Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [55]
Shipley’s foot hovered over the gas pedal. She was obviously dying of embarrassment. “Thanks so much, but we’re actually both allergic to nuts,” Eliza fibbed.
Deep, worried creases appeared on Mr. Ferguson’s forehead. “Tom’s all right, isn’t he? He hasn’t even called today.”
Eliza could have told him what she truly thought of Tom, but she wasn’t an asshole. Not really. “Tom’s great,” she said. “He’s really into this art class he’s taking. And he’s acting in a play.”
Mr. Ferguson nodded. “He mentioned that. Any idea when they’re putting it on? We were thinking about making the trip up to see it.”
“It’s next weekend. Saturday night. You should come! And the Portraiture open studio is totally the same weekend. I would know because I’m sort of the star of the show.” Eliza winked at him. “You’ll see what I mean when you see it. Anyway, we won’t tell. You know, in case you want to surprise him.”
Mr. Ferguson grinned. “Good idea.” He stepped away from the car and pushed his hands into his khaki pants pockets. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Tell Tom he missed a kick-ass turkey,” Matt called.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Mrs. Ferguson waved as Shipley leaned on the accelerator and sped away.
Shipley didn’t say anything on the way home. Tom’s parents were nice and his house was idyllic. It was just as she’d thought. Tom was the perfect boyfriend. When she got back to Dexter, she’d have to work very hard to fix what she’d very nearly ruined. She would make it clear to Adam that kissing him had been a mistake, and while she was happy to be friends, it must never happen again. She would try to be more understanding of Tom’s art. Artists took drugs and behaved strangely sometimes. The work required it. Besides, Tom was only experimenting. Pretty soon he’d figure out that art and ecstasy really weren’t his thing. Deep down he was still her Tom. Even more so now that she’d met his parents. She could imagine planning the flowers for their wedding with Mrs. Ferguson in her sunny kitchen. She could hear Tom’s brother giving a witty best man toast. “Tom had only been at college for a week when he called me and said, ‘I’ve just met the girl I’m going to marry….’ Of course I didn’t believe him, especially not after I met the girl. She was way too pretty for him.”
Dinner was already laid out on platters on the dining room table. Mrs. Gilbert was seated at one end, drinking wine. “I didn’t actually cook,” she admitted. “I got it at Good Enough to Eat. Everything there is so fresh.”
Eliza took a seat, her new coat zipped up to her chin, and helped herself to a piece of turkey breast with blood orange and pine nut stuffing.
There were only three places set. “Wait,” Shipley said as she settled into her chair. “Where’s Dad?” She hadn’t seen her father since she’d arrived, but that wasn’t unusual. Mr. Gilbert never appeared until dinnertime.
Mrs. Gilbert took a sip of wine. Then she took another. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the glass. “Your father doesn’t live here anymore.”
Eliza was sorry she was present to witness this, but she was also sort of thrilled. She waited for the shit to hit the fan. She expected Shipley’s hair to stand on end and for her to leap on top of the curtain rod, a major gymnastic feat in ironed underwear and flawlessly creased jeans.
Shipley trimmed the skin off her presliced turkey and took a bite. Her father wasn’t the type to run off with his secretary. He worked hard and read a lot and ran in marathons and skied. He liked old movies.
“What happened?” she asked. She supposed she wasn’t all that surprised.
“I meant to tell you, but you never call home,” Mrs. Gilbert explained. “After you left for college, he and I just agreed that we didn’t have anything to say to each other. We’d had that feeling for a while, or at least I had. Your father suggested marriage counseling, but I just couldn’t see the point. He’s renting an apartment in the city, near his office, and he’s just bought some sort of surf shack in Hawaii. I