Chapter 6: The Garden Party

That evening, Dad brought back a prescription for strengthening the body and advised, “This medicine is really bitter. If you don’t want to drink it, then don’t.” He set the orange pharmacy bottle on my nightstand, his face full of concern.

I shook my head. “I want to keep drinking it.” I tried to sound braver than I felt.

The housekeeper brewed the medicine and handed it to me. The smell was awful—earthy and sharp—and I wrinkled my nose.

Under Dad’s watchful gaze, I drank it all in one go. The bitterness lingered in my mouth. I could feel it burning all the way down, making my eyes water.

I forced out a tear and swallowed again.

“Dad, I finished it.”

But he turned away, not daring to look at me. I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists.

I’d always been afraid of bitter things since childhood, so Dad often made me exercise with him, and would avoid giving me medicine if he could. He used to bribe me with Hershey’s Kisses to get me to take my cough syrup.

His voice was a little choked. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

I watched his retreating back and instructed the housekeeper to remind me to take the medicine with every meal. I scribbled a reminder on a sticky note and stuck it to my lamp, determined not to forget.

On the day of the spring garden party, I deliberately wore a cherry-red dress—that Rachel liked—feeling joyful as I anticipated seeing him. I curled my hair and dabbed on a little lipstick, feeling both nervous and excited.

My sister at my side noticed and asked curiously, “Anna, why are you smiling like that?”

I pressed my lips together. “You wouldn’t get it.” I grinned, keeping my secrets close.

When we arrived at the presidential gardens, the tulips and peonies were in full bloom. White folding chairs lined the lawn, and the air was sweet with the scent of fresh-cut grass and lemonade. Somewhere, a jazz trio played under a white tent, and the lemonade was so sweet it stung my tongue.

The young ladies from various families were gathered and chatting. Their laughter tinkled through the air, and I tried not to feel intimidated.

My sister nervously clung to my sleeve. “Anna.”

I took her hand. “What are you afraid of? No one’s going to bite.”

Looking around, I still didn’t see Rachel and felt a tinge of disappointment. My heart dropped a little, but I kept scanning the crowd.

Today’s spring party was more relaxed, unlike the usual strict protocol. There were no formal speeches, just music and servers passing trays of finger sandwiches.

I heard that the First Lady herself had arranged this event for the President’s son, Rachel. There was a sense of anticipation in the air—everyone hoping to catch his eye.

Suddenly, a mocking laugh interrupted my thoughts.

“Whose silly girl is this, trying to imitate a movie star’s pout?”

I turned toward the sound. Next to the speaker stood another young lady, also wearing a cherry-red dress.

She turned to look at me.

The smile froze on my lips.

It was the future First Lady—Jessica Lynn.

She wore her hair in a perfect blowout, pearls at her throat, every inch the senator's daughter. In my previous life, neither she nor I had attended this party.

But now, not only was she present, she was also wearing the color Rachel liked—just like me.

My hand unconsciously clenched. My knuckles went white, the fabric twisting in my grip.

Jessica Lynn smiled and nodded at me. Her eyes were cold, a warning flickering behind her practiced grin.

But my mind was racing—had she also been given a second chance?

More and more people noticed that Jessica Lynn and I were wearing dresses of the same color.

Sarcastic remarks reached my ears.

“Miss Lynn looks so much better in that color—elegant and classy. Unlike Anna Shaw, who insists on being different.”

“Isn’t that so? But this Anna is just a fool, dressed like she’s trying to get attention.”

I’d never suited cherry-red, and now I looked even more like a performer for others’ amusement. My cheeks burned, and I could feel every eye on me, the air thick with perfume and judgment. I fought the urge to run.

It was utterly humiliating.

My sister deliberately spilled a cup of punch on my skirt.

“Anna, your dress is wet. Let’s go change.”

With a pale face, I followed the little White House staffer to a side room and changed into something more suitable for me. The staffer whispered, "Blue suits you, Anna. Makes your eyes pop." Her kindness soothed me a little.

In the mirror, I saw myself tidied up again. I smoothed my hair and took a deep breath, trying to remember who I was beneath the nerves.

Rachel had once said he liked my eyes the most—the corners slightly upturned, clear and lively. His words echoed in my mind, helping me stand a little taller.

I squared my shoulders and stepped back into the garden, determined not to let anyone—least of all Jessica Lynn—see me break.