Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2) Page 7

  “Since the day you spoke to your dad, yes,” she admits.

  “Oh…” My brows lift instantly in surprise. “Nothing escapes you.”

  “Not much, I have to admit.”

  After a brief silence, I decide to invite her to the engagement party Alex and I will be hosting. “It’d mean a lot if you could come,” I add.

  “It’ll be a pleasure, Miss,” she replies just as fast. And I’m positively surprised at how easily she accepted. “I’ll be there, but I want to give a hand to that Dutch lady.” Janine steps a bit closer to me, and, lowering her voice, she says, “She is so kind, but so shy. Jeez, that woman barely speaks.”

  I chuckle briefly at her comment. “Yeah, Maria doesn’t speak English well, I think.”

  “She’s so discreet,” Janine blurts out. “You can barely hear her breathing.”

  I couldn’t agree more with her. Since the day I met Maria, I’ve always thought how different she is from Janine. “Yeah, Margaret’s staff is like that too.”

  “Margaret?” Janine asks.

  And I remember I never told her who Margaret is. “Alex’s Mom.”

  “Oh, you’ve already met her?”

  “Yeah, I spent Christmas with his family,” I tell her, even though it’s not usual for me to be so open about my future in-laws.

  “And how is she?” Oh, the question! How does someone describe Margaret Van Dieren? Damn, Janine can be so curious. The differences between her and the silent Maria couldn’t be more obvious.

  “Um… I guess, interesting…” I tell her, keeping it short.

  Fortunately for me, we are startled by the ring of the main doorbell, bringing an end to the inquisition.

  “Looks like your friends have just arrived,” Janine says as she walks back to the entrance to invite them in.

  Then I check myself briefly in the mirror—it looks like I’ve gained a pound or two during my stay at Bedford Hills, and maybe, dare I say, a semblance of a summer tan thanks to my aquatic classes in the outdoor pool.

  Once Janine opens the door wide, I smile, seeing the joyful faces of Sarah, Katrina, David, and, of course, Matthew.

  “Hey,” I greet them, my voice coming out a bit too low, maybe apprehensive at their reaction.

  Sarah trots over in my direction and takes me into her arms, squeezing me so tight that I gasp. “I’m so happy to see you.” I try hard to restrain the rising tears. I don’t feel comfortable being so sensitive and emotional in front of them, but it’s one of the side effects Dr. Nel cautioned me about when she gave me my new meds. There’s also something recomforting about knowing your friends missed you. It could be fake, but my heart feels it straight to its core. After Sarah releases me, Katrina also gives me a hug, followed by David, and at this point, it feels like a ritual to welcome me back on planet Earth and among humans.

  “How are you doing?” David asks me. “Did you recover well?”

  “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing therapy, and I’m taking a lot of meds,” I tell them.

  Seeing how they are nodding at me, I’m not surprised when Katrina asks, “Did you lose your memory or anything?”

  “No, but I had atrophy of my legs for, like, ten days, and I could barely move.”

  “We understand it must’ve been so tough,” she replies, her tone always so kind.

  But the truth is, they can’t understand, no. Regardless of the amount of empathy and compassion they have, no one can understand what it’s like to be practically dead for so many months, when your own life is put on hold by an awful car accident—an accident I could have avoided.

  Not even Alex, Dad, or Emma can understand. And I know I’m beyond blessed to be here again, to have woken up six months later without my brain damaged or my memories wiped away. After all, I could’ve simply… died.

  I could have.

  But I believe God decided otherwise for a reason, and nothing from that day on has ever felt the same—every breath, every laugh, every smile, every moment I spend with those I love will never be taken for granted ever again. I’ve admired and cherished every single one of them as if they were the last.

  And, as I smile at my engagement ring, I think precisely about that. Never take anything for granted, Petra. Him either.

  “Wow! Look at this ring!” Sarah shouts, taking my hand. “That’s a huge sapphire, and it’s so beautiful.”

  “I can’t believe you are engaged.” Katrina hugs me again, before whispering in my ear, “I’m so happy for you.”

  But my eyes dart instinctively to Matthew. He doesn’t look as enthusiastic; he feigns happiness with a polite smile, and I try to compose one back. But looking at him standing right in front of me feels awkward—to my surprise, his disappointment is overly palpable. I thought he had moved on after I’d been in a coma for so many months, and especially after telling him before Christmas that the man standing in front of the car he liked so much was my future husband. Well, I just hope we can remain friends.

  “Alright, everyone, enough,” Matthew chides. “Petra can barely breathe with so many hugs.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Katrina ripostes just as fast. “We have double reason to celebrate today.” I tuck some hair behind my ear—half blushing, half embarrassed with so much attention.

  “Congratulations on your engagement,” David says, patting me on the back. “Your fiancé is a very lucky man. Is he studying at Columbia?”

  “Her fiancé is way older,” Matthew interposes. “At least fifteen years, if not more.”

  I frown at his unnecessary comment. What is that? Jealousy? What the heck, Matthew? I censor him with my glare, but he doesn’t give a crap apparently.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sarah snaps, coming to my rescue. “He’s super handsome, and you guys look great together.” I smirk at Matthew; Sarah is such a great ally.

  “Okay, time to get serious now,” I say as I glance at my watch. “The course is gonna start soon.” I lead them into the dining room, which is the best place to attend Public Economics via Zoom. My laptop is already plugged in and connected to a projector, which will display the class on the white screen stretched in front of us. Once the video call starts, Sarah praises my idea to watch it on the “big screen” like we are in a theater. So far, though, all we can see from the classroom is an office desk and an empty chair, a whiteboard on the wall behind it, and a closed door beside that. After a few more seconds, the door finally opens wide and a gray-haired man steps in. My brows lift, and my lips spread in a wide smile as I quickly recognize him—it’s Prof. Reich, one of the funniest and most fascinating teachers I had last year. Unlike Prof. Chilnisky, Prof. Reich has always managed to entertain us—most of the time involuntarily, but his short stature and sympathetic gaze, combined with his oversized jackets and cringeworthy expressions, make him all too funny and adorable. My eyes move discreetly to my right where Matthew is sitting, trying to gauge his reaction. After all, he considered Prof. Reich, like, his idol last year. But my curiosity is then startled at the sound of Prof. Reich’s quirky voice. “Is it working?” I hear him asking. And we giggle like children seeing his face and neck in full screen as he double-checks his laptop cam.

  “Do you think he can hear us?” I ask Sarah.

  “I can hear everyone,” Prof. Reich shouts at his laptop. And I try my best to contain a laugh, so I just chuckle inwardly. “But I can’t see anyone though.” And he narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how to make it work. “Ah! I think I can see you guys now. Oh! There are a hundred people attending?”

  Matthew puffs into his palm, but I can hear him all too well.

  “Very well, so…” Prof. Reich reaches into his briefcase sitting on the chair and takes out a pen. Then he starts writing something on the whiteboard: Wealth is not money. So what is it?

  I feel Matthew leaning toward me, and he whispers something in my ear. “And here lies all the beauty of philosophy.”

  My eyes travel in his direction, a smile already hanging on my lips, but Matth
ew doesn’t notice me as he’s already taking notes on his MacBook. I observe him for a few more seconds, my smile just as big, and, for some stupid reason, it just crosses my mind that he’s the only one who didn’t hug me at the entrance. Not even to greet me. Nothing. Why didn’t he show any affection like the rest of the group? I thought he cared about me; at least, during our video call when he nearly cried, he seemed like he did.

  Then, as my attention falls back to the screen, I realize Prof. Reich is already engrossed in his introduction speech, and I’m slightly annoyed that I missed part of it. “So, in order to preserve some social interaction between students, each group of five will prepare a study of an ideology as applied to economics. It can be anything, from liberalism to Marxism. The idea is that you deeply analyze the ideology and how good or bad it can be when applied to public economics, including governmental policies, equity, welfare, and the role of the government itself.”

  He looks again at the whiteboard and writes:

  Title and ideology of the study to be assigned by Sept. 15.

  Study to be delivered between Nov. 15 and Dec 5.

  I take note of the deadlines and what the study should include. For the next twenty-five minutes, Prof. Reich starts forming groups of fives, and since there are one hundred people attending, he just groups us alphabetically. Fortunately, he makes an exception for our group, recognizing us from last year. Then, he develops the concept of wealth in a capitalist society and explains it with the same energy and fun that he always has, and we all take additional notes at every opportunity.

  Once the class is over, the obvious question pops up. “Any idea which philosophical system you guys would like to choose?” Matthew asks.

  We all glance at each other, but remain mute. Since no one seems particularly chatty, I say, “I think objectivism is one of the most underrated philosophical systems in history. Maybe we could explore that.”

  “How cute…” Matthew tries hard not to chuckle, but his facial expression gives everything away. What’s wrong with him today? “Given the fact that you haven’t opened a decent book for the past six months, I’ll let this go. Any other suggestions?” I crease my brows, absolutely baffled at his inconsiderate and careless comment.

  Before anyone can suggest something else, I hold his stare and ask, “What’s wrong with objectivism?” Which translates to What’s wrong with you? And I give a glance toward the rest of the group, trying to read the answer on their faces, but they are totally expressionless. “It’s the opposite of intellectual conformism. It’s precisely about taking risks and choosing the least traveled road…”

  “Rand’s a very shallow philosopher, Petra.” His harsh criticism about something and someone that I admire greatly makes my whole body tense up. But Matthew doesn’t seem bothered that I shake my head in disagreement with his statement, and he proceeds, “I understand the appeal given your young age, but it’s painful to hear your comments endorsing it. If you are into classic liberalism, you might just read the classics instead.”

  His tone is condescending, making me think less of him at every interaction. Nevertheless, I say, “If I’m not mistaken, scholars such as Gotthelf considered the philosophy as a unique and intellectually interesting defense of classical liberalism worth debating.”

  “Too bad he is dead,” Matthew snaps back, before drifting his attention to everyone else. “So any other suggestions?”

  What a fucking asshole he can be sometimes! “What’s so wrong with objectivism?” I ask again, aiming for a straight, clear answer for once. “Just because it’s not mainstream doesn’t mean it’s a juvenile philosophy not worth exploring.”

  “It’s useless intellectual garbage.” Matthew doesn’t go soft on his words. “We can do something more contemporary.”

  “It’s contemporary; Allan Gotthelf, one of her scholars, died in 2013,” I tell him.

  “Guys,” David intervenes, his voice steady and most likely searching for a peaceful compromise. “I know nothing about objectivism, but if you both know enough about it, then maybe it’s a good idea we do the study about it.”

  “David,” Matthew snaps again, his tone dismissive. “Petra gave one of the worst suggestions in human history,” he rebukes with a smirk. “It’s like saying Hitler had a point to do what he did.”

  “What?!” I gape instantly at his absurd comment. “What does Nazism have anything to do with objectivism?”

  “It’s a right-wing philosophy that defends selfishness and capitalism. It’s just as bad,” Matthew snaps back.

  “Ethical selfishness,” I correct. “It’s about pursuing your destiny, what you believe in…”

  “That’s something Hitler would say,” Matthew keeps teasing. Or at least I hope he is, because I’m hating him to the core with every new word coming out of his mouth.

  “Any ambitious person would say so. Any entrepreneur likes objectivism,” I tell them.

  “Oh yeah, Wall Street and tech titans must love it,” Matthew chides. Then he looks at David and says, “It’s a philosophy that basically defends classic liberalism and laissez-faire.”

  “And individual freedoms and rights,” I add. Grasping my iPhone, I quickly search for one of my favorite quotes by Rand and read it out loud, “Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision.” Then looking at my group, I ask, “Isn’t it heroic and noble? Something we should all want to aspire to? Objectivism rejects social and intellectual conformism. It’s like the slogan of Apple, ‘Think different.’”

  “It’s like the philosophy of the greedy when applied to the economy,” Matthew interposes, having none of it. “That’s why Prof. Reich and so many scholars rightfully dislike it so much. I’m disappointed that you even like it.”

  “So we’re screwed?” David asks, his tone filled with fear. “I feel like we’re gonna get such a bad grade. And I can’t have bad grades. My scholarship depends on it.”

  “No one is gonna get bad grades,” I reassure him. “We will work methodically and decompose objectivism first as a philosophy, and then how it applies to different branches of PE…” I stop before saying, Matthew is just being an ass. And looking at the asshole sitting beside me, I say, “For someone studying economics, you should be a bit more open-minded.”

  “It’s because I’m open-minded that I don’t like objectivism. I studied it, and I found it very juvenile and shallow.”

  “Enough, you two,” Sarah interjects, her loud voice startling everyone. “I’ve never seen you guys like this,” she points out, looking at Matthew and me. “You guys used to be great friends.” As she lets out a sigh, we look at each other, knowing Sarah is right, but not acknowledging it. “I couldn’t care less about objectivism, but I do care about our group.” Then she pauses, thinking something through. “Since you guys are so crazy attached to this philosophy, Matthew will say one good thing about it, and Petra one bad thing.”

  After assessing Sarah’s request, Matthew is the first to speak. “Hmm, the fact that objectivism believes hedonists and whim-worshippers are living sub-humanly sounds good to me.”

  “And you, Petra?” Sarah asks.

  “That’s exactly what I don’t agree with when it comes to objectivism. I think hedonism can be pursued as a sustainable and ethical lifestyle.”

  “What the fuck? Ethical hedonists?” Matthew huffs, trying to brush off my opinion. “Sounds like a PC way to describe spoiled brats who have never worked a single day in their lives.”

  Squinting my eyes like lasers, I focus them on Matthew like I could zap him. “Just because some people don’t need to work doesn’t mean their lifestyles are less honorable,” I find myself saying, as if the attack was personal.

  Mercifully, our heated argument gets interrupted by a knock on the door, and Janine comes in. “Miss Van Gatt? Lunch is served,” she announces.

  Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s already midday, the time I told her to have lunch read
y. “Thank you, Janine.” As I look at the group, I say, “Um, Janine prepared some food for us all.” I pause for a beat, gauging their reaction. “I thought it’d be great to have lunch together to celebrate the beginning of the new school year.” A smile escapes me, seeing how everyone but Matthew is praising the idea. And as I quickly glance at him standing up, I never thought, not even in a million years, that the sweet Matthew I met last year could become a total dick when discussing philosophy.

  “Thanks, girl,” Sarah says, patting me on the arm. “That’s really nice of you.”

  I lead them to the terrace where lunch is being served. And we are all caught by surprise at the beautiful setting Janine has prepared. A well-arranged table always makes lunch a bit more special, I remember her saying.

  As we start eating, courses and professors quickly monopolize the conversation. And, not unexpectedly, Sarah then asks me, “So you also switched majors?”

  “Not really, I’m still doing finance, but I’m taking Public Economics to be with you guys,” I tell her, keeping it short. After all, it’s not usual for students to do that, and I know the dean is making an exception due to the current social distancing rules. Nevertheless, the more we talk about Public Economics, the more they seem to enjoy the idea of the study. Then, as Sarah starts talking about their other courses, I notice Matthew remaining unusually quiet. In fact, he hasn’t said a single word the whole lunch and his gaze remains vacant, starting at nothing, like merely a zombie. Something must be going on with him—something he isn’t telling me. Then I remember the texts he sent me when I was in the coma. And despite our heated argument this morning, I do believe he still cares about me. So, leaning a bit closer to him, I say in a low voice, “My dad introduced me to objectivism.” His eyes widen in surprise, a bit taken aback by the revelation. After all, it’s not usual for me to open up and say something so private. “A first edition of Atlas Shrugged has been on his nightstand since I can remember. I know he’ll be quite proud of this project.” I see a faint smile settling on his lips, but he remains still, carefully listening. “Dad said it was Rand’s philosophy that inspired him to move to New York and start his own company.” And I also smile as I recall the first time he told me about it. “You know, he was the first person from his family to emigrate and the first to become financially successful.”