Written in the Stars(51)
Beside her, Elle stiffened.
“Oh my god,” Linda breathed, clasping her hands in front of her chest.
Elle’s little sister reached inside her sweater and withdrew a long chain from around her neck. Dangling from its length was an impressively sized princess-cut diamond engagement ring. Lydia bounced on her toes, beaming from ear to ear. “Marcus proposed and I said yes, obviously. I’m engaged!”
Darcy swallowed her groan, not that anyone would’ve heard it over the din of Elle’s family jumping to their feet to wrap Lydia in hugs and congratulate the newly engaged happy couple.
She didn’t want to think the worst of Elle’s little sister, but seriously? Of all the times to announce her engagement, did it have to be right on the heels of Elle finally getting her moment in the spotlight? Finally being seen for the bright, successful, enterprising woman she was? She’d argue the timing was circumspect if not for the fact that Lydia did, in fact, have a ring.
“Elle.” Linda jerked her head at Lydia pointedly.
“Right, shit. I mean, sorry. Congratulations, sis. That’s—” Her eyes shut for just a moment. When she opened them, she offered Lydia a genuine smile. “I’m really happy for you.”
Lydia had slipped the ring on her finger. She twisted it slightly, adjusting it so it sat right. “Thanks, Elle.” She chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you’ll be next?”
Elle tugged her fingers free from Darcy’s grip and Darcy immediately missed the warmth of her skin.
Her laughter sounded forced, fake. “Ha. Maybe.”
*
An hour later, from the head of the table, Mom lifted her glass of wine in the air and looked at Lydia with a glowing smile. God, what Elle wouldn’t give to have Mom look at her like that, just once. “A quick toast. To Lydi-bee. Your father and I are so proud of you and we couldn’t be happier for you and for Marcus as you embark on this exciting journey together. We love you, Lydia.”
Lydia wiped beneath her eyes as everyone, Elle included, saluted them, drinks raised. As soon as she could, Elle gulped her cider, trying to wash out the bitter taste that had taken up residence in the back of her mouth. Envy never failed to make Elle feel guilty; it just wasn’t who she was, wasn’t an emotion she felt at home in, but there was a part of her, a secret part tucked away, buried so deep she didn’t even let on to Margot, that was worried it was who she was becoming. That her feelings of inadequacy were mutating into something ugly. Resentment.
She was happy for Lydia, but that didn’t make this any easier. Sitting and smiling and nodding politely as everyone congratulated her loudly, Elle’s own accomplishments once again taking a back seat. God. Not even the back seat because then, at least, she’d be included. There was no room for Elle in the car.
Making matters worse was that Darcy had seen it all unfold, had a painfully intimate front-row seat. And that comment Lydia had made about Elle being next to get married? Fuck her life. Lydia couldn’t have known Darcy and Elle’s relationship was fake; Darcy had done a commendable job of playing the role of besotted girlfriend. An achingly good job, so good Elle almost felt like this was real, which was almost worse because added to the brewing resentment was an unhealthy dose of yearning. Tugged in too many directions, Elle felt sick, stomach queasy.
She had agreed to go along with this fake-dating sham in hopes that her family might take her seriously if they saw her in a different light, if they saw she had one part of her life going according to a plan they could get behind. So far, her stock had barely risen in their eyes even with Darcy talking her up. Adding insult to injury, she and Darcy were scheduled to “break up” in a little over a month.
Where would that leave her? Back where she started or worse? Maybe her family would think her an even bigger mess. She’d hoped to paint the breakup as mutual and faultless, but knowing her luck, her family would find her culpable no matter what she said.
Mom clapped her hands and scooted her chair forward. “All right, everyone. Dig in.”
Serving dishes were passed around the table from person to person until everyone had a plateful of Thanksgiving’s best dishes. A minute later, Marcus’s expression soured.
Lydia was quick to rest her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Um, I think there’s something wrong with the turkey.”
A concerned frown quickly replaced Mom’s immediate look of startled displeasure. “What is it? Underdone?”
His jaw shifted, tongue rolling against his cheeks. “Tastes like soap? Did you wash it?”
Mom was a lot of things, but domestic goddess wasn’t one of them. Dad cooked 364 days of the year, but for some reason, Mom had claimed Thanksgiving as her own, ruling the kitchen with an iron fist and refusing to surrender even as much as a side dish or dessert to anyone. Her efforts were met with varying degrees of success they were all forced to grin and bear. Elle couldn’t quite wrap her head around why Mom would wash a turkey—don’t ask, don’t tell was Elle’s Turkey Day motto—but in comparison to 2008’s corn and giblet pudding, a little dish soap was mild.
Jane took a bite and after swallowing, said, sounding surprised, “It’s cilantro, yeah?”
“Cilantro lime.” Mom nodded. “I always go with sage and thyme, so I thought I’d try a new recipe. Brighten the meal up a bit.”