Queen of the Wood ✅

7 - That Night

I giggled as I trotted into the kitchen and danced to the pantry, even though I couldn't hear the music from upstairs. Maeve was up there, probably still dancing around my room while I got snacks. She had come over extra early so we could get ready together before the dance.

I still couldn't believe that tonight was the night - the party in the woods. If all went well, my parents and grandmother would be none the wiser. My anxiety was off the roof, even though Maeve had assured me a million times that they'd never know.

"What the hell are you doin'?"

I froze as my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. Even though I knew Dad and Grams were somewhere in the house, meaning she wouldn't do anything right now, I was terrified to be stuck alone with her.

"Get out here, Aisling."

Gripping the bag of chips I had just grabbed, I shuffled out of the pantry and found my mother. She leaned against the island with one hand while the other held a full glass of red wine. I held my breath even though I already felt like I was on the verge of death.

She knew. She had to know. My mother had somehow discovered our plans, and now she would tell me I couldn't go to the dance. She'd then drag me to the attic after Dad and Grams went to bed.

Quickly, I started forming some sort of excuse or plea to let me at least go to the dance.

Mom's eyes scanned down, fixed on the chips.

"Ya shouldn't be eatin' that Aisling. What did I tell you about calories?"

I gulped and looked down at the bag. Dear God, this was about the chips. My legs nearly gave out, and I was so relieved.

"I thought... since Maeve is here-"

"Absolutely not. There are veggies in the fridge. I don't even know who bought those."

Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she walked over, ripped the bag from my hands, and walked over to the trash can, where she dropped it inside.

"How many times have I told ya that you need to watch yer figure? No man wants a dumpy girl."

"Yes, ma'am."

I gulped as I walked over to the fridge and opened the crisper at the bottom. I began pulling out baggies of celery sticks, carrots, and others. It wasn't that I didn't like veggies. More that, for once, I wish I could choose what to eat. My stomach had been growling all day. Mom packed my lunch, and I swore it kept getting smaller and smaller. Yesterday, it was two celery sticks.

It didn't help that the last time I ate anything substantial was the hamburger I devoured at the football game last night. I almost hadn't even minded that Stephanie made fun of me for it. I was too hungry to care.

At least Maeve and I had some soda stashed upstairs. She brought it with her when she came over.

"Good Lord, Cathy. Let the girl have some fun. It's homecomin'."

I straightened up and watched as Grams glided into the room, sniffing at the wine in Mom's hand. My mother's hand tightened around the glass, her rings glinting in the overhead light.

Her name was Celeste, but because Grams called her Cathy so often, I wasn't completely sure what her real name was.

"Don't ya think it's a bit too early in the day for that?" Grams asked.

I dared not move or make a sound. If I drew any attention to myself, Mom would take it out on me later. Hell, she'd take it out on me later just because Grams said something at all. As much as I wanted Grams to stand up for me, Mom had only gotten more creative.

And I didn't dare tell Grams or Dad about it. Not unless I wanted Mom to make good on her threat to have me institutionalized for the stories I wrote in my journals.

"I'm allowed to have a glass of wine in my own home." Mom tried to toss her hair back like all the other rich ladies in town, but it was jerky and a bit off.

I guessed it wasn't her first glass.

"I think ya mean my house."

Just that one sentence and the rise of an elegant eyebrow hit Mom hard. Her shoulders bowed as she lowered the glass. Muscles feathered in her jaw as her nostrils flared, but there was steely determination in her eyes.

"Watch it, Dorothy. Yer gettin' older. Would hate for you to trip and break a hip. Or have some other... unfortunate accident."

Grams blinked slowly before the corners of her lips tipped up.

"You can try, dear. But we both know you'll never get your grubby hands on my money... or my house." She looked Mom up and down again. "Ya can put makeup on a pig, but it'll still be a pig from Texas."

I gulped, frozen still as a statue. Grams' eyes flinted over to me. She walked over to the trash can and pulled the unopened bag of chips out. After inspecting it to make sure it was clear of trash, she held it out.

"You go on and enjoy yourself tonight, darlin'."

I glanced between Grams and Mom. It was an impossible choice, though one I've had to make before. Slowly, I put the veggies back before taking the bag and closing the fridge.

"Ya look beautiful, Aisling. Always have. Always will. Don't ever let anyone make ya think differently. You're a Turner."

Mom's nostrils flared at that, but I ducked my head and quickly jogged to the stairs. I knew that whatever happened next between the two—or to me—wouldn't be right now or later tonight. Neither wanted to make a scene in front of anyone who might spread things around.

But there was no doubt that I would pay for it dearly.