can tell she wants to scream.

Can see the fire rising, like it might consume her.

“Genevieve,” she says, through clenched teeth. “Where is your dress?” She grips her champagne flute, her knuckles turning white. For a second I hope it breaks under her grip, shattering everywhere, causing a scene.

“It didn’t fit,” I say through my own teeth.

“How? I bought a size bigger. Your diet is no good.” She shakes her head, her lips turning downward and I see the people around us trying to look like they aren’t completely eavesdropping.

“Mother, I’ve been the same size for over five years…” My voice trembles, nausea roils in my stomach and my whole body feels warm. She squints her eyes, clearly annoyed I’m fighting back.

“This can’t be true. Look at you. You're bursting!” She shakes her head and I see the woman beside her widen her eyes to her husband. He gives me a pitying look and I instantly want to run, the room feeling too small, too crowded.

“That’s enough, Aurélie,” Ken says softly, resting his hand on her shoulder and I watch her jaw harden, the resentment she’s built up over the years toward me on full display.

“I am her mother—who else will tell her she is getting fat, if not me?” Her words have a bite and I fix my eyes on my silverware, refusing to let her see the tears now threatening to spill over.

“They will not let you dance like this,” she hisses.

“Your entire career will be taken from you like that.” She snaps loudly enough that a hush falls over our half of the dining table, and I feel the rage building, rage I’ve had buried inside me all these years.

For all the times she pretended my dad didn’t exist. Used these men no matter if they were good or not, for their wealth and status.

Let men like Gary ogle me and do nothing to protect me, for fear they may stop funneling the never ending stream of cash she seemed to always have at her disposal.

“Is that what happened to you?” My voice is quiet but clear. She stares at me for a second, not quite hearing.

“What?” Her posture is tense, anger radiating from her.

“Is that what happened to you ? Why you seem to be living vicariously through your daughter? You blame me, don’t you?

You got pregnant and your career ended.” Shock reverberates through her, and I watch Ken softly squeeze her shoulder, warning her to pull back, to not escalate this situation further.