The pearls of yesterday, p.6
The Pearls of Yesterday, page 6
Joey slips me into my sundress without a word. It’s an effortless task for her. Joey and Diana have gotten me dressed and re-dressed over the last several years more times than I can count.
My cheeks blaze with heat. “Can you make sure the pearl necklace gets back in the glass container in my room?”
“You got it, boss.” She gives me two thumbs up.
“Seriously, that necklace is worth a fortune. More importantly, it connects me to my ancestors. Every pearl in its place has a special meaning.”
She nods and puts on an impish smile. “It’s my precious.” Her Lord of the Rings impression is so good it’s scary.
“Thanks. I’ll go see Hudson.”
I take in three long breaths.
Hudson touched my curved body. Not in that sexy way where he can’t keep his hands off me.
I don’t dare glance at myself in the mirror. I already suspect every inch of me is beet red.
Barely getting into the living room, a bouquet of lilies appears in front of my face.
“Your favorite, if I remember correctly.” His voice is less confident than before. “You okay? Sorry if I hurt you.”
I take the flowers—for me? “Thanks.” A smile sneaks onto my lips. He’s accepted my invitation. So many girls asked him and failed, and he said yes to me.
Wow, that letter worked fast.
He read my note and wants to be here for me. I focus on that and only that.
My giddiness is on full blast. But I can’t let him see it. I take a deep breath and call upon every etiquette lesson I’ve ever had. No celebrating until we plan out the next several days.
He stands tall, his posture confident and his chin high. There’s a gleam to his eyes. Tailored black Gucci slacks drape over luxurious black Valentino Oxfords. He wears his black silk suit jacket like a model. Every part of him is polished—the buff shoulders, the leather belt looped around his waist, the slacks that hug his legs perfectly. He’s clean-shaven and not a hair is out of place. No trace of scrubby sleeveless hoodie guy from yesterday.
I cross one arm over my chest to form a shield. I was naked in front of him. The feeling just won’t leave me alone. He’s not saying much. He’s not attacking me, yet I feel under attack with his every glance. His larger-than-life presence has me dumbfounded.
I glance everywhere but his face. The crackling fireplace that’s always fake-burning. Our black piano that always automatically plays classical music in the background. The silver pitcher that is always on the oak dining table.
Pushing his blond hair to the side, he reveals an expensive-looking watch on his wrist. “You look good,” he says. A smirk teases the edge of his mouth as he catches a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror behind me.
His coy and crooked smile flushes my cheeks.
I stop gawking at his mouth and work my way up to his soft, hazel eyes. “Thank you.” I slowly move away. “You look elegant.” I clear my throat and nod politely. “I love lilies.” See, I can put a full sentence together.
He winks and licks the side of his mouth oh so smoothly. “It’s nice to see you . . . again.”
The front door clicks open. It sounds farther away than it actually is.
“I came over to ask, can I officially be your escort for the ball?” he says, his mouth moving in slow motion.
I fix an invisible hair behind my ear to give myself time to process his words—the realness of that question coming from Hudson.
His eyes staring into mine is too much. My chest thumps and I have to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.
My inner twelve-year-old self is shy that the hottest guy in town wants to be my escort. I deny I do a guitar jam and jump up and down in my chair—figuratively speaking.
Joey, and somehow Diana next to her, whisper, swaying my attention to them. They stare at me.
Hudson lowers to one knee, and once again, that closeness overpowers me.
“Uh.” I stare at the flowers. “That would be lovely.” I pause and gather my thoughts. “Yes, I accept. I’ll schedule Demontae for our dance lessons.”
“Yeah, okay.” He pauses, staring at me as if waiting for me to ask him to dance at this very moment. Shock overload. Of course I want to, but . . . Diana.
I null over my lip, trying to find the words to ease her frown.
Hudson rises and takes the cue that I need to talk to my besties. He waves and I slightly nod, hating to watch him go.
I work my eyes to a nail-biting Diana, giving her a sympathetic look.
She stares at her polished gray stilettos. “I’m happy you got Hudson.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry . . . . I wanted to invite you to see my dress, but Astrid . . .”
We never hide secrets from each other. Whether it’s an outfit, a new tea, or a celebrity crush. We’ve always been open books with each other.
“So Astrid rules your friendships?” Diana fixes me with a hard look. “Let’s stop pretending. Every time I mentioned dressing up in our gowns, you kept saying it’s not ready, but you’ve been designing it for months. It is because you secretly want to win queen and think I’ll take that from you?”
“No. I want us to do the ball together. Don’t be upset . . .” I stop mid-sentence and twirl my hair with a finger. “Astrid has been extra controlling lately.”
The last thing I want to do is lose my best friend because the stress of the ball is getting to everyone.
“I’m so hurt that I want to split in half like an atom,” she replies and abruptly turns. She marches toward the door with Joey following behind.
“Take a breath and chew some gum.” Joey hands her a pack from her back pocket. “Stop walking so damn fast. Where are you going?”
If I know Diana at all, tomorrow she will cool down and we can talk about our dresses. Hopefully.
When they exit, I swallow the lump in my throat.
I find my phone and text Theo the longest message of what just happened with Diana. He has this cure to soothe me. Anytime I feel broken or weak, he’s the person I turn to. Sometimes without thinking.
Ever since Papi passed away, Theo has taken Papi’s place as my protector. No matter if I stab my hand with a s’more’s stick or get mean comments on social media, he’s the first to come to my rescue. He’s my safe place.
Following, I send Diana a text of a poodle in a polka-dot sweater. She thinks fluffy dogs in clothes are the most hilarious visuals ever. I add that I don’t want the ball to get in the way of our friendship and that I’m sorry I was scared to stand up to Astrid.
“Everything will be fine,” I say, turning toward the hallway ramp that loops toward the basement. Checking on the antiques gives me a peace of mind, otherwise I’ll be upset about Diana the entire day. I don’t want to do that.
“Yes, it will be,” Hudson says, materializing from around a corner.
“Oh, hi.” I fix my posture. I pause for an awkward moment. “Er, what’s up?” I never say that. No one here says that.
“Where are you going? The basement?” He casually slips his hands into his pant pockets.
“Yeah, was thinking about it,” I say, voicing my thoughts out loud.
With that, I turn down the hallway decorated with fruit paintings against ivory wallpaper and heavy tan curtains on large windows.
Hudson follows.
I like that he follows. His warmth next to me is nice.
Ten
We exchange a few glances until he asks me how I’m feeling. “Diana just left,” I say a little heated. “It’s somewhat frustrating she’s choosing to be mad.”
“I got the perfect cure for that.” He spins around and walks backwards.
“It’s not like I didn’t invite her to be mean.”
Talking to him is easier this time around. It’s as if we’re back to our old closeness.
“Her hurt might be coming from someplace else, like the reminder of not being invited to a party or some shit.”
I spot the antique leaf-decorated engraved wooden door. “Yeah, maybe.” She could be having an off day or upset about something else. I rest my emotions and focus on the next task at hand.
I turn the knob and push the door open with my footrest. Before we venture in, I warn Hudson, “It’s a bit dusty.”
“It is still haunted?” he asks behind me.
“With ghosts and everything.”
Once upon a time, this had been our hideaway, the place where we played I Spy with My Little Eye when we were kids.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he says. “Or anything you can’t actually materialize.”
The comment passes as a stale rose oil scent hits me. Dust filters through the air when we enter. The hundred-year-old mirror lies across the wooden nightstand. I switch on the century-old chandelier with a modern touch added—replaceable lightbulbs. The only replaceable items in here.
It’s a mini museum that contains all of my family history. There are items from the ancestors on my mother’s side who migrated from France and Colombia. And some from Papi’s family and ancestors from Spain and Brazil: woven baskets, bird pictures, golden bracelets, and small wooden toys.
The walls are packed with books, lamps, jewelry, miniature statues, coins, and every kind of brass and gold gadget. It’s a rectangular room with a window at the top right corner just above the ground level. Candles in old-fashioned holders are mounted in the walls at regular intervals. Papi used to instruct the staff to never clean this room because he wanted it to be a sacred space. Secretly, I think he wanted to be the only one to care for everything because he did so with love.
Dozens of first-edition books line the one wall. The largest item is a twelve-foot painting of the first train in Verdan from the 1900s.
A collection of glimmering gems and rocks shine in glass enclosures on the dining table.
How the things we make and how we end up where we are is truly a fascinating study.
I can spend hours with old things, uncovering their past and mapping out their histories. The room is a treasure trove for me. Or an archeological site. No one comes down here except for me. Astrid complains it looks messy and disorganized, and Mother fusses over how every corner is dusty. Some places in the mansion are more occupied than others. I’m the only one who cares enough to spend time here because I know no one else cares to, and thus it makes it my own place.
Across the room, the surface of a small cabinet houses my personal collection. First gum wrapper, first movie ticket, first toothbrush, first handmade wooden doll by Papi. Priceless, but only to me. I started the collection at three years old when I got my first dolphin necklace. The dolphin was my first imaginary friend. There’s a special magic to firsts. They deserve to be cherished.
I suddenly remember Hudson is watching me. “Just ignore that pile of junk,” I say, and hurry to shield my old things. In my mind, my “fossils” are cool, but admitting out loud that I want my things to be preserved is not cool. It’s one thing to collect antiques decades and centuries old, but my collection is private.
Hudson slowly rotates in a full circle and whistles. “This is nothing. You should see my yarn collection.”
I laugh a little. “You’re funny.”
He waves off my skepticism. “I’m serious. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”
Okay . . . . I never imagined he had a yarn collection. He’s never shared anything about it. Though I wish I knew where I stuffed the funky, holey scarf he made me.
Hudson’s enormous smile widens. “You like scarves?” He pulls out a purple-and-black tangle of yarn. “My grandma helped me make it.”
I giggle and poke a finger through a hole. “This is not a scarf. Plus, it’s summer. Why would I want a scarf?”
He shrugs and exhales deeply, as if disappointed. “Just thought you might want to have something to keep you warm at night. My older brothers say it’s how you tell a girl you want to have a slumber party with her.”
I giggle again. “You’re a boy! I can only have slumber parties with girls. Don’t you have boy slumber parties?”
“Boys don’t do that,” says his older brother from behind us. His twelve-year-old body towers over us. “Hudson, knitting is not how you get girls. I told you, it’s all in the flashy cars and nice hair.” He slides his hand over the side of his head and folds his arms together with a smirk. Hudson does his best to imitate his brother, but his smirk ends in a jack-o’-lantern grin.
I laugh once more. “Boys are sooo weird. At least Theo likes to talk about slumber parties.” Theo is my best friend.
Hudson’s cheeks turn red, and he stomps away.
I snap back to the present, wishing once more I knew Hudson better. “When did you start knitting?”
“My nonna would knit. I liked experimenting with the yarns and needles.” Hudson leans against a cabinet. “I loved hanging out with her more than knitting. She told me that knitted gifts are the greatest gifts, but when I made a scarf for someone, it didn’t go well. Now I knit in secret and volunteer at the senior center to teach old folks. Nothing impressive to show off, but it’s rewarding seeing Danielle or Angel learn to knit even if they forget how to the next day.”
“That’s selfless of you, and I loved the scarf you gave me.” My stomach drops. I hope I wasn’t the reason he doesn’t openly knit. I’m sure if I really searched for the scarf in a storage box, I could find it. “You should post pictures on the socials.”
Hudson deflects. “It’s over-the-walls dusty here,” he says, spinning around. “Definitely makes it special.”
I stare at the thick layer of dust on the cabinets. Part of me wants to wipe away the dust, and the other wants to treasure its sense of antiquity. The history of the dust particles.
There’s this eerie silence as if the ghosts and spirits are watching us.
“Is this a throne?” Hudson drops into the eight-foot seat decorated with crowns. “This must be worth millions.”
“Yeah, it’s from ancient Egypt. My grandparents got it on a trip.” Half of these items probably can go for millions. One-of-a-kind antiques that are rare and unique enough to be in a museum. The town once had a museum, but the Kippurs bought it and turned it into a law firm.
Hudson waves the dust away and sneezes, knocking off more dust on himself from the throne. His shoulders dirty, his hair looking old and gray.
I grab a napkin from the purse hanging on my armrest and rush to him.
“Lean down,” I say.
He abides, and we’re so close I almost inhale the old particles. I swipe the napkin over the side of his shoulder and neck.
There’s a mole on his neck paired with a few freckles around it. I don’t stare too long because he’s clearly watching me analyzing his smooth skin.
Suddenly he sneezes and I shriek, laughing. The dust settles around us and now my hair is old and gray looking.
“I really should clean up.” It’s embarrassing. Sometimes it’s easy to let things fall into a rhythm and a cycle, but a fresh, spotless look can give old treasures a shine. While cleaning, I might even discover artifacts that have new stories to tell.
“We can leave,” I add immediately. Not that I’m trying to impress him, but if I was, this wouldn’t be the way to do it.
“No, I like it here.” He hops up and examines the part of the room near the throne. “You used to say that each object has a story. We shall remember that.”
When I sneak a glance at Hudson, he gives one back, hands clasped behind his back. With dust smudges on his face and clothes, he’s lost some of the polish from earlier. But I like him this way.
Now he’s full-on looking in my direction. His smile grows. Those pearly whites could be a commercial all by themselves. If he didn’t breathe, he’d look like a cardboard cutout. Dust smudges and all.
There’s a subtle light to his face from the dimmed chandelier swinging from the ceiling. The frosted glass from the window gives him a hazy shine. Hudson gets more handsome the longer I study his strong jawline and almond-shaped hazel eyes. A rush of heat spreads across my cheeks.
He holds my eyes with a long stare. The intensity in his gaze does something strange to my insides.
When he steps closer, I back up an inch. Something other than Hudson needs to warrant my attention. I’ve realized that being alone with him gets my brain all jumbled up.
A gold picture frame hangs next to a framed 1920s newspaper clipping with a recap of the debutante ball. I rest my hand around my neck. “Look.” I point. “That’s my great-great-grandmother with the pearls. It’s the very first debutante ball in Verdan.”
Hudson strides over, pushes his face close to the clipping, and nods his approval. “They were damn fancy. We’re so going to out-fancy them.” He does a tap dance across the room, kicking up a haze of dust. When I giggle, he dances back to me, finishing with a bow.
He sneezes again and I laugh. “We can go.”
I slowly roll out of the room, leaving him to shut the door behind us. As we head back down the hall to the living room, I find myself telling him everything without pause.
“I have an intense schedule today. I have to tutor kids, take a business class, and help the Ashleys and Pyper with summer school.” All the tutoring gives me community service hours, but it’s honestly more rewarding to see someone’s face when they finally “get it.” Whether that be math, history, or French, making someone feel smart is the best feeling.
“This early in the morning?” He’s too cocky for his own good.
“Yeah.” As much as I wish Hudson and I could stay in the antiques room forever, I speed ahead. He jogs, telling me how one day he’ll show me his yarn collection and how the needles work together with the yarn.
It all sounds exciting even though I’m not into string stuff.
In the foyer, the front door swings open. Mother enters with her client, Mr. Lee, and his daughter, Natasha. Her smile is as big as the sun. Today we have several French worksheets to complete.
“Mr. Lee wants to get a heart-designed sapphire necklace for his wife’s birthday,” I whisper to Hudson. “My mother is having me tutor Natasha for an hour as a favor. But I’d do it even if Mother wasn’t getting something out of it. Tutoring kids is my favorite.”
