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Ginger Fox

Jon sits next to me, staring at his plate of food with the same lack of enthusiasm I feel. It's not that I’m ungrateful or picky, but seriously, who serves octopus soup to a child? Where’s the meat, salad, and fries?

“And what are you doing in Columbia, Ginger?” Charlotte Roy, the well-made-up lady in her elegant dress, gazes at me serenely from across the grand table.

Lorane had introduced her as the matriarch of the family, receiving a warning look from the elegant woman, who appears to be over sixty-eight but with a sharp clarity.

“Miss Fox is serving dinner to Jon,” Lorane says sharply from the seat beside the old lady, not giving me a chance to speak.

“I assume Jon doesn’t have any mental or motor impairments and can feed himself, Lorane.” The petite woman raises her wine glass, sips calmly, and looks at me. “Come on, child, I don’t have all night for suspense. Answer.”

I hear Jon’s soft laugh, his headphones still in his ears. He lifts his utensil, stirring his soup.

“Well, I recently finished my degree in Business Administration…”

“And you didn’t think of working in your field?”

I find myself liking the straightforward woman, who speaks bluntly without beating around the bush.

“Actually, I didn’t have much time. I ended up getting involved in other projects, and before I knew it, I was coming to work here.” The sound of heels clicking slowly on the floor makes me stop. The blonde woman in the tight red dress enters like a butterfly, bringing a splash of color to the dining room.

“God, are you already interrogating poor Ginger, Aunt?” I feel the light touch of her fingers on my shoulders as she pulls the chair next to me and sits down delicately.

“Hello, freak, didn’t know you had arrived.” Baby breathes slowly, closing her eyes and smiling faintly at the old lady’s greeting.

I don’t understand why she calls her that. Maybe Baby’s almost vulgar attire makes her a freak in Aunt Charlotte’s eyes.

“And I didn’t know you survived the last stroke!”

I stifle my disgust at Lorane’s remark, nearly choking on the viscous soup when the delicate lady makes this comment, causing a surprising and quiet laugh from Jon.

I nudge my foot against Jon’s, smiling at him, which finally makes him fully smile back at me. Looking back at the women, I find myself being stared at by three pairs of eyes.

“Jon, eat your food,” Lorane says quietly, but enough to make him return his attention to his soup and wipe the smile off his face.

And there goes the small opening he had given me, as he retreats once more. The sound of a chair being dragged catches my attention to the end of the long table. The stern-faced man with a grim expression straightens up. If I thought Baby was tall, this man redefines the term big, not just in height but in overall size and muscle. He loosens the buttons of his dark blue suit and sits down with a heavy breath.

“Hello, Jonathan, I thought you wouldn’t make it to dinner tonight.” He puts on what must be his closest attempt at a calm look for the elderly lady.

“Sorry for the delay, Aunt…” The deep, rough voice, along with his appearance, makes me realize that Mrs. Lorane’s husband is neither on the brink of death nor a wealthy old man.

But indeed “The” rich man.

He is strangely dark, almost as if the entire room were closing in, silencing with his entrance. His square face and military haircut make him more taciturn; his large hands lightly tap his fingers on the table, looking at his plate with no interest. And almost as if by magic, there is curious Ginger, analyzing him with intrigue. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment when, with a swift movement, his head turns in my direction, his eyes locked on mine. They are overwhelming, filled with intensity, a light blue almost tinged with gray, like Baby’s, but his remind me of a rainy day with an overcast sky. At that moment, I should have looked away, but I keep examining every line etched in his stern face. The scruffy beard doesn’t make him look unkempt, but rather rugged, handsome, and dangerous at the same time. The slight tremor at the corner of his lips draws my attention to his mouth, which is straight but highlights his lower lip, larger than the upper one, harmonizing with his masculine face. His thin, straight nose follows the shape of his dark eyebrows, which stand out against his pale skin. Yes, he is indeed an oddly dark man, but strikingly beautiful in an overpowering way.

“Roy, this is Ginger.” Baby turns her face to me, breaking my scrutiny of the stern man. I blink a few times and feel my face burn twice as much as I realize Baby is looking at me with a mischievous smile on her full, red-painted lips.

“Good evening, Miss Fox.” The sound of his voice is impersonal, as cold as the rest of the residence or the lifeless curtains in Jon’s room, which makes me uncomfortable.

Without courage and full of embarrassment for being caught staring at him, I simply nod my head in greeting. The arrival of the young man, whom I had nicknamed Joker, breaks the strange silence at the table. With Bob’s sharp jokes, I continue to look at the untouched octopus soup on my plate, feeling like a child caught snooping through a playmate’s toy. The rest of the dinner proceeds in absolute silence, and several times I find myself wishing I could use headphones like Jon does now. I feel relieved when he finishes his meal, leaving his plate less full than mine, which remains untouched, and asks to be excused. I still feel lost when I collapse onto the bed at the end of the night, after helping Jon get settled. I didn’t manage to get any more expressions from him. I sigh in defeat, forcing my body to get up and take a shower. I don’t have the energy to use the bathtub; I’m tired from the trip, so I take a quick shower, and it feels great. After putting on my old basketball shirt, which looks more like a dress that stops mid-thigh, I walk to the large window, open its doors, and joyfully embrace the breeze that brings a hint of sea air as it passes over me. I let my hair down from its bun, untangling some of the curls that had been trapped all day. Never in my life have I seen such a beautiful starry night. The sound of the waves breaking on the sand makes me smile; I have never been so close to the sea. I stretch my arms, slide my fingers over the marble railing of the balcony, close my eyes, and for that brief moment in silence, with the starry night and me, I realize I haven’t thought about Tom or marriage all day. And as strange and selfish as it may seem, I am happy.

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