After being judged and dismissed my entire life, I tried not to judge others, I truly did. But I doubted even a saint would condone such behavior. The investment banker - who I had just watched walk from the large high rise building - waltzed into a pub across the street and appeared to be hammering pint after pint. I knew for a fact that said investment banker had not called it a day, putting his financial fingers to rest. No. He was on his lunch break, which meant that he would be returning to one of London’s finest banking institutions where he would advise individuals on where next to invest their funds while he was absolutely wasted.
Joshua Zimm sat at an empty table, the sole occupant. After downing three pints, his face grew flushed and heavy and I watched in disdain as he peeled off his checked sweater, allowing his body to breathe a little.
He would be at the gala tonight, as would many others like him. And I would have to sit there and endure the chatter of stock market trades and what the next best shares were to invest in, all the while my cheeks would ache from having to smile politely so damn much.
A light drizzle had begun, but it was light enough that one didn’t need to dive for an umbrella or seek shelter. I breathed in the London air. The place was magnetic - ancient in a way that few cities were. The energy of millenia of its citizens and visitors was embedded in the very cobblestones beneath my boot clad feet. It hummed beneath me. Faintly, but it was there.
I didn’t need to be on this sidewalk enduring British weather, but the alternative of returning to my hotel room to simply be alone kept me rooted on the spot. Not that I sought company either, I just wanted to be around people. To breathe in the city air. To feel the different energies on the street. To squint at big Ben. To be anonymous.
Wasn’t that a fine concept. I could just picture my mother’s stern look of disapproval - a member of the Rand family standing on the sidewalk of London, how preposterous. She would never raise her voice though - no, because ladies never showed their anger. Instead, her disapproval would manifest in a number of other ways.
“Only one croissant, Corinne.”
“Your leotard is looking a little tight.”
The frown of disapproval I glimpsed when she overheard my discussion with our hair stylist about wanting an ombre look. The way her hand wrapped around my forearm as she hissed that it was a “cheap and tacky look, and that we were above that.”
The tusking at my taste in music. The condescending tone used each time I gushed about Summer Camp. The order directed to the maids to burn any band t-shirt I owned. The same line she had drummed into me over and over throughout my upbringing: “It is expected.”
It was suffocating. My chest constricted, threatening to engulf me at the sheer thought of all those expectations.
In a way, the light drizzle on my face was a reminder to myself of what I was - who I truly was. Because those expectations and my beliefs didn’t seem to mix. They were water and oil, and my oil was too thick, too uneven to fit into her world. And so, instead, I hovered above, awkwardly parading around through learned behaviours and practiced responses. That was how I got by in my family’s world.
I pulled my blush pink coat around me tighter. The drizzle had picked up momentum and was now bordering on a light rain. And still, I found it difficult to coax my feet to move. To pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Jeffrey to come and pick me up. Because, of course we had a chauffeur on standby.
I didn’t want to be in London. I didn’t want to be here under my family’s expectations - and attending tonight’s gala event would only make the weight of those expectations greater. In fact, I usually avoided this entire London scene this time of year entirely, coming up with any excuse.
My hair began plastering itself to my head, one strand sticking uncomfortably to my jawline. I sighed in defeat and pulled my phone from my pocket. Jeffrey was there in an instant, as if he had been on standby the entire time as I finally conceded to the rain.
The black sedan idled as Jeffrey stepped out of the car to open the backdoor for me, gesturing that I should hurry under his umbrella. Involuntarily, I took a step backwards - away from those expectations, not yet willing to leave the comfort of the rain. I felt each droplet smack against my skin, drumming against my very soul. The life-force of water itself reverberated through me. My arms hovered beside me, and I couldn't help but give Jeffrey a small smile as I raised them above my head and twirled beneath the downpour. My blush jacket was weighted down from all the water, but I didn't care. I had the overwhelming urge to stomp in the water and simply remain there to play. Instead, beneath my flourished twirl, I bid the stormy sky farewell, smoothed down my cloak, and slid onto the cool caramel leather seats of the back of the black sedan, wholly aware that rain droplets were rolling off of me as I sat there, shivering uncomfortably in the AC. Why the hell Jeff had the AC on in this type of weather was beyond me.
“Your mother has requested that you attend High Tea this afternoon at The Hamilton,” Jeff’s voice rumbled over the smooth sounds of Mozart.
I dropped my head back against the leather headrest and shut my eyes. She couldn’t just wait to see me at the actual gala event. No, now we had to have High Tea first. The air grew thinner, my breathing shallow, my head dizzy as those expectations pressed upon me.
Jeffrey didn’t require a response. I mean, it’s not like I could say no anyway. So I just sat there with my wet hair pressed against the headrest and coaxed myself to take deep breaths. Air filled my lungs fully and when I exhaled an involuntary shiver ran through my entire body. This trip had better be worth it.
Reminding myself to breathe, mentally seperating the sounds around me with my eyes shut tight, I allowed the smooth movement of the car to lull me into some semblance of relaxation. Mozart washed over me, easing the knot of tension that had lodged itself in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. Music had always been my salvation. Singing. Playing the piano. Humming, all of it. I had wanted a guitar growing up, but once again, I was firmly told that that was a preposterous idea because strumming those strings would mean that I built up calluses on my fingertips, and then who knows - the world may just come to an end.
I swallowed down my resentment, the memories of all the things I couldn’t do brimming to the surface. My phone vibrated, and when I finally opened my eyes, I was surprised to discover that I was clutching it tightly between my fingers. I slid the pad of my thumb over the power button, recognition of my thumbprint brought the screen to life as the message from Zoey expanded open.
A bright green fern-like plant took up my screen with some accompanying text from her message.
Zoey: Found a plant for you that you can’t kill - and you can’t even tell that it’s fake.
A smile tugged on my lips, the ache in my chest easing slightly, at odds with the stubborn lump in my throat that still remained.
As the car wove through the streets of London, depositing me curbside to my hotel, I watched in fascination as small groups of individuals braved the weather, huddling outside under awnings and small extended roofs simply to breathe in some nicotine. The burning red of their cigarettes seeming brighter against the grey of London.
Stop being an ass.
I quickly typed out and replied to Zoey. I swear, it wasn’t my fault that all my plants kept dying. I mean, despite all we had learnt together, it was pretty obvious that there wasn’t a single green bone in my body.
Zoey: You love me anyway.
Her reply came through as I swung the car door open, braving the rain once more. Jeffrey stood on the sidewalk, a navy umbrella in hand, his mouth pulled in a line of disapproval because I opened the door when it was his job.
I was so tired of the amount of disapproval that was dished up and served daily. Honestly, when opening your own car door brought a bout of disapproval around, then what hope was there? I should just give up now.