Loving Levi Greene

Chapter 2: Suitors

"Sooo....I have a suitor!" Abigail squeals and giggles, nearly tipping her lavender tea onto the lacy rug below.

Abigail is my childhood best friend. From little girls with bows in our hair, to young women wearing uncomfortable, cinched day gowns, she has always been my other-half. She is loud, charismatic, and beautiful. I've always been envious of her straight auburn hair that reminds me of fire when it catches the sunshine. She speaks more than she listens. She is blunt and fiery. She is a force to be reckoned with, in the best way.

It's these very characteristics that lead me, her exact opposite, to wonder how such a mismatched pair became to be such close companions. However it happened, I am grateful for her friendship. She has been my support to lean on in my darkest moments. She sticks up for me even when I'm wrong, and doesn't think twice to defend me in all situations.

She is god sent.

"A suitor?..." I ask in disbelief, needing her to repeat herself. I shouldn't be surprised. With her personality and good looks, I knew she'd have a sea of options. I just didn't realize it'd be this quickly.

We'd both just turned 17, her the week before I, the normal age for young women to be introduced into society. "We've just been introduced into the world of courting, and you've already gotten yourself a suitor?" I say with a little more bite than intended. I feel a pang of familiar jealousy forming in my gut. I quickly snuff it out. I should be happy and excited for my best friend. She is beautiful and talkative and has no issue with making connections and conversation. Of course she already has a suitor.

"I know, I know" Abigail starts, gently flattening the invisible wrinkles in her gown. "Mother has already been flaunting me around the town. I've actually seen quite a few ma-ma's bringing their daughters to the social events.... in an attempt to draw in suitors." I hear the last few words of her sentence fall flat, as if she realized the conflict a little too late.

My mother is dead. Who will supervise me at social gatherings? Who will help me find a suitable gentleman to spend the rest of my life with?

I feel a boulder of dread forming on my shoulders. I realize that I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no guidance. I have no aunts, uncles, or older siblings to help me navigate through this detrimental shift in society.

My father is too busy and won't be bothered to attend anything of the sort. As if reading my thoughts, Abigail looks down, her face falters with disappointment mirroring my own. A moment passes.

Suddenly, Abigail's face lights up with excitement, and I can tell she's just had an idea. "What if my mother agrees to supervise you along with me?" she exclaims. "She'd love to I just know it! She loves you like her own and I'm sure it would be no trouble at all. You could even come with us to the park tomorrow! I'll ask my father to speak with yours after their meeting this evening. Amelia, I've heard that everyone will be enjoying the weather at the park tomorrow! It's going to be so much fun, I can hardly wait!" I don't know how she managed to utter all of that with the same breath.

She looks so hopeful. So excited. She takes another sip of her tea, smiling. "You must wear one of your best dresses!" she exclaims. I can feel butterflies of anxiety forming and fluttering in my stomach.

I've socialized at events bustling with people before, but that was before I was old enough for men to take an interest in me.

Since mother's passing, father and I haven't been to any events. We haven't socialized at any parks. We haven't enjoyed any parties. He stays in his study. He only leaves for meetings or for work.

I occasionally stroll through town with Abigail, but even then, men and romance have never crossed my mind. The prerogative was always to get whatever item I needed for the kitchen, the garden, or for journaling. I sometimes sold a few herbs from Eden. Those were my priorities. Never anything else, and certainly not men. I haven't the slightest how to even talk to a man, much less how to attract one.

What do they like to talk about? Work? Hunting? Other women?

The whole idea of this brings on an unwelcome wave of nausea. In my experience, which isn't a lot, the men I've encountered have been distasteful. Distant. Cold. Inconsiderate. Unfeeling.

Maybe these thoughts are a reflection of how I view my father. Still, I know realistically that all men can't possibly be this way. There may be a few decent ones. A few who are genuine in their affections and intentions.

But the odds of me, Amelia Williams-shy and horrible at conversation, finding one of the good ones are slim to none.

I look at my friend. She is beaming with excitement. I do not want to rid her of her high and excitement, so I put on a show. I am good at this, I have been wearing a mask for three years.

I slip it on, giddiness and all.

**

I lay in bed that night, praying that father agrees to let me go with Abigail and her family. The nerves are still there, but I'd be lying if I said wasn't a little bit curious. I am also dying to get out of this house and do something enjoyable. Something that doesn't revolve around completing a task or a duty or a chore. Something social.

I already know father will say yes. He will most-likely be grateful that someone is taking the burden off of his plate. I am the burden. Or at least, this is how I feel. I feel as if my needs, questions, and conversations with him are viewed as distractions from his work.

Something to be avoided at all costs.

He is always busy, and I am always trying to steer clear of his path. The few times that we have both been unsuccessful in avoiding each other, the small talk was absolutely excruciating.

"...How are your studies?" he'd ask.

"Good..." I'd reply lamely, unsure of how to answer.

"How is work...?" I'd ask.

"It's work." He'd answer.

And that was it. End of the conversation. Nod awkwardly and move on.

It is painfully clear that we have no idea of how to connect to each other. The only thing we seem to share is the grieving of my mother. They may have not been the closest couple, but mother used to tell me of the love they used to share when they first met.

Mother would talk about how handsome he was. She would talk about how I inherited his beautiful green eyes and his dark chocolate curls. I can see the resemblance between my father and I.

What I cannot see is how two people can live in the same home, no matter how large, and never truly know each other at all.

Why has my father never shown any interest in wanting to know his only daughter? His only child for that matter.

It is these very thoughts that are robbing me of my sleep tonight.

In an attempt to calm the questions and thoughts in my head, I focus on the fire across the room. The fireplace is filled with glowing crackles of embers with small, tamed flames dancing behind them. They are an ombre of reds, oranges, and greenish-blues. I can feel their warmth licking my cheeks from here. I finally feel myself lulling into a deep sleep.

I fade into comfortable slumber, where I do not dream of anything at all.