"You didn't have a fight?" The incredulous tone in Jade's voice was palpable, borderline sceptic.
"There wasn't anything to fight over," Bridget replied, shrugging her shoulder.
"You know, when people say they ended the relationship on a good term, it was always a lie. You're probably a first."
Bridget relented. She and Charles had been similar in a lot of aspects of their life, bonded over experiences but mostly character. Bridget didn't like being on bad terms with anyone because it made her feel like there were loose ends she needed to take care of. Charles was similar in that sense. They agreed a long time ago to never raise their voice at each other, and to remind the other if it did happen because all sense will leave once voices were raised. The lack of heated fights made more space and time for good memories to take its place. "I think the passion is gone and all that's left is apathy," she said it out loud for herself. They were still attracted to each other, physically, sure, but emotionally? Their boats drifted away from each other a while ago when there was a period of time where all they did was argue over nothing.
"I have news for you," Bridget began, handing over a registration form. The professor who taught her History of Philosophy the previous year had called on her specifically to deliver a special request. She waited with baited breath, watching Jade's green eyes flit from left to right and back, her eyelashes fluttering when they widened in disbelief.
"Mon Dieu, Bébé, tell me you're not this stupid."
"Not stupid, just didn't know any better."
"If I recall correctly, your Mom said that you told your science teacher that the force which holds us to the earth is magic."
"Well, gravity was magic."
Jade looked at her with a deeply unimpressed expression. "Still doesn't excuse you from being guilted into running for president for Dexter Philosophy Society!" Her tone made her thoughts on the idea crystal clear, her nose slightly upturned for additional effect. She handed the form back in the manner she did with everything else, 'take this back, peasant' way. "But you backed out last year?"
Their conversation was put on pause as their turn came to order food. Bridget was starting to regret telling Jade in the pinch of time they had for lunch. Jade had lecture in fifteen minutes and herself in twenty, but she had just wanted to make sure Jade knew before the news circulated in Dexter Paper. Jade would be positively disappointed if that had been the case.
"You do know there are professors who actually loved having me as their student, right? He is one of them," Bridget reasoned once they were seated. The position was vacant because the previously chosen president had a personal emergency that forced him to take the semester off, and the since the society didn't have a vice president position, the secretary had been trying to hold down fort with much difficulty. Also, Bree didn't have the stomach to reject her Professor's offer. She had favored him in return of his partiality of her. "And you, chief-editor of Dexter Paper, is one to speak about trying twice."
Jade huffed, sending parts of her bangs flying wayward, and her shoulders lowered in defeat. Her eyes then seemed to inflate that all Bree could see was green. "Are you not just trying to distract yourself by accepting as much responsibility as possible, because of, you know?"
Bree couldn't decide whether it was regret or guilt tinging Jade's voice. It might have been Jade's insistence that finally got Bridget and Charles to break things off, but no matter how it went or what feelings were left, Bree's heart didn't leave the pool unscathed. Bree could only stare at her for a while. "Maybe," the admission was spoken neutrally. Her therapist had suggested that what she needed right now was doing things that made her feel capable and competent.
If she did get voted for president, she would be the one formulating plans for the society, both long term and day-to-day, she would also be chairing all meetings and lead everything with the help of the other executives. That, compiled with her assisting Leroy, her own studies, the charities, and the occasional board meetings she had to attend, it would be the busiest year she would have to live through yet. "Will you help me for the campaign though?" Bree plastered on a begging smile she knew to work from time to time. Jade's position in the paper would help tremendously this time.
Jade assessed her behind a bowl of salad, eyes narrowed. "Do you really, truly want to be crazy busy for the next year?" after just breaking up?
Well… "Yeah."
Jade stabbed a piece of lettuce a little too violently that it broke in two. "Of course I'll help." The scowl did nothing to bring any doubt that she loved her anyway. Bree smiled in triumph.
§
In a cacophony of noises and faces - familiar and unfamiliar, upperclassmen, underclassmen, people she shared classes with, people she met at orientation, at the mandatory leadership training, at school, at charities - she spotted the newest of them all. A pop of ginger amongst blondes and brunettes and the occasional shades of the rainbow, her feet had sped up on its own accord.
A field of just stone path and greens, Dexterites were used to calling it 'the park' because of all the grass and trees and the occasional bench placed in between. The park was placed as a connecting path between the cafeteria and the sports field, the old building and the new building, campus A to campus B. An olive branch. The walk seemed endless.
Close up she could see the outline of his light brown wool jacket - something she was pretty sure she saw in a magazine on Milan Report a while back - which meant that it wasn't supposed to be for public for some time yet. A lot of military-inspired fashion had been coming in from Italy for men; the long coats, double rows of metal buttons, fitted at the waist, and the epaulets. She could definitively say Edward would look dashing in those.
"Look, look, look," Bree said, a little out of breath after catching up to his longer strides. Even being tall was simply not as tall as his over six-foot frame. She could finally see his eyes that lit up with his usual boyish, close-lipped smile, and the front of the well-tailored wool jacket, "Ooh, I love your jacket." She handed Edward the flier for her campaign. It had a picture of her in her alma jacket on it. "The campaign is starting soon. Vote for me!" She smiled up at him.
From her peripheral vision she could see some girls had turned their heads to look. Bridget noticed this a lot: Edward had an effect where he attracted attention wherever he was. This was no different, since those girls gave off sardonic smiles that said, who is that with that guy? Her smile turned into a grin. Let them.
"Why, pray tell, are you running at the beginning of the year and not last year?" he asked in his signature pace of speaking, slow, with a tinge of sarcasm here and there. His light eyes followed her movement as she bounced on her feet, left to right, still high on energy from her tennis match earlier in the day.
She stepped closer and pointed at a paragraph on the flier. "Because, the elected president opted out in an emergency, and Professor Ross would like me to have another run at it."
He raised his eyebrows. "You ran for president last year?"
Her nose scrunched up, unimpressed by the disbelief coloring his words. "Well, no, I changed my mind before the campaign could start. Though I have to boast that I earned highest accumulated grade in Ross' class last year," she beamed, recounting the moment of glee when she realized their midyear-test was being handed out in order of highest score. Her smile wasn't reciprocated this time around, and her expression grew pensive.
It was probably a life-long teaching of good manner that had him saying, "good for you," because she could feel a shift in his mood. A quick scan of herself said no, nothing from her was causing this. Unless...
"Are you running for president, too?"
His eyebrow raise this time involved the widening of his eyes and a jerking motion of his head in general. A smile. Her brain listed them in rapid succession. Surprise. Disbelief. Humor. His eyes had glowed even under the dim light of the dreary weather they were in. Bridget found him inexplicable. We all tell stories to construct ourselves as a person, she told herself. What is he telling?
In a culture so fixated on outward appearance, herself not excluded, Edward and his family were the core definition of perfect. The well-tailored, expensive clothes he wore aggravated it further, and the colors always matched his skin very well, clothing that was supposed to be a system of communication that displays relationship between the inside and the outside, self and society, and instead of dressing like everybody else - in trendy casual baggy clothing and a pair of sneakers, he had swerved and purposefully set himself apart. Distance, she had noticed distance between him and people. Distance between him and herself. This person who acts like them, talks like them, but-
"I'm not. If you're worried about competition, then you're looking at an easy win. Nice, isn't it?" She frowned at the sudden change of his tone, why so cruel? His pronunciation turned sharp at the end of every other word and they surprised her.
"The campaign is meant to compete-"
"Well then good luck, I'm sure you're capable." Without any further wait for her response he had walked past, leaving her hair whipping in the wind.
Sighing, she bent down to pick up the flier he left behind. Her smiling face looked back. Her eyes started to burn from hurt, it was a mean gesture. Her and a few classmate had spent hours finding the right words to write down, it was not something she wanted to see dismissed.
She heard snickers behind her, and a sidelong glance had confirmed they were the same girls that had looked on. Bree wondered what their interaction had looked like, him turning her down, was that why they were so gleeful? Oh, she wouldn't excuse him for his sour mood. Even if she had to admit that she never witnessed it before, still didn't give a valid excuse as to regard her so poorly.
§
Simply said, Bridget Wilson didn't know how to be an adult. A responsible one that requires being up with the times and also business-savvy. A change in French tax regulation had her finance manager calling and informing her that the chateau under her name in South of France was going to make her pay higher taxes than the previous years. A conversation with Pa on the phone later and she was biting her nails, trying to figure out how to rent out a French chateau without her actually, physically being there to look after it. She was looking for a whole night of admin work.
Pa had been the original inheritor of the chateau from his father who invested in steel business, which soared during war because of the high demand. The term their family was dubbed with was posh; a more derogatory one would be toff, but she didn't believe she was of aristocrat-descent. She was the fourth generation to enjoy the amassed wealth, and struggling to keep the ball rolling because there was only her and Pa. No Mom and Dad to run to - she wouldn't even know how to read ledgers had they been here - and no other relatives in the same country, so to speak.
So she could only scratch her head looking at the statistics she conjured. She paid the chateau staff a considerable amount every year, combined with the monthly electricity bill, the restorations and renovations money she set aside every year for when she was actually there, and the new taxes, the portfolios she set up for them were at position of loss. Right now she could comfortably cover the loss with her personal savings, but she couldn't rely on that forever; at some point the chateau might turn into a financial black hole if she wasn't careful. The Hamptons beach house had been on the rent roster since her parents purchased it - on the summers the Wilsons stayed there, otherwise, rent it out. It was a clever way of covering the costs of renovations, the calculation even showed that they might break-even in a few years' time, given no major restorations would be required. But renting out a three-bedroom beach house was a different story to a seventeen-bedroom chateau.
This was not something she could openly discuss with her friends. Venting about having money? How would she even start the conversation with how absurdly little people speak of their financial situation? Hi, how do you think I should cover the costs of my chateau?
The hand holding the pen started shaking. She might have spent one too many hours on the admin. Like Rachel said, don't let it drive you insane. She started right after dinner, and it was past midnight by now. A storm was raging outside and she'd thought what a perfect time to stay awake. With the harsh howls of the winds, the occasional noise of something being flung by the wind, and the shaking furiousness of the thunder, she wouldn't have slept a wink. A flash of lightning, followed closely with a loud crack, and then the thrumming vibrated through her walls, her windows, her floor, and then the chair she was sitting on.
She used to rely in the power of number, having her parents just on the other side of the wall was reassuring. If anything happens, run to their bedroom. But now...
Her thumb hovered above the name Charles on her cellphone. Just a call, she contemplated. He won't mind a call, help out a friend. But the view of the ledgers sobered her up. She mightn't have tidied up their photos scattered around the room, or the mementos from all their stupid monthly anniversaries they did, but who was to say he hasn't?
She had asked Rachel, her therapist, 'How should one deal with the memory of a love story?'
The ease of picking up the phone at an ungodly hour, press the call button, and tell them that you couldn't sleep from the storm. And then Charles would say, 'did I ever tell you about...' and the storm would be forgotten soon when she was laughing hysterically over someone else's misfortune.
Let them say that Bridget Wilson couldn't keep a boyfriend; they also say she couldn't even keep her parents. How outrageous. She must be a difficult person to love. She was easier to pity. The poor girl, the ladies would say, all the money in the world and she can't buy her happiness. She didn't know exactly when her life had turned into a cautionary tale in their society.
Rachel said, and Bridget repeated them to herself out loud, "It was a love lived and a love received, some relationships must end so we can carry on with our lives."
Her voice broke in a moment of quiet.
§
Hello everyone, I hope you are doing well and keeping safe. In my absence I've earned a degree, then a job. I haven't written a single sentence for any of my stories in that period of time, and learned that I've lost the ability to write the way I used to do, so I do hope this chapter is not too disappointing.
We have been working from home for a month, and I am doing as well as I can in keeping myself level-headed.
Reading other people's stories brought me joy, and logging in to this profile I found some reviews and messages that made me want to write again.
I went back to all the archived documents I have for Dandelion Beauty and found myself thanking my younger-self for keeping absolutely everything, so I can continue without having to do too much re-research.
Something that stood out to me in writing this chapter is the moment you can imagine Edward going 'abort. absolutely abort mission. ABORT.' hehehe
Anyway, please leave a review to let me know what you think! The longer the better! Until then, stay safe!