Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(3)

“I’ll go to the Hamptons for a week and then to Italy to spend some time with my aunt. She’s got a house in Bergamo,” replies Carol.

“Yeah, I think I’m doing something similar,” Emma garbles around a mouthful of truffle oil pasta.

“What about you, Petra? Rotterdam?”

“Not sure. I have a full-time internship starting in June.”

“An internship?” Emma looks over at me, some spaghetti nearly falling from her mouth. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“Well…” I clear my throat. “Dad suggested I spend a couple of months at his company to get some experience before I start my economics major at Columbia. It’s a paid internship, so it’s not a bad idea.”

“You’re kidding, right? Don't you want to become an artist like your mom and have your paintings exhibited all over the world?” asks Emma, confused.

“First, my mother never got any of her paintings exhibited anywhere. She’s not even a real artist to me. She just paints for leisure, to entertain herself, nothing important.” I sigh, looking down at my plate for a moment. “And if it’s to depend on my ex-husband for a living, no thank you.” Everyone stops eating, staring at me in confusion, a cold silence emerging in the room. “I still paint, but it’s just a hobby.”

“Don’t be silly,” starts Emma. “With the fortune you’ll inherit, you don’t need anyone. You can choose to do whatever you want in life.”

“Not sure if you understand the word ‘inherit,’ Emma. It means when Dad passes away. What do I do until then? I don’t have a trust like yours to spend as I please. My life is no different than anyone else’s. I’ll need to find a suitable corporate job and make my own path.”

“Ms. Van Gatt.” Janine reenters the room carrying a tasty big coconut cake from the kitchen. “What a depressing subject to entertain your guests tonight.”

“You’re right, Janine. My apologies.”

The rest of dinner proceeds in silence. While my friends are eating, I can’t stop thinking about Mom. Since the divorce sixteen years ago, Mom has never tried to make a career of painting. She doesn’t even paint for fun anymore, but instead spends her time—and alimony—traveling with friends, attending social events with an open bar, and funding some nonprofits. I've never fancied her lifestyle. In fact, I've always preferred to follow the example set by my dad, who cultivates a healthy, disciplined, and work-focused routine.

Shortly afterwards, Emma, Carol, and Laura decide to postpone our discussion until tomorrow at school.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with before I go, Miss?” Janine asks after they leave.

“No, Janine, it’s all good. Thank you for the lovely dinner.”

“Don’t you want me to stay until your father comes home?”

“No need,” I reply with a chuckle. “You know how much I love to be alone in the library.”

“Alright, then, have a great night.”

“You too, Janine.”

Ah, finally alone! I switch from my uniform to a comfortable sweater and a pair of jeans. I text Dad: Are you coming home tonight? Then I go to his office, which has an envious large library.

I pick a book, put on some jazz music, and lie on the sofa. I start to read. To me, it’s the perfect evening. With so many nights spent alone, I have developed a love affair with solitude. Reading or painting while listening to music have become my favorite hobbies.

My iPhone beeps with a reply from Dad: Will be there in a minute.

I know it won’t be in a minute. Most likely within an hour or two.

I check my WhatsApp list and realize there are only six people I text frequently—Dad, Janine, James, and the girls.

I decide to text James: Will you be at the farewell party this weekend?

He doesn’t take long to reply. Yep. You?

Maybe… Trying to convince Dad. Any advice?

Lol. It’s a dead plan. But good luck anyway.

Haha. Very reassuring.





“Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt. It’s seven a.m.” Janine flings the curtains wide open, killing the darkness of my tranquil night. “Such a beautiful and sunny morning.”

But I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet. I love sleeping and I hate mornings. In fact, I sleep so deeply that no alarm has ever worked, so Janine has become the only way to get me ready in time for school. Her sweet and musical voice makes every morning sound like a good one, no matter how cold, rainy, or ugly the day can be. I've often wondered what it’d be like to have a mother who’s here on a daily basis, and Janine seems to be the closest to what I imagine.

“Would you like to take breakfast on the terrace? Your father is waiting for you there.”

“Dad’s here?” I stand up abruptly. “Good morning, Janine.” I put on my slippers and excitedly head out to meet him.

Dad’s sitting at the breakfast table, reading The Wall Street Journal. He’s already dressed in his usual three-piece suit and just finishing his espresso.

“Good morning, Dad.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning, Petra,” he replies. Noticing that I’m still in pajamas, he lets out a breath in annoyance. “How many times have I asked you not to sit at the table dressed like that?”