Chapter 39: Ophelia

Chapter 39: Ophelia

I’ve never actually walked into a firing squad, but I feel as if I’m doing that now, returning to face my family following my post-bird revelation meltdown.

You laugh, but you have no idea the anxiety that runs through me when I think about birds. And the thing is, they’re everywhere. Unless they’re cooked and on my plate with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy, I want nothing to do with them.

But to my family, as with so many other things I do, it’s just Ophelia being ridiculous.

You know, I did tell them about wanting to write once. I put it in my fifth-grade “All About Me” Essay. I believe my dad’s comment was, "Why would you waste your time on something so trivial when you’re so good at math? You need to do something that really matters."

I remember that moment. It felt like a heavy steel door slammed around my heart. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember making the comment, but it was a core memory for me.

Before we get to the bottom of the stairs, I stop, tugging on Xavier’s hand. And yes, I know we’re breaking rule number one. "Just so you’re prepared, I think you should know if you couldn’t tell already, that my family thinks I’m ridiculous, and they’re going to give me nothing but endless shit about my fear of birds."

Xavier tilts his head slightly. There isn’t much room between us, and my body is responding to being so close to him. It really shouldn’t, but he doesn’t know that. "You can be a tad rash, and your energy has a bit of chaos to it due to your enthusiasm. But if they can’t tell the difference between exuberance and ridiculousness, then that’s their fault, not yours. I appreciate your energy. It’s breathed some much-needed life into my stingy, rigid soul."

His words turn my inside to mush. Dammit, he just broke rule number three.

I squeeze his hand and then let go. If I maintain physical contact with him for one-second longer, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

Also, because I’m definitely afraid I’ve broken rule number five.

There’s a very good chance I’m in love with Xavier.

We manage to slip back into the room. Thanks to the open concept of the kitchen-dining-family room, the entirety of the dinner party, regardless of location, turns to look at us. Most of them have migrated to the family room portion by now.

My dad, true to form, laughs from his place in the armchair. "Leave it to Ophelia to make a scene about something so silly. I mean, one goose chased and bit her once, and you’d think all birds are ax murderers."

"What?" I ask. "When did this happen?"

My mom laughs from the kitchen, where she’s working at the island, scooping leftovers into storage containers. "Oh, you couldn’t have been more than one and a half or two. I know we’ve told you this. We’d taken the three of you to feed the ducks on the pond. The Canadian geese were about as tall as you, and one was definitely as fast as you."

I don’t have any recollection of this event, but even as she says it, I can feel my blood grow cold in fright. Well, damn. It’s not an irrational fear. I was literally attacked. I’m about to say as much in defense of my behavior when a loud laugh arises from the couch.

"Ahhhh, I knew it! I knew you looked familiar!" It’s Dude Number Two. "You’re romantic surprise girl."

Makayla looks up from her phone, squinting at me through her oversized clear glasses. "Oh my God, that is you. You’re a disaster."

Carolina marches across the room toward her niece, demanding to see the phone. Owen’s client and his wife come trailing after. Awesome. A larger audience. "What exactly have you been up to, Ophelia?" my sister-in-law demands.

I look at Xavier and then back to her. The whole crowd of them are gathered around Makayla’s phone—Carolina and Owen, the client and wife, Georgia and Thomas, Madyson, and Dude Number Two, and of course, my mom.

God forbid she be left out of my complete and total mortification.

Aiden’s disappeared. Most likely he’s on the phone about an animal or something. It’s fine. I don’t need one more person to witness my complete and utter humiliation.

Makayla’s date—Dude Number One—is scrolling through his phone at the opposite end of the couch as if there’s nothing amiss.

Xavier and I stand in the middle of the room until my dad tells us to move because the Lions are driving and might actually score for once. It’s good to know football—the American kind—keeps Dad’s attention.

What do I do? Do I storm out—again? Do I see what they’re looking at? Do I try to explain?

I can’t stop thinking about the bird thing. "Wait, so my whole life, as I’ve panicked about birds, you knew there was a logical reason? That I wasn’t just acting out or doing it for attention?" I don’t know who I’m speaking to, but someone has to take ownership. "I can’t believe you’ve all made me feel like I was crazy. That’s gaslighting!"

My mom looks up. "Oh, Ophelia, I thought you knew. We’ve told the story before. It wasn’t a big secret. It was just another thing …"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Xavier asks.

The football game is at halftime, enabling my dad to join the conversation. "Oh, you know, typical Ophelia. She was a ball of energy from day one, and it usually got her into trouble. She never sat still, was never quiet, and never did what we expected her to."

I know what’s coming next. Aiden walks into the room, and he knows too. I see him standing behind Mom, mouthing and mimicking her as she says, "Everything about Ophelia is spontaneous and unplanned, right down to her conception."

Aiden rolls his eyes, which makes me smile. It’s not the first time I’ve heard these things, and I doubt it will be the last.

It’s not like I don’t understand these things about myself. It wasn’t like I didn’t try to sit still or be quiet or not do stupid things. Sometimes—a lot of the time—the action part of my brain fires before the rational part does. Trust me, I’d like it if they worked together more often. My life would be a lot easier.

Aiden flops down on the arm of the chair that Dad is sitting in. "Yeah, but God certainly gave her tons to make up for that. She’s by far the smartest of the three of us."

I want to hug him.

This time Carolina looks up and then looks at me in disbelief. "What? Owen went to Yale."

"Yeah, but Ophelia has a higher IQ than either one of us. We were tested when we were kids. Mom has the reports, right, Mom?"

Wait, I’m smarter than my brothers? There’s no way. They’re put together and accomplished and …

Before I can process this Earth-shattering bit of news that will forever give me bragging rights over my brothers, it happens. If my life was a movie, it would happen in slow motion. Instead, everything comes rapid-fire and from all directions at once. "Jesus Christ, you’re Xavier Henry." Dude Number One is apparently on his own internet deep dive.

"Who’s that?" Owen asks.

"Him," Dude Number Two says, pointing at Xavier. "He’s an actual soccer player."

"Duh." My witty retort is all I have time for before chaos ensues.

"You went viral because you didn’t know your boyfriend was cheating on you."

"You asked ClikClak to set you up."

"You’re married."

"He almost killed a woman drunk driving and left her to die."

"You’re a prostitute."

It’s a lot all at once, but the last statement is so random and outrageous that it’s enough to spur me into a reaction. I wave my hands. "Whoa, that’s enough. What did you say? Did you call me a prostitute?" I glance at Xavier. He didn’t pay me to marry him—not really—and he certainly didn’t pay me to climb him like a tree.

I did that all on my own, thank you very much.

"I’m sorry, do you prefer sex worker? Are you in film or an escort or what? It’s fine. You do you." Makayla nods.

On the other hand, my mother does not have such a sex-positive view. "It’s not fine. She can not do her. Nor anyone else, and definitely not for money! Ophelia June Finnegan, what are you thinking?"

"Actually," Owen adds dryly, not looking up from his own phone, "It is apparently Ophelia June Henry. They are married."

"Why would you marry a porn star?" Dude Number Two asks Xavier. "Don’t you have to sign like morality or behavior clauses? You’re just supposed to bang those chicks. Not marry them. That’s the point. They’ll do you anyway."

I think I’m going to vomit. This is about seven billion times worse than the bird revelation. I’d walk through an entire cage of birds if I didn’t have to be a part of this barrage right now.

"Why on earth do you think I’m a prostitute?" I say at the same time my mother says, "Married? You’re married? You can’t be married."

Mom is growing a teensy bit hysterical. "There was no wedding. We’ve never met him before. Last we knew your boyfriend was Trent. You are not married."

Voices rise, trying to outdo each other. Mom is yelling. Owen is yelling. Carolina is yelling. Aiden’s telling everyone to calm down. The client and his wife are looking around, clearly embarrassed at this fiasco. Makayla and Madyson are cackling and shrieking. The Dudes are still scrolling and calling out embarrassing things from my ClikClak, like the PenisGate date.

I’m pretty sure Dad is still watching football.

Xavier looks at me, his eyes growing wild. "What’s happening?"

"Apparently I’m not the only one in my family with chaotic energy?" I offer, shrugging.

"Why is he saying you’re a prostitute?" Xavier hisses at me in a loud whisper. Then he says, in a much louder voice, to Dude Number One, "Why do you keep calling her a prostitute?"

Dude Number Two chimes in, "It’s right here. In her ClikClak." He waves his phone.

It is indeed my profile, a cute picture of Sundance and me. Under our photo, it says, "Book Lover, Cat Lover, Accountant. #XOXO."

"Yeah." I nod. "What about it?"

"You put that you’re an accountant." Madyson says the word like it’s vile, complete with a disgusted nose wrinkle. I mean, it’s not the world’s most glamorous job, but it’s not that bad.

"Eh, it’s a living."

"Um, Ophelia, here on ClikClak, when people say they’re an accountant, they actually mean they’re a sex worker. Like a prostitute or they run an internet porn site or they—"

Owen starts bellowing, "That’s enough! We get it. I don’t know what all this other shit is about, but I can say that my sister is actually an accountant. An accountant-accountant. She’s done my parents’ taxes before."

Georgia, who’s had to have had at least two bottles of wine by now, looks up through slightly crossing eyes. "Are you sure though? I mean, look at her. Look at him. One of these things is not like the other."

Xavier’s face is like steel. He puts his hands on my shoulders and says, "Thank you very much for your hospitality, but the way you treat Ophelia is frankly shocking. It’s clear you neither know nor appreciate who she is. No, we’re not like each other, but that doesn’t matter. She’s amazing and beautiful, inside and out, and I’m lucky to be her husband."

His defense of me gives me the strength to finally move. Without a word, I storm up the stairs and hastily throw everything I have into my bag. Approximately sixty seconds later, I’m stomping back down the stairs and out the front door without a word to anyone in there.

I get in my car but can’t actually leave because there are two cars behind me. So I sit in the driver’s seat, fuming.

Owen’s client and his wife come out and look at the car at the end of the driveway. I stare straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone. A moment later, Xavier walks out carrying his bag. I watch in the rearview mirror as the mortified client leaves. Good. As soon as Xavier moves, I can finally get the hell out of here. I hit reverse and am about to peel out when I realize Xavier’s hasn’t gone anywhere. I slam the car into park and get out.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out of my way or I’ll drive right into your car. I need to go. Now," I bellow.

"Ophelia, calm down. I can’t let you go. Not like this." Xavier approaches swiftly, and before I know it, he’s enveloped me in his arms. "I’ve got you, chickadee. You’re safe with me, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you."