Page 85 of Dearest Beast
The word made Rebecca itch and feel even more like an impostor than she already did in the too-fine gown she wore or at Shabbos luncheon with people far too polite.
“I don’t need anything special,” Rebecca protested. Which was true. She didn’t. Nor did she feel particularly comfortable accepting the constant gifts from her friend, no matter how many funds Isabelle had.
Not that she wanted to be rich, but because it reminded her of how mismatched their pairing was in yet another way.
“I don’t need a new Purim costume next month, but I’m having one made,” Isabelle told her, bouncing a little with excitement.
Rebecca took the bait despite herself. “Do I dare ask what it is?”
“Titania, from the Shakespeare,” Isabelle explained, twirling a touch. “Aaron is going to be Oberon.”
“Naturally.” Rebecca smiled at how wonderfully silly and awkward the woman’s husband—a former custodian hardly used to fine dress, let alone fancy dress—would look.
A twinge of jealousy once again rose in her breast. Oh, to love like that and to be loved that way in return. For it to be so powerful that no opinions, no differences, no mismatches mattered.
Not that she begrudged them what they had. She just understood, even now, how special and rare it was. After all, Roger would never feel that way about her, no matter how much fun they had in bed.
Not that she actually loved him or wanted him to love her.
Only that their intimacy could cause the mind to follow dangerous roads of “what ifs,” which she needed like a hole in the head.
“There’s going to be a great deal of gold and sequins and lace, and we’re going to have the loveliest wings.” Isabelle turned toRebecca. “You’ll come with us to the reading and then to our party, won’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed. Not that she ever did anything different and not that it wasn’t enjoyable, both being with her friend and the glorious food her family served.
It was only thathewould most certainly be there—with his new bride. And while she’d gone to bed with the man knowing that would occur in the end, her stomach twisted at the idea of seeing them happy in public.
“Good,” Isabelle said, cocking her head. “I don’t suppose you have a costume idea?”
“No, as I’m sure you’re already having one made for me,” Rebecca returned, folding her arms.
Isabelle grinned. “You know me too well.”
“Who am I?” Horrifying memories of Isabelle’s suggestions for Purims past rose in her mind. “Don’t tell me. One of your fairy court?” she asked, already grimacing at the almost certainly flimsy costume her friend would have in mind and how she was going to have to find a cloak to place over it for as much of the time as possible. A frequent occurrence on the holiday.
“I’m not that self-centered,” Isabelle said with a laugh. “Usually.” She grinned at Rebecca. “It’s a surprise.” she declared, holding up a palm to halt any argument Rebecca might have. “I promise, you’ll like it and it’ll be flattering,” she assured her, pouting. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No.” Rebecca shook her head. “Not at all.” She was smiling, though. “But I don’t have much choice in the matter,” she said and sighed again. “Especially as I’m here until right before.”
“How has it been?” Isabelle asked. “I know you’ve written me, but it’s so difficult to tell tone from mere letters.” She peered a little too closely at Rebecca for her comfort.
Turning away from her friend, Rebecca grabbed a rag and began scrubbing at a spot on the worktable. “You can presume mine is irritated most of the time and, when not dry, perhaps a touch acerbic,” she told Isabelle. That was most certainly true.
“Which I do enjoy, but you’ve been rather scant on specifics.” Her friend drew nearer.
“I’ve listed every activity in which I’ve partaken, as well as all the people who have come to make purchases, many of whom are not clients,” Rebecca reminded her. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Not at all,” Isabelle said, shaking her head a touch too quickly to be believed.
She had suspected something like that, even if it was not what she wanted or needed.
“When I said that I didn’t want anyone poaching my customers, I didn’t mean that I sought to poach someone else’s,” Rebecca scolded her friend.
“You aren’t,” Isabelle assured her. She paused as if she was thinking quite hard. After a moment, her friend’s large eyes grew even wider. “It’s a matter of safety,” she declared.
“ ‘Safety?’ ” Rebecca asked despite herself.
“You’ve seen the weather,” Isabelle argued, gesturing toward the exit. “Do you truly want members of our community venturing out needlessly far in this?”
