“Something happened yesterday.” I tell her the incidences of the previous night.
“So, what are you gonna do?” she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.
“I have to respect Keith’s wishes, Em. He’s right. Given my current employment status, I can’t get attached to Mere and leave in three weeks.” My gaze lands on the bare page of my sketchbook.
“So, you’ve already decided that you’re going to return?” she asks in a serious voice.
“It’s not my decision.” No. It’s my incompetence.
“But the way you have accepted the fact that you’re going to leave this house, seems you’re already waiting for the great layoff.”
Hearing her flat words, my body tenses. “Hey, what’s with that tone? I’m trying to be sensible here. How can I control what Vanessa decides in three weeks?”
“Really! You’re telling me Vanessa Hilbert, who took one look at your designs and hired you without any real experience, will fire you?”
“It’s not so easy.” My head aches as I think more and more about this.
“It was never meant to be easy, Clem. You know, I always say things happen for a reason. You are there, in that house, in St. Peppers for a reason. Don’t let self-doubt or Keith’s fear weaken your purpose.”
She pauses, giving me a chance to absorb her words.
“Merida likes your company. You know better than anyone that parents don’t always make the best decisions for children. Your mother wants you to live in Cherrywood, marry into a rich, wealthy family, and run one of your family’s establishments. She thinks a life like your sister’s is the best thing for you. So why can’t Keith be wrong?”
I realize this is the first time she has said Keith’s name, and maybe this is the first time when Em has ever sounded so serious.
“A girl needs a father and a mother, Clem. Somedays she’ll need a female presence more than her dad in her life. You have both. You have your gram, your brother, your sister, even in some ways your mom. Mere is alone. Keith is too depressed in his own head.”
“How do you know that? I never said anything about him being depressed.” Her words have filled me with guilt and grief. I hate the feeling of nausea that hits me, imagining Merida alone in her room.
“A daughter doesn’t say chasing a ghost to her dad on a whim, Clem. Something isn’t right there. And if you can fix it by just being you, shouldn’t you do it? Isn’t caring for others, bringing them joy, one of the reasons you chose to be a designer for wedding and party dresses?”
My heart flutters into a void. It was exactly the reason. Listening to people squeal in happiness, watching as their dream comes true through my hands, has always been the most amazing and rewarding part of my work.
That’s also the reason why I’m struggling so much with this prom dress. It’s being made for a show. I don’t know the personality, the dream of the person, who’ll buy it.
Em’s light coughing brings my attention back to our conversation.
“This feels like an intrusion, Em. I don’t want to hurt or betray Keith.”
Her voice fills with the familiar, affectionate lilt. “Listen to your heart, Clem. You’ll know what’s right.”
13
KEITH
A week has gone by since I confronted Clementine, and to say things in my house have returned to how they were before her arrival would be an understatement. Mere hasn’t spoken to me since that night.
As every other morning in the past days, my sleep breaks at five a.m. But it’s not Clementine tiptoeing in the kitchen, it’s the silence. For a second I feel bad for her, but the feeling doesn’t last long. She crossed a line that night. I’d warned her of Mere getting too attached to her, and if my daughter’s reaction is any indication, my worries were justified.
A few hours later, I’m coming out of the shower when I hear the front door shut. I shift the window curtain to see Mere with her schoolbag. She’s again leaving early to avoid me.
My fists hit the window frame in disappointment as my headache finds its way back to me after a two-week-long break.
After getting dressed, I gather my things from the bedroom and arrange everything on the dining table. It irks me to not see Mere’s empty cereal bowl in the sink. Tonight, I’ll talk to her. This is not how we function. She needs to talk to me and eat her breakfast.
When I start the coffee machine, it again returns my attention to Clementine. I shake my head. It’s just been a handful of days and this girl is already messing with my head. I’m back to counting the months until she leaves the house.
I’m going through my emails while sipping coffee when my phone rings.