Oh there it is. Plain as day. The catch.
Revealed during lunch, just as my plate is placed in front of me and I contemplate asking the server how I'm supposed to eat what I thought was going to be a Reuben sandwich and some fries and instead is some sort of deconstructed essence of bread possibly with a drizzle of something precious and a curlicue piece of carrot on top. The fries are organized vertically, in a glass. There are eight of them.
This is not food, this is sculpture and I don't know why in the hell Caleb can't just take me to A&W like all the others and then I can horrify him with how positively fast I can pound back a bag full of giant salted onion rings and still walk out of the restaurant under my own power.
I pull out a french fry and bite into it suspiciously and he starts to talk, only I missed the beginning of his thoughts because with great dismay I realize the fries are parsnips because the menu was in a different language so I merely pointed at the list provided and hoped instead of asking because when I ask it's almost as if I am giving the staff license to spout contempt. And I wasn't about to let him order or he would be all champagne and caviar on me and I can't eat those things for lunch anymore. Too rich. Too much.
Sort of like Caleb.
But parsnips are the unholiest of vegetables, in my big list of what vegetables are good and what ones should just be ignored, avoided or outrun entirely.
Suddenly I catch him saying ....and what has he done for you recently except cause more strife?
Oh...WHAT? You want to know what he's done for me.
If he isn't good for you or to you, then what is the point exactly?
This is not your business.
Sure it is. You're the mother of my-
Leave Henry out of this.
He looks down at his napkin. He has finished his carrot curl and whatever abomination of a vegetable he was given. I apologize. I want to know that you are being looked after and that you are happy. Aside from the boys coming to the new house, and it being almost summer, I mean. If Lochlan can't find his common ground with Ben anymore than that puts an extraordinary amount of stress on you. If he can't make an effort-
He's fine. I lie.
How fine?
Fine.
I see. Smile and nod, right, Bridget?
I smile at him. God, I'm such a brat. The server comes back and I tell her to take my plate. She frowns and I ignore her. Caleb makes a note of my one parsnip bite of lunch and frowns too. Great. Frowny faces all around. Parsnips bring everybody down.
I see how you place all blame squarely on one and not the other.
Ben is justified in-
What? This was Ben's idea! Ben's bright ideas rise and set with the fucking sun, don't they? As long as he's shining everything's a go, one too many bad days and everything is off. We can't live like that. I had to make a stand.
You could make a bigger stand, Bridget. You could end their contest. You could have the happiness you deserve. He reaches out and touches my face. You could show a little gratitude for the life you have been given.
I stop arguing and nod. I get it now. We're not going to mince words forever. Some of them must be swallowed whole. The house he bought is going to cost me dearly.
Caleb reaches into his breast pocket and removes a small deep-grey envelope. He places it in front of me. There is a small letter b engraved on the front. Great. He special-orders his stationery now.
I pick it up and tuck it into my handbag. He stands. I know. You have to go. Read this one after your dinner party. Please. You know where I'll be.
