Make Me a Match

I’d thought about that but figured that would make him all the more eager to support our marriage. “I’m taking her off his hands.”

“No. You’re legitimizing her, and that’s worse. Left alone with only her grandma, our peers would tear her apart for not knowing how to act, what to wear, what to say. If you marry—"

“When I marry her,” I interject, trying not to interrupt my sister because she’s making points, but also wanting everyone to know exactly where I stand. Marriage is not an option.

“When you marry her,” Caro corrects herself, “she’ll be one of us.”

“She is one of us. She’s a human.”

“You know what I mean. Even your student was looking at Paislee like she didn’t belong.”

I hadn’t noticed. “Why do we care about what a twenty-year-old who barely got her high school diploma thinks?”

“We don’t care about the student, but she’s an example.” Mom finally adds her two cents.

I scowl because I don’t like hearing this, but I know she’s right. Caro senses that my temper’s getting worked up because she changes the subject immediately. “It’s a good thing that you’re on break, otherwise it would be hard for you to romance Paislee while you had to go teach for the day.”

“I’d just bring her with me. She could be my unofficial assistant.” Gertie appears at my shoulder to fill my coffee cup. I hadn’t even noticed it was getting low.

“That would be distracting for your students and for you,” Mom points out.

“Probably more distracting for me.” Gertie tries to shove another piece of French toast on my plate, and I have to block her. “Gertie, I’m courting someone. You can’t put a belly on me or Paislee won’t have me.”

“You bring that girl here and I’ll fatten you both up.”

“I will.”

“You can’t live in each other’s pockets,” Caro says.

“Why not?”

The two of them gaze at me in dumbfounded confusion.

“I’m kidding.”

Mom breathes a sigh of relief.

“What will she do while you teach?” Caro asks curiously.

“Why should she do anything? Gant can support her.”

“Paislee doesn’t seem like the kind of person to sit at home all the time.”

Mom considers this for a moment. “She could do charity work. The Abbotts have a lot of companies where they could place her. She is certainly welcome to try her hand at sales with us.”

“I think she might want to go back to college. She was a semester away from getting her B.A. in education when her mom passed, so she might want to go back to school and get her teaching certificate,” I inform them.

“Is that why you said she should come to school with you?” Caro wonders.

I scrape the rest of the French toast into my mouth and fend off Gertie again before replying. “Yeah. She can go back to school, and when she’s done, she can teach at my school or somewhere else. Whatever makes her happy.” I wipe the syrup off my lips with the napkin and get to my feet. “Thanks for everything, Gertie.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t make anyone cry in the wedding party,” I say to Caro. I give Mom a kiss and then head for the door.

“Where are you off to?” Mom asks.

“To stab Daddy Abbott in the balls again.” He must be the reason Paislee didn't call me last night like I’d asked. I figured she passed out. I haven’t heard a peep from her since I left her on her doorstep.

A call to Abbott’s office reveals that he’s not arrived yet, which means he’s probably at Belle Époque terrorizing my woman. Irritated, I press my foot to the gas pedal. I’m not one to get angry. Life is short, and time is better spent dwelling on the good things like my family, my work, and now my gorgeous, amazing wife-to-be, but sometimes you can’t ignore the flies in your ointment.

You have to take out the trash, or your whole life becomes polluted. Now I can’t do away with Abbott like they used to in the old days. My great great grandfather probably would’ve had the man offed by one of his minions and buried under the magnolia tree on the south side of the property. I heard more than one of his enemies found their final resting spot there, or so the family legend goes.

The Fréres’ money didn’t start out clean, but it’s been washed so many times that you can barely make out the presidents’ faces on the bills. The ancestors would be proud that the new Fréres money is made from selling the whitest shit possible, but just because we’re in the business of silk and lace and diamonds doesn’t mean we don’t have a nasty streak.

We’re just good at hiding it. On rare occasions, our orneriness rears its head, like the time I stabbed Abbott in the balls or when my sister, Caro, put Nair in the shampoo bottle of the captain of the football team after she heard the guy had hit his girlfriend.