You Before Anyone Else (22 page)

Eddie

Finley releases a low whistle after being led out of the entryway and down the hall of our apartment. I glance beside me at her. She's wide-eyed, taking in the extravagance of our family home.

My stomach twists the second we step into the dining room. I don't think I've been this nervous in my entire life. My parents enter the room from the opposite end, followed by my sister walking through a third entrance—typical for us, coming to dinner from separate locations of the apartment.

My mom forces some energy into her typical stoned expression and kisses me on both cheeks before moving on to Finley. “And who is this lovely young lady?” She seems abnormally pleased that I've brought a date to dinner.

My hand shakes as I lift it to gesture beside me. “This is Finley Belton.”

Fin does a great job plastering on a smile for them. She glances at my dad and then Ruby, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment.

My father only gives me a tiny nod and says, “Edward.”

Ruby's dismissive nod is similar, but she at least offers up an introduction. “Ruby. Edward's sister.”

I can feel Finley looking her over, probably trying to see some of me in Ruby. But really, other than her being tall and thin—like both my parents—she doesn't look anything like me. She's pretty in a conventional way, her hair is much lighter than mine, and she wears designer clothes but all simple styles in plain, neutral colors. She's hard to read in every way, including through her clothing.

When we sit down, Fin gets startled by the maid shoving her chair in further after she's seated, but other than that, she seems comfortable and at ease. In fact, I quickly understand how she became a model, besides being beautiful. She has a talent for engaging the entire table in conversation. Watching her is like a lesson in professionalism. But she isn't here to work. She's here for me.

I let that sink in for a moment, enjoying, for once in my life, the feeling of not being alone. I slide my hand from my lap to her thigh and give it a squeeze. She flashes me a tiny smile and then turns back to answer a question my mother just asked her.

“So you're not a Princeton student?” my mom repeats. “That's right. You said you have an apartment on the Upper West Side. Are you at Columbia then? Or NYU?”

She says NYU with a certain amount of disdain. My parents are not fond of any university that is art focused.

“Neither.” Finley eyes the maid, who is pouring us each a glass of wine, then shoots a glance at my dad. Maybe that seems off to her, serving alcohol to the underaged? But she doesn't mention the wine and instead goes for a sip of water. “I'm not in school. I live in an agency apartment.”

“Oh,” my mom says, surprised. “You're an actress?”

“She's a model,” Ruby says, her voice flat. We all look at her, surprised. She takes a sip from the glass of red wine in front of her and then stares at Fin. “Marc Jacobs ad, right? You were on that giant cake.”

My mouth immediately goes dry. I hold my breath, waiting for Ruby to keep going. To mention me.

Finley's shock echoes mine but only lasts a moment, then she pulls it together and smiles. “Yes, that would be me. I nearly broke my leg climbing on the cardboard hell.”

Ruby tosses me a pointed look, confirming that she knows what I've been up to. I sit there, frozen solid, but she doesn't mention seeing me in any ads. And really, it's all going to come out before this dinner is over anyway.

Beneath the table, Finley covers my hand with hers. I relax about five percent.

“A model,” my mother says. “That's so interesting.”

Dad gives a noncommittal, “Hmmmph.”

“Finley's a dancer,” I add. “Her mother danced with the New York City Ballet.”

Fin looks at me like
Why are you trying to impress these people?
Good question. She clears her throat. “It's more of a hobby now. I'm hoping to get into teaching dance soon.” She turns to Ruby. “What is it you're studying at Brown? Eddie mentioned it once, and I've forgotten.”

Finley is so calm when she lifts the slice of bread on her plate and then expertly spreads butter over it. Someone has taught her how to fit in here—her mother maybe.

Ruby lifts an eyebrow, probably surprised that I would talk about her with Finley. I doubt she ever mentions me to her friends or boyfriends. “Russian literature and theology.”

“Wow, that sounds…”

“Useless,” my father says at the same as I say, “Boring.”

Only the word is cut off the second I realize I've joined my father's camp. I don't want to spend even five seconds on the same side of the fence as him.

“I was going to say complicated,” Finley says, attempting to recover this. “Do you actually read literature written in Russian or is it simply literature with Russian roots?”

My father snorts back a laugh, but Ruby glares at him, then turns to Finley. “Language proficiency is a requirement of the course of study.”

Finley opens her mouth to ask another question, but my dad blurts out his favorite question. “What does your family do?”

“My dad,” Finley says, setting down her half-eaten slice of bread, “is a high school drama teacher. My mom died a few years ago.”

My dad's forehead scrunches up, like he's not sure what to do with this information. He resorts to another dismissive nod and then asks me to help get some “real drinks,” which is code for “we should speak in private.”

Finley's cheerful voice carries all the way into the parlor where my father keeps his supply of very expensive liquor.

He pours a glass of scotch and takes a long drink before saying, “You're done ignoring my efforts to set up business meetings for you. I want you at an alumni dinner I'm attending in Princeton this week.”

I eye the bottle of vodka. It takes everything in me to not unscrew the cap and start chugging. “I can't this week.”
Because you're going to get some interesting news from your lawyer, and you won't want me there.
Among other reasons.

“You can and you will,” he says firmly. “I've given you enough time to run amok at Princeton. Do you think I don't know that you're barely making it to your classes?”
Um…barely? Try never.
His detectives are slacking. “Of course I know. I took care of your grade already, but you will make every meeting I set up for you, and you'll put on that charming act everyone seems so fond of, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The words come out with venom I didn't know I had in me. A sense of resolve washes over me. I'm done with this. All of this. With my head down, I pour my mother's usual drink—vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime—and carry it into the dining room.

We've only made it to the appetizer course, but I can't put this off any longer. I wait for my dad to return to his seat, his smug expression plastered on, and then I glance at Finley. She must be able to read my mind or at least enough to guess what I'm about to do, because she straightens up in her chair, game face on.

I shove the appetizer plate toward the center of the table and out of my way. Both my parents look up, surprised. “So…I didn't actually come here tonight for dinner.”

Ruby picks up her fork and stabs a shrimp, not even bothering to look my way.

“I came here to tell you that I dropped out of Princeton. Permanently. ” My heart beats so loud, I can't even hear my own voice over the blood pumping in my ears. I clasp my hands together in front of me to silence the shaking. “And I've decided not to sign the waiver of right to notice form.”

Silence. Dead silence. Both my parents stare at me, openmouthed. Ruby's forehead wrinkles; she's confused. She doesn't know anything. I'm sure everyone else can hear how loud my heart beats. “I've also decided to pursue establishing paternity—”

Ruby coughs, choking on her last bite.

“Like hell you are,” my father says in a tone that scares the shit out of me.

I glance at Fin, making sure she's okay. I debate telling her to leave now while she still can, but she lays a hand on my elbow, connecting us.

My mother keeps looking at Finley like her biggest concern is what to do with the innocent bystander now holding our family's darkest secrets. I toss my napkin onto the table, knowing I won't be here much longer. “I've already petitioned family court for a paternity test once the baby is born. Caroline is likely to refuse cooperating with me, so this route is the only way, unfortunately.”

The second I say the name Caroline, Ruby chokes on the drink that was meant to help her previous choking. My gaze flicks in her direction for a moment and then back to my parents. My dad's hard expression is on full force, only he's beginning to turn a deep shade of red. “I've also filed a petition for custody.”

My mother gasps, but my father seems to have reached some level of control over his anger, because he's nearly calm when he responds. “I'll have that petition overturned in less than twenty-four hours. There's not a judge in Manhattan I can't bribe.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “I won't even need bribery.” He glances at Ruby. “You would know this—what is that motto in family court? They have to rule—”

“In the best interest of the child,” Ruby finishes, her voice cold and mechanical, revealing nothing to me about her real thoughts on any of this.

“Placing an infant in the hands of an eighteen-year-old drug addict doesn't seem like a child-centered decision, does it?”

It takes everything in me not to pelt my glass of wine across the table at him simply to wipe that sneer from his face. But then I hear his voice inside my head:
Add streaks of violence to being a drug addict
. Instead, I lean back in my chair, arms folded over my chest. “I'm sure the papers would love to tell that story. The
Wall Street Journal
would eat it up. ‘Wellington family hides violent addict son from public eye and fails at their attempts to conceal the existence of his illegitimate child.' I could probably get several months' rent selling that.”

My father's face reddens again. My mother looks like she's about to vomit. Beside me, Finley tosses her napkin on top of mine and pushes away from the table. I take her cue and stand up as well.

My dad is on his feet, shoving his chair back with such force it topples over. The maid reaches to pick it up but seems to think twice about it and scurries from the room. I back away from the table, bringing Fin with me.

Dad charges forward but stops before reaching me. “You will not step foot out of this house without my permission. You won't speak a word of this to anyone, and you will sign those papers, understood?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I'm not giving up my kid.”

“That child will not be a part of this family!” he barks, raising a finger to point it at me.

I lift my hands. “Even better. I wouldn't want to subject a child to this family.”

“You unappreciative smart-ass.” His voice has lowered, and it's more scary at this volume. “You do anything that attaches that child to our name, and I swear to God, you will never see another penny from us again.”

“Fine.” I start to turn around, glad Finley is coming with me.

“Consider yourself cut off, Edward!” he says. “Your trust account, your credit cards, everything will be gone.”

This hits a nerve with me. I snap back around and pull out my wallet. “You really think that's going to stop me?” I yank out an American Express card that I haven't touched since before graduation and toss it at him. It lands at his feet. “Here you go. It's all yours.” I remove another card and throw it his way. “Bank card too.”

“You are nothing without this family. You own nothing,” he snaps. “I pay for everything. Your housing, school, clothing, phone—”

I remove a Blackberry from my right pocket. “You mean this phone? The one I've only used to contact you for the last six or so weeks? Here you go.” I add that to the pile at his feet. “What else? Oh right…my clothes.” I reach behind me, and in one swift motion, my T-shirt is off and at his feet.

My mother gasps again and looks like she might pass out at any moment.

“You have no right to that child, no right to list yourself as a father,” he shoots at me.

I'm about to explode all over the place, but then I hear, “Yes, he does.”

Everyone turns to look at Ruby again. My dad shifts his pointer finger to her. “You stay out of this.”

“I'm completely out of this,” she snaps. “But it's a fact. He has a right to claim himself as a father if that's what he is. It's a constitutional right.”

I give her a nod, surprised but grateful for that tiny ounce of support. One I'm sure my dad doesn't care about in the least. Finley slides her hand in mine and tugs me close enough for her to whisper, “Let's go.”

“If it helps you, I'll give him a different name,” I offer with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Although, that's exactly what I want for him. Not to be a Wellington. “I might even give myself a new name.”

Finally, I turn to leave, my dad shouting to the maid to get his lawyer on the phone. It's not until I'm outside in the sun that I realize (1) my entire body is shaking, and (2) I have no shirt on.

Lucky for me, it's summer, and plenty of people are out and about, jogging without a shirt, so I don't look that out of place. We cross two streets and walk three blocks before Finley forces me to stop and sit down at a picnic table in the courtyard of our apartment building.

I rest my head in my hands, take in a few deep, slow breaths. My heart still beats out of control, and my hands are still shaking. But several more deep breaths later, I'm getting some control back. When I lift my head, Fin is leaning on one elbow, watching me.

“It's not true, you know,” she says.