Page 98 of After We Fall (After We Fall 2)
above the plane
of tradition
and prejudice
must have
strong wings.
Seven lines of elegant script that reminded me not to let myself be caged by the fear of what people thought or expected. I was my own person, and I could make my own choices. Strength was a beautiful thing.
Of course, it was inspired by Jack too, and I wanted nothing more than for him to see it. Night after night, I went over everything in my mind, trying to find the place where we’d gone wrong, but I could never find it. We were different, but that’s what had given us
our spark. I still felt that kick whenever I thought about him. Still craved his skin on mine. Still missed the way he’d talked and laughed and teased me. Still cried sometimes when I thought about his past.
Once, when I was talking with Georgia about new family photos for the website, she made a vague reference to Jack “working on himself.” Though she offered no specifics, my hopes bloomed fresh.
But as the days turned into weeks and I still hadn’t heard from him, they started to wither.
Muffy, as expected, nearly fainted when she saw my tattoo. “What on earth have you done to yourself? Will that come off?”
“I don’t want it to come off, Mother. I like it.” We were having cocktails in the Rivera Court at the DIA, and she looked around frantically, trying to shield me as if I were naked. The cavernous room was full of wealthy, well-dressed people sipping drinks and listening to a string quartet, but only one of them appeared scandalized by my ink.
“I just don’t understand you these days, Margot. First the scone thing, then this volunteer business at a homeless shelter, and now a tattoo?” She shook her head. “Whose daughter are you?”
“Calm down, Mom.” I patted her taffeta shoulder. “You should be happy about the tattoo. You wanted me to major in English, didn’t you? The Awakening is a classic.”
“Margot Thurber Lewiston, that is not the point. Your erratic behavior is.”
“I’ve explained and apologized for the scone thing a hundred times. And I started volunteering at the shelter because I like helping people. And it only costs my time.”
Muffy looked at me like I was nuts. “We donate money to those places so we don’t have to spend time there.”
I sighed. There was no use trying to explain it to her. “Well, I don’t mind the time. What else have I got to do?”
“I’d rather hoped you might start dating again.”
I took another sip. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is. You’re simply too picky.”
“What’s wrong with picky?”
“Nothing, when it comes to hiring a cook, gardener, or maid. But finding the right husband shouldn’t be that difficult.”
I clenched my teeth. “I’m not going to settle, Mom. I want to fall in love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone settles in marriage, Margot,” she said, rolling her eyes like I’d said something childish.
“Even Thurber women?”
“Especially Thurber women.” Again she looked at me as if I were crazy. “Every Thurber woman I’ve ever known has settled. Marriage isn’t about being in love. It’s about merging two families to create a better one. It’s about preservation and lineage. It’s about tradition.” She sniffed. “Love is for children and poor people.”
If I hadn’t grown up listening to such ridiculous bits of Muffy’s “wisdom,” I might have been horrified. But she couldn’t help the way she was. In her mind, falling in love was probably akin to Causing a Scene. Loud, messy, and indiscreet. But I didn’t have to perpetuate her strange notions, and I’d teach my daughter differently.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. But this Thurber woman isn’t settling.” It was a small thing, maybe, talking back to Muffy like that, but for me it was huge. It had taken me years to find the voice to do it. “I’m holding out for what I want.”
“And what is it you want?” Muffy sounded miffed. “The Prince of Wales?”
