His eyes turn to me. The hazel is practically mocking, and even though I don't react, there's no way he doesn't notice the way my face warms when he stares at me a beat too long.
Jo would kill me. It's enough to get it from Amy, but me too? God.
_...
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________________________________ Amy seems to think theatrics will quell the mood of this morning.
"I'm making a mold of my foot so Tom will know I have nice feet," she tells us from where she's sitting, her foot ankle-deep in a bucket of plaster.
Meg reads a letter silently in the corner, Jo writes in the chair by the fireplace, and Beth stitches a shoe for Mr. Laurence. Marmee left after breakfast to see father, who's sick (which I've been so swept up in my own drama I somehow never knew about), and after my fight with Laurie this morning, I haven't had the energy to do a thing.
"So when you said he was just a 'friend', I suppose you meant future husband?" Laurie demands hotly, pacing in the front yard.
"I didn't know he was planning to propose!" I insist, my voice rising. "I told you I want you—"
"Don't—" Laurie pauses and holds up one hand. He looks anguished, and the cutting glare he gives me feels like a slap. "don't..talk to me for a little while. I need time to...think. About a lot of things."
And then there was Tom.
"Lillian," he begins, blue eyes sparkling, and I feel like my skin is about to break out into hives. "Would you do me the honor of—"
Amy coughs loudly in the corner, and when Tom stutters she begins to hack aggressively on something. When I look over at her she widens her eyes at me. 'Run!' her expression says.
"I, uh, am going to get some water." I squeak, and rush out of the living-room.
"Mr. Brooke writes that father is getting better," Meg begins. "he also says mother is the best nurse a man could have."
"I wish the letters were from mother and not Mr. Brooke," Jo scoffs, and stops writing to look up at me. "and I think we have more pressing matters to discuss."
"I'm grateful for any letters—" Meg begins, but knocking on the front door interrupts whatever she wanted to say.
"I think this deep purple is very fitting for Mr.— Mr. Gently," Beth squeaks from the doorway, and all of us crane our necks to see.
