“You have to dress up for a family dinner? Is that a normal occurrence in your household?”
I stare off to the side. “No. We’re having company. A guest from out of town.”
“Fuck, Bellamy. You know exactly what’s going on.” He pushes a weighted breath through his flared nostrils. “Two young women? Single? A visitor from out of town? Your family is putting you both on the auction block.”
My stomach churns and tiny beads of sweat line my forehead.
“Back on the compound,” he says with a choke in his voice. “That’s what would happen right before one of my sisters would get married off. A man would come to dinner. Then a week later, she was gone. Married off.”
***
“You know what’s going on, don’t you?” I ask Waverly as we face the bathroom mirror. I slick on a couple coats of mascara, leaning forward and examining my eyelids for smudges.
Waverly irons a large curl into a strand of her sandy hair and rakes her fingers through it to loosen it up.
“No, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”
I have to test her. “No. I’m asking. You know what’s going on?”
“Of course not,” she huffs.
“Something’s up.” I click open a blush compact, my hands trembling as I reach for the brush.
“Obviously,” Waverly says.
“Last minute dinner guest… Us being told to look good…”
“Maybe it’s someone from the AUB? Dad’s always trying to get on their good side. They don’t like that he left the old community and moved us all here.”
It’s true. He’s been desperate to redeem himself ever since we relocated.
“Could be a friend from work,” Waverly continues, ironing another section. “Maybe he’s just being sociable. I heard there were secret poly families all over Whispering Hills.”
I can’t stand her naivety a moment longer. The girl was born with sunbeams shooting out of her backside, but real life’s about to smack her upside the head.
“Stop being so naïve, Waverly. He’s trying to marry us off.” I squeeze my compact until I feel the satisfying click in my hand and place it on the counter.
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s the only logical explanation.”
“Dad wouldn’t do that. I’m going to Utah in the fall.” She turns to me, combing her fingers through her curls one more time. “You’re twenty-two. You’re done with school. Aren’t you just waiting to be–”
“No.” I know damn well what she’s implying, and I cut her off before she brings up the whole Cortland debacle. She swore left, right, and sideways never to speak of him again, but this conversation could easily head in that direction. “We should get downstairs. I’m sure they’re waiting.”
***
The guest at the head of the table next to my father is Bruce Waterman, one of the seventy quorum members in our local ward. That wouldn’t mean much to most people, but tonight, my parents flit about like we’re hosting the President of the United States.
Bruce wears a crooked smile, and is tall and bony with gray in his hair and a gaudy gold wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger. My father takes great pride in introducing us all and spends the rest of the dinner with his lips glued to Bruce’s backside.
He says all the right things. Quotes all the right doctrines. Brags about teaching moments and how proud he is that his children are walking in the light.
I try to tune most of it out, pretending to be somewhere else as I push the roast chicken and vegetables around on my plate. I can’t eat.
On several occasions, I catch Bruce staring at Waverly, and then I catch Waverly staring at me like I’m about to fall prey to some grave misfortune. Our sympathies are clearly misaligned tonight.
My father suggests we all head into the family room after dinner, even giving my mothers permission to clean up later so they can join us. I take the big leather chair in the corner, away from the dog and pony show.
“Waverly,” my father calls out. “Why don’t you show Bruce here that lovely hymn you play on the piano. You know the one. Father Is My Favorite Friend.”
“Aw, I was hoping for Take Me to Church.” Jensen moans under his breath. He sits on the leather sofa, assembling a puzzle with one of the twins. I’m half tempted to ask him what he thinks of all this, but I’m quite certain he doesn’t give a shit about any of it. In fact, he’s probably mildly entertained by it.
I stifle a smile, simultaneously ignoring and appreciating his dig.
Waverly takes a somber stride to the piano, sitting at the bench and lifting the lid. Her fingers splay across the black and white keys, and her posture zips upward. I glance at Bruce, who’s grinning ear to ear as he watches her, and then my eyes snap toward my father, who’s watching Bruce observe Waverly.
The whole thing is bizarre.
“Bellamy.” Dad turns around and calls me. “Come. You can sing while Waverly plays. Waverly, can you two do Thy Servants Are Prepared for our guest here?”
A faint groan settles in my chest as I peel myself up from the chair.
Dad flashes a huge smile at me. I’m sure it’s an attempt to remind me not to let him down. “Bruce, I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced yet to my eldest. This is Bellamy, my firstborn daughter. She’s twenty-two.”
Bruce gives me a wide grin, and I focus on his overlapping front teeth. His gaze is sticky. It lingers. I’d love nothing more than to wash it off of me.
“All right, Waverly,” Dad says. “We’re ready.”
My sister plays the first few bars and glances at me just before it’s time for me to come in. We’ve done this number dozens of times at church. We have it memorized. But it’s different now. We’re not doing it as a form of worship, and that makes it dirty.
When the song ends, Waverly shuts the piano lid and stands next to me. Neither of us can look Bruce or my father in the eye.
“Waverly, you’re a beautiful pianist.” Bruce steps closer to my sister, reaching for her hand. I want to knock him down, push him to the ground, and tell him not to touch her. “Your father tells me you’re a virtuous, yet spirited girl.”
Yeah, she’s just a girl. Leave her alone.
Bruce clearly has his sights set on my younger sister. Perhaps he picks up on her naivety and picks up on my resistance. She’d be an easier bride. Less defiant.
He’s preying on her; that’s what it is.
“Waverly, can you quote Article Thirteen of the Articles of Faith?” Bruce asks.
“Yes,” she says, her voice a forced whisper. “We believe in being honest, true, chaste, and in doing good for all men.”
“Good, good.” Bruce’s thin lips coil up at the corners, his voice snakes and slithers into the air around us. “And you, Bellamy?” He addresses me, but he still looks at Waverly. “Are you chaste and true?”
“I am.” Lying to a corrupt church member feels oddly fulfilling. I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Excellent.” Bruce comes closer and places his palm on my sister’s shoulder, his eyes drifting back and forth between us. “You young ladies are the future of our faith. It’s up to you to set good examples for your younger sisters, to follow out on the path that has been lain before you by your mothers and grandmothers. It’s up to you to remain true to your Heavenly Father and the doctrines by which we are governed.”
In the midst of the strangeness, my thoughts travel to Dane.
He makes me feel like I can take on the world. He gives me an inner strength, encouraged perseverance, and a heavy determination. No one’s ever given me those things.
I pretend he’s whispering into my ear, reminding me of my strength, giving me that final push.
“Someday soon, you will be married,” Bruce says, releasing my shoulder from his grasp. “These are trying times we live in. Temptation is everywhere.”
My father’s gaze travels between Bruce’s face and Waverly’s.
Bruce clears his throat. “The priesthood typically does not promote marital arrangements, however, the option to choose your partner is one that must be earned by staying pure and true.”