RITE OF REJECTION: Bonus Scenes

The Lunch

Rite of Rejection - The Lunch 

A bonus scene from Eric 

Would this blasted lunch never end. 

"Eric, don't clank your spoon. A cup of tea is a refreshment, not a musical instrument." Mother hisses the words from the side of her mouth. We wouldn't want to interrupt Father's conversation with yet another important and influential Mr. So and So. 

"The tea is cold." Not that I would drink a hot cup. We've only been in Cardinal City one night and I'm already sick of all of it. Why in the world would Father want to leave the mountains and ocean of Northwest to live here. The lake we saw yesterday was so small I could sail around it in no time. No challenge. No fun. 

Not to mention the constant game of glad-handing. Why did everything in the capital have to be so much more complicated? Back at home, Father was the best doctor in the territory and with my marks in science, I was on track to follow right in his footsteps. Cardinal city is all about who you know and what you can do for them. The whole place makes me queasy. 

Yet, Father is determined to court his way into a rare and coveted transfer. So here I sit through my second hour of lunch pretending interest in a conversation about the benefits and weaknesses of microbot surgery. 

Mother pats my arms and turns her attention to the conversation, nodding along with everything Father says as if she too is overly impressed with the shortened recovery time due to smaller incision sizes. 

I push the cup and saucer away, turning in my stiff chair to get a better view of the other diners. Every table is packed with other Candidates and their families. All of them bubbling over with excitement for tomorrow's ceremony and ball. All their focus on dance cards and frilly gowns. Not a thought wasted on considering the alternative. 

If Elizabeth can be Rejected, none of us are safe. I flinch against the stabbing pain I get in my chest whenever I think about her stuck in the PIT. 

Not that we could talk about that. Her name is the worst kind of blasphemy in our house. When she didn't come home, there were no questions allowed. My father locked himself in his office while my mother boxed up her room with a blank face. I was left with only an understanding that my future wasn't mine to decide. 

By all means let's all sit here eating overpriced sandwiches pretending this is all some big party instead of a funeral march. 

Well, everyone except her. 

The other women at her table are all smiles. But the girl with the slightly wild, curly blond hair doesn't share in the excitement. She's sitting up straight and smiling appropriately, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. 

Instead, those deep green eyes dart about the room taking in every little detail. I bet she could tell me the color of her waiter's shirt without having to think about it. 

She's taking it all in, listening to her friend blather on in an overly loud voice about her fancy dance card. But even I can tell her mind is somewhere else. Is it possible I'm not the only in in this farce of a spectacle who knows not everything sparkly is a diamond. 

Her head twists to follow another waiter across the crowded café. I lean left in my chair earning me a pinched, disapproving look from my mother. It's worth it. 

I catch the girl's eye just before she focuses back on her own table. I manage to flash her an authentic Eric Dunstan smile. The one that quirks up on one side and earns sighs from the girls back home. 

Her eyes go as wide as my tea cup saucer and a light pink flush creeps up her neck, tinting her cheeks a shade more lovely than any rouge. 

I need to meet her. 

I sip my cold tea until Father finishes he latest conversation on the new laser technique he perfected at the hospital back home. The minute the older doctor walks away, I pounce on my opening. 

"I'm ready to sign a dance card." 

My father lifts on bushy eyebrow while my mother flits hands over her hair and dress as if she's the one I'm about to ask. 

"Well," my father says, his deep voice booming. "It's about time you showed a little interest in your future. Who's the lucky girl? 

I ignore the dig as best I can. My father is determined I follow in his footsteps. Of course, the Cardinal and his council will decide my career path. But that hasn't stopped my father from hiring private tutors and forcing me to spend my weekends shadowing him at the hospital. Courting the perfect girl will be just one more tick mark on his preparation list for my future.  

I nod my head over to the blonde's table. She's sitting quietly, looking everywhere but in the direction of our table.  

Father stands, adjusting his impeccable suit and waiting for me to do the same. An unexpected rush of nerves rustle around my stomach. No time for that now. Father takes off for the table of women and I have no choice but to hustle behind him. 

"Excuse me, ladies." Father amps up his charm as his words cut into their conversation. He might have been all business five minutes ago, but now he's nothing but smiles. "I apologize for interrupting your lunch. My name is Dr. Harold Dunstan. I'd like to introduce my son, Eric." 

The mother of the chatty girl speaks up immediately and introduces her daughter, Cheryl.  

"Hello." I hold out my hand to shake hers, trying my hardest to be polite. It's hard to concentrate on her introduction when the girl I really want to meet is sitting right behind me. Finally, Cheryl sits down and I can turn to her friend. 

"I'm Mrs. Stanley Collins, and this is my daughter Rebecca.

Rebecca. I take another step closer to her chair. She's still blushing and it sits even prettier on her up close. She reaches out a hand. I should just shake it, but I can't help myself. I take her hand up and brush a light kiss there on her soft skin.  

"Rebecca, my name is Eric Dunstan. Very pleased to meet you." 

She smiles back at me, but doesn't say a word. No gushing or prattling on about the weekend. Just a quiet soul taking in the moment. She's perfect. 

"I realize this is a little early, but I was hoping you'd allow me to sign your dance card for tomorrow." 

I hold my breath for her answer, but it doesn't come. Instead she turns to her mother. The contrast between them is stark. Rebecca's presence is quietly unassuming, but Mrs. Stanley Collins has the air of someone in constant search of attention. Mrs. Collins nods her head and I ease out the breath I've been holding. 

"Of course." Rebecca hands over her book with a smile I hold for as long as is socially allowed.  

"A pretty card, for a pretty lady." Her dance card is perfect for her. Nothing flashy, but beautiful in its simplicity. I pull my grandfather's pen from my pocket and sign her book on the first page, claiming the opening waltz. I want to scribble my name on every page, but there are boundaries even I don't dare cross. "I look forward to our dance." 

Father and I make our bows and head back to our table. No doubt, Father is already scanning the crowd for the next VIP to schmooze. But my mind is running the last few minutes on an instant replay loop. For the first time since arriving in Cardinal City, I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow.