In my mother’s eyes I have no prospects of a good man, so why on earth wouldn’t this be perfect? I’ve tried a few times to explain my position, but if she’s going to insist on a strict interpretation of the will, I’ve begun to see that this is the only way to keep what my family has built for generations intact. And so I’m stuck.
My announcement that I’m getting married is still hanging in the air, Jonnie’s face blank, when his phone rings.
What terrible timing—or maybe it’s the best timing ever, since I’m not certain hashing this out face to face with Jonnie is a task my resolve is up for. He draws me in like a magnet, and I already want to just cave, forget about everything, and let him take me to bed.
But I owe it to him to explain why I’m marrying Alex, even though my heart wants to be here with him and leave my scheming mother behind to manipulate someone else.
Jonnie listens on his phone for a few moments, an urgent look in his eyes and signaling to me with one finger—a plea asking me to wait. I know he wants to tell me what I already know: I’m making a mistake. In many ways it feels like a mistake to me, too. But it’s an unavoidable one, and I worry he’ll never understand.
“Okay. I’ll be right there,” he says. “Tell Queen Diva to hold on.” He disconnects his call and throws his hands up, exasperated. “I’m sorry. I really want to have this conversation.” He reaches for both my hands, and I look at him. “I really, really do. I just have a crisis I have to attend to.”
I nod. Waiting a little bit won’t change my mind, and if I say too much now, I’ll start to cry.
He squeezes my hands. “I need to have this conversation with you. I want to understand.” He searches my eyes. “This is not what I was expecting when you said you wanted to meet with me. We’ve got to discuss this. Please give me the chance to talk to you.”
With a deep sigh, I nod. “I have two hours, and then I have to leave for my return flight. I’ll wait as long as I can.”
“You’re leaving so soon?”
I nod. “I’m sorry. I need to be back for a Reinhardt board meeting tomorrow.”
He leans in and gives me a kiss on the forehead before running toward the door. He looks over his shoulder. “I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The door closes behind him, and I know he won’t be back in time. Queen Diva is exactly as described: a high-maintenance performer who has more talent in her little finger than I have in my entire body. She’s his in-house talent, and he’s shared with me before that she gets herself worked up about things and it’s difficult, but she’s worth all the hassle. She packs the house five shows a week—over a hundred and forty shows a year. The Shangri-la keeps fifty percent of each ticket sold, and her theater seats just under three thousand people. Which means she earns more than forty million dollars a year—and before costs, so does the Shangri-la. That’s not chump change.
I walk back and forth in front of the full-length windows and look out over the desert. The hues of orange and purple are stunning and so different from anything I grew up with. Minnesota’s state motto is the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Granted, we also say the mosquitoes are the size of small birds because of all the water. It’s the opposite here, and I like the dryness and heat.
I continue to pace in front of the window, one minute willing Jonnie to return so he can talk me out of this decision and the next praying Queen Diva keeps him so we don’t have to have this wretched conversation in person. I’ll never convince him. I’m not sure I‘m convinced. I just am out of other options.
Time inches by. I check my watch every fifteen seconds and my email every five. Waiting. Wishing. Hoping. Dreading. The silence is deafening, and I jump each time I hear a subtle bump or flicker—probably the air vents or nothing at all. No Jonnie.
Finally I can’t take it anymore, and it’s time to return to the airport. I need to leave. Taking a piece of paper from my purse, I write a note: I’m sorry. Magpie
As I walk out of his apartment and through the hotel to my waiting car, I secretly want him to see me. I want him to find me one last time. Marrying Alex means I’m preserving the company, but I’m losing an incredible lover and a great friend.
On my flight home, I can’t stop crying.
“Is everything okay?” the flight attendant asks.
I wipe my eyes, knowing my mascara is probably all over my face. “Just a bad break up,” I explain.
She nods sympathetically and after a moment places a glass of amber liquid in front of me. “A double scotch. It may burn going down, but it’ll help numb the pain.”
I try to crack a smile. “Thank you.” I take a small pull from the glass and marvel at how I’ve changed the course of my life. After a few minutes, the drink does as she’s promised, and my tears dry as the numbing begins.
When I arrive in Minneapolis, Richard, our family driver, is waiting to meet me. He takes one look at me and brings me into his arms. Once again I begin to cry. He and Hazel always know how to make me feel better.
Richard Patterson and his wife, Hazel, our housekeeper, have been surrogate parents to my brothers and me. I adore them. They never had children but essentially raised us as their own. They attended everything we did and made life bearable. They were supportive when my oldest brother, Christopher, emancipated himself in high school and worked his way through college and into the profession of his choice. They guided him to the U—as they call the University of Minnesota—and then to the University of North Carolina for medical school, instead of Carlton and business school like Father wanted. When my younger brother, Stevie, announced he wanted nothing to do with Reinhardt’s and moved to Hawaii and opened a surf shack on Kauai instead of going to college, Hazel and Richard were the ones who visited him and eventually talked him into coming home. I was the child who always did as my parents asked and when they asked. I’m the dutiful daughter, and my mother never fails to capitalize on that.
“How was your trip?” Richard asks.
He knows the pressure I’m under.
“It was okay. But can we take the long way home? I’m not ready to face my mother.”
We drive the scenic route from the airport toward our family home, Reinhardt House, in the upscale St. Louis Park neighborhood of downtown Minneapolis. I suppose it’s a little strange that I still live there at age thirty-one, but that’s just how it’s done in our family—or it would be if either of my brothers played by the rules. I have my own space, and for a long time it helped me feel a part of the Reinhardt tradition. Only lately has it begun to seem suffocating.
I can see signs of spring trying to burst forth in the scenery outside my window, but as we drive, my thoughts inevitably return to Jonnie. He was the coolest guy on our high school campus. He had this level of confidence most boys don’t find until later. His swagger had all the girls swooning; his blue eyes melted even some of the teachers’ panties, and he had a mop of hair that always looked perfect. I learned quickly that girls wanted to hang out with me to get access to my brothers and Jonnie, which made me cautious about other women—a trait I’ve kept to this day. But I never got to hang out with any of their friends. The three of them wouldn’t let any other boys near me. I blame them for my desperate high school love life, which seemed to follow me to college.