The Chosen One (19 page)

The family’s quarterly dinners were more like board meetings held under crystal chandeliers and gilded ceilings. Tonight’s agenda contained the upcoming legislation sponsored by Mom and Uncle Owen, and how many votes they needed. Fee and I weren’t silent observers. We were expected to listen and learn, of course, but we would also have to give updates about our lives. Fiona stated her grades and that she’d been asked to cowrite an article with an esteemed professor. When my turn arrived, I drew a complete and total blank.

Luckily, the server arrived with the wine and oysters, and Grandmother sampled the Chablis and gave an approving nod. Everyone but me tucked into the oysters.

“Go on, Ainsley,” encouraged Grandmother.

“I met someone,” I said.

Fiona, usually the paragon of self-control around the old lady, dropped her jaw to her chest. No one ever shared personal details unless it was a big deal, like Ham’s marriage.

Grandmother stared.

“That’s good news.” Uncle Owen had always had a soft spot for me. “About time you finally went on a real date.”

And then some.

Mother tapped her manicured nails against the base of her wineglass. “That’s fine, Ainsley, but remember why you are in school. Look at Fiona‌—‌she’s coauthoring a paper. You need to think along those lines and not let your hormones get the best of you.”

No one else spoke. Grandmother eyed me, deep in thought. The flesh hanging from her neck moved as she swallowed. “Are you going to tell me more, child?”

“I’m doing well in all of my classes.”

“I know you are. The girl, tell me about the girl.”

“Are you ready to order?”

Thank God! Saved by Nadine’s efficiency. I kept my eyes glued to the menu, hoping that by the time everyone finished ordering, the conversation would have moved into less dangerous territory.

Fiona kicked me under the table.

Thinking it was my turn, I directed my gaze to the waitress.

Maya.

She wore a crisp black shirt, black slacks, and a short white apron tied around her waist. She stood with a subservient, stooped posture, arms behind her back, her gaze fixed on mine. What had happened to the dude who was serving us? Something about this bait and switch felt fishy.

“Miss?” she asked.

“Uh…”

Maya didn’t blink.

I didn’t want to order the lobster, not from Maya. But if I didn’t, it would ring alarm bells, force questions. I wanted to avoid any and all questions.

“The broiled Maine Lobster, please.”

“Any sides?” Maya’s beautiful face was devoid of all emotion.

“The roasted autumn vegetables.” I nearly added, “sweetheart.”

“Very good.” She turned to Fiona. “And you, miss?”

Fiona smacked her lips together, and her eyes darted to me and then back to Maya.

“The pan-roasted halibut, Maya. Thank you.”

I cringed, but the rest of our party seemed oblivious to Fiona’s mistake.

Maya didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, miss. Side?”

“Pommes puree.”

She dipped her head slightly, took the other orders with ease, and then disappeared out the side door.

Grandmother dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Ainsley, you were telling us about the girl you met.”

I stared at the door through which Maya had exited.

The room was silent, and I realized they were awaiting my answer.

“Oh, she’s a classmate.” I turned to Mother. “She’s in my history class with Dr. Gingas‌—‌now
she’s
an interesting character, lectures like a marine drill sergeant.”

Fiona practically groaned at my obvious attempt at diversion. For my part, I was abhorred I’d provided a detail that made it easier for the goons to track down Maya.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Ains.

Mother smiled without much warmth. Why?

Grandmother cleared her throat and leveled her cold, birdlike eyes on mine.

I smiled as innocently as possible. “Her name is Mara. Mara Channing.”

“Mara,” repeated Grandmother. “Isn’t our waitress named Mara?” she said it with such a casual air that I almost believed her innocence.

Mother shifted in her seat, but Grandmother stared her down.

Fiona stepped in. “Maya,” she corrected. “She’s a friend of Pat’s. He used to work here.”

“Maya, Mara‌—‌so close and yet so far,” said the calculating old lady. She stared at Fiona and then at me with a conspiratorial air, as if she knew we were playing her for a fool.

My mind whirled, wondering what she knew. Would she know anything? Not yet, at least. Surely. Or had she been watching my every move? Was she the source of the quotes? Should I alert Ham?

“Where is she from?” Grandmother asked.

“Wyoming,” I squeaked, and then cleared my throat.
Hold it together, Ainsley
.
Act normal. Avoid unwanted snooping.

Grandmother raised an eyebrow. No one in our family had ever been friends with anyone from Dick Cheney territory.

“She and her mother moved to Massachusetts a few years ago.”

“Where do they live?”

I never should have mentioned that part. I dug my nails into my legs. “Mattapan,” I uttered, washing the word away with a sip of wine. The staff at Nadine’s routinely overlooked underage drinking. They had turned the other way since I turned sweet sixteen.

Mother didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The snarl in her lip was clear enough. Sure, she wanted people from Mattapan to vote for her, but she didn’t want her precious daughter to date one of them. She angrily slurped an oyster. I wanted to shout out that she was a hypocrite, claiming to be a woman of the people.

“I see. What does her mother do?” Grandmother asked.

“She’s a waitress,” I whispered. Just like Maya at the moment. Would Grandmother circle back to that?

“And?”

I said the first thing that popped into my addled mind. “She’s Puerto Rican, descended from African slaves.”

“You managed to find the only black lesbian from Wyoming in all of Massachusetts. Well done, Ainsley,” Mother said as she crisply refolded her napkin.

“What does her father do?” Grandmother asked.

“I don’t know. Maya hasn’t seen him for years.”

Grandmother tittered. “Looks like I’m not the only one who can’t keep it straight.”

“What?”

Fee’s eyes widened as if she was trying to communicate telepathically.

“You called her Maya, the name of the waitress.” She turned to Fiona. “Isn’t that right?”

Fee’s tight-lipped smile was loud and clear. She wanted to tell the shrew to shove it, but knew she couldn’t.

“Did I?” I squeaked, shifting in my seat. “This wine is going right to my head. I meant Mara hasn’t seen her father in years. Silly me.”
Stop acting like an amateur!

No one spoke. None of the marriages in our family were strong ones; they lasted, against all odds, because of the gray-haired woman at the head of the table.

More oysters arrived. On the verge of tears, I excused myself, saying I had to use the restroom.

Fiona crashed through the door seconds later. “That was the most entertaining interrogation I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Not now.” I dabbed a tissue under my eyes, careful not to smudge my mascara.

“Look at it this way, she hasn’t told you to leave her yet. That’s a good sign.” Fiona entered a stall. Bodily functions didn’t stop her from talking, not even pee splashing into the bowl deterred her. She said, “If you ask me, you’ve got her blessing for now. The only black lesbian‌—‌that was kinda funny, for your mother.” Fiona’s laugh was drowned out by the sound of the flushing toilet.

She stepped up to the sink to wash her hands, watching my reflection in the mirror. Taking my purse from my shaking hands, she motioned for me to hold still and then applied fresh mascara to my lashes.

“Let’s add a little color, too,” she said, taking out some blush. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Of course, mine won’t be as good as your Elizabeth Arden. Is she on call?”

“Not now, Fee.”

She concentrated on the task at hand. Finally, Fiona snapped the compact closed. “You know, next time, maybe you should open with something less alarming, like how you’re top of all of your classes, which you are. And then maybe say you have a wonderful ‘study buddy’ who’s been helping you. Ease them into the situation.”

I groaned. “Why didn’t you prep me earlier?”

“It’s not your first rodeo with Grandmother. How was I supposed to know you’d completely lose it, tonight of all nights?”

“I’m not myself these days.” For weeks, I’d had Maya on the brain.

“Love and Carmichaels don’t really go together. Besides, deep down, I think you want to get caught.”

“What do you mean?” I crossed my arms.

“I wouldn’t blame you. With the Carmichael quest hanging over your head, you wouldn’t be the first to choose self-sabotage.”

“That’s absurd.” I took a step back.

“Is it?” She raised both eyebrows.

“Absolutely.” My tone lacked Carmichael conviction.

Fee tilted her head. “That’s a shame, because if you are self-sabotaging, I’ll call in Pat and he can help you implode before dessert.”

I laughed. What a relief to release some of the anxiety roiling in my belly. “That man has had diarrhea of the mouth lately.”

“Tell me about it. I nearly died when he told Maya you’re the Chosen One.”

Some of the tension from earlier seeped back into my mood, and I gulped in air before insisting, “I won’t stop seeing her.”

Fiona concentrated on fixing my hair and then hers. “We better get back out there.”

“I won’t stop seeing her.”

“No one has asked you to, darling,” she said in a voice that lacked her usual verve. The word “yet” bobbed overhead like a cartoon thought bubble.

Luckily, by the time we returned, the conversation had switched back to politics. For now, I had a reprieve.

Why had I even brought up Maya? And since I had, why didn’t I just introduce her? Grandmother’s goons were probably already running background checks, and it wouldn’t take them long to figure out Maya’s real name. Mara Channing. What had I been thinking? And mentioning the class we had together, too? Grandmother would likely get the full report before after-dinner drinks. I wondered what the old lady would say when she found out Maya and her mom didn’t even exist until 2003? I was drowning in secrets.

Maya and a fellow waiter arrived with our meals. Neither made eye contact with anyone, as usual. Maya served Fiona and Uncle Owen, keeping her distance from me and Grandmother. Was that intentional? Even those who weren’t avid viewers of political talk shows had probably heard of Grandmother and the power she wielded over the Carmichael clan.

I took a deep breath and held it, and then let it escape soundlessly through my mouth. It was a process I had to repeat for the remainder of the meal.

***

After dinner, I ditched Fiona outside her apartment right after Mother’s driver dropped us off, and caught a cab straight back to the restaurant. Wrapping my coat tightly around my body, I staked out a bench across the street.

Around midnight, Maya walked past me. I hadn’t seen her leave Nadine’s, but staff more than likely had to use the back door.

“Maya!” I called.

She spun, easily spotting me, in my heels, among a sea of drunk and disappointed Red Sox fans.

“This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.” Her smile faded into a frown as she took in my appearance. “Are you okay?”

No, I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have promised I’d never hurt her. What was I thinking? We hurt everyone; it was the Carmichael way. But that wasn’t what bothered me right then and there. After waiting on us all evening, her eyes averted, her head bowed, never once drawing attention to our relationship, how could she still greet me with a smile?

Maya pinned me with a cautious glare. In this light, her eyes reminded me of the sea on a stormy day.

“I’m fine. I just had dinner with my grandmother, as you know, of course.”
Way to point out the obvious, Ainsley.

Maya’s shoulders tightened. “Did they suspect?”

“What? No? I don’t think so.” My eyes ping-ponged every which way other than on Maya’s face, unsure whether I was afraid of what I’d see there, or what she would see in my eyes.

“That’s a relief.” Her posture softened. “When I walked into the room, I nearly fell to the floor.”

“A relief? Aren’t you mad?” I crossed my arms.

“Mad? About what? We got away with it.” She tossed her arms in the air.

“What’d we get away with?”

Maya swallowed as if taking her time to concoct an answer. “Ains, I don’t know about you, but the last thing I needed tonight was to lose my job. Dating clientele is strictly forbidden. I don’t work here often, but on the nights I do, I make some serious dough‌—‌well, for me at least.” She shuffled her feet.

I let out a long breath, feeling like I had been swimming underwater for several minutes. “I hadn’t looked at it that way. I thought you’d be pissed I didn’t introduce you.”

“Is that why you rushed back?”

“Yes. I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain anything. Being a Carmichael and dealing with your grandmother… well, you know that better than I do.”

“Oh boy, do I.”

Maya didn’t know the half of it. The goons were probably scouring the Web for intel. Now I was worried about Maya’s job as well as breaking her heart, and about losing the one person I’d realized I didn’t want to live without. Not to mention that Maya would no doubt flip her lid if she learned the goons had invaded her private life. I had to do something to shield her from that, but I was drawing blanks.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were working tonight?” I asked.

She laughed. “I didn’t know until an hour before the shift started. I got an SOS from Rick. Tonight was my first time working the private room. Imagine my shock when I walked in and saw you.”

“What a coincidence.” A wave of queasiness flooded my belly, but I willed it away. “Can I walk you home?”

“Yours or mine?” she asked, her tone mischievous. It instantly put me at ease.

“Which do you prefer?”

“I don’t care as long as I’m with you. You look beautiful in that dress, but right now, all I want to do is rip it off.”