I've thought about leaving at least one hundred times this week, but I must avoid doing anything brash. I'll be eighteen in two months and then I can escape, legally. I don't expect Aunt Vi to be torn up over it.

As I stare at the floral wallpaper in the tearoom, I know I won't be.

Yes, tea. Again.

It's a scorching hot day and the sun is already relentless in the sky.

My hair is acting up in the heat. August will do that.

Foregoing my usual head-wrap that I save for the most humid of days, I wove my thick curls into a large braid.

Aunt Vi opted to set tea up in the breakfast room, instead of the usual garden spot. That's why I'm sitting here now, at the white table beside the dizzying wallpaper.

The muted floral pattern was probably once vibrant. It's peeling in the corners, but Aunt Vi strategically placed old plates in front of the worst spots. The longer I look at it, the more I sort of wish it were a world.

I imagined the pattern would suck me in. I imagined I let it.

Today, I'm joined by five of Aunt Vi's friends (if you can call them that). They're all equally loquacious, albeit nothing they have to say is pleasant. Even a 10 year-old could tell they use tea as an excuse for a daily gossip hour.

"Bette, have you studied at university, yet?" Miss Strawbridge asks, fanning herself with a folded doily. The white lacy napkin would almost perfectly match her dress, if it weren't yellowed by wear.

"I'm only 17-" I begin.

"Oh not yet. She's still weighing her options," Aunt Vi cuts across me. She brings her cup down from her lips, its entire brim coated in that horrible coral lipstick.

"Never too early to think about," Ginny tells me.

"What is it you want to study?" Amelia Fischer asks.

"Not sure," I shrug. I do my best to include a small smile.

Amelia is my favorite of the gossip-goers. She talks down to me less frequently than the others and usually asks my opinion on things. Everyone else assumes I couldn't possibly have an opinion on such things as university or studies or life.

"Did you hear about Dee's girl? Mary or Marie, whatever her name is, she ended up skipping out the day before Cambridge." Norma Thistleton nods matter-of-factly. I catch a whiff of her nauseating perfume as she nods. The mixture of musk and rose is enough to make me sick.

"Where is it, you came from again? Georgia, was it?" Lady Gwen asks. I'm not sure she's an actual lady, but she prefers this title.

"Savannah," I answer. My heart swells at the mention of it.

"And you lived with your grandparents?" Ginny peers at me from behind her teacup, quizzical.

"Yes," I nod. "Since I can remember." Again, my heart almost bursts just thinking about gran.

"Whatever did happen to her parents?" Miss Strawbridge directs this question to Aunt Vi, as if I'm not sitting right across the table from her.

"Tragic accident, really..." Aunt Vi launches into the story about how my parents died.

"I'll just be here," I mutter under my breath.

It was an accident abroad. That's all I really know. They were on holiday in Spain and their tour bus got into a horrible collision. No survivors.

Nothing fancy about the story.

I tune out their boring voices and even more mundane conversations, instead listening to my nails strum against the tablecloth. I stare at my dainty teacup and the uneaten plate of biscuits. What I'd give for that vial of Shakespearian poison now.

My eyes revert back to studying the faded flowers that died on the wall.

Ginny and Norma share the latest about their grandsons – really just a battle to see which one is more successful. Lady Gwen invites everyone (besides me) to a book reading in downtown London. Amelia rolls her eyes at this, which I catch myself actually smiling at.

Miss Strawbridge, whose first name is Penelope but refuses to go by it, spends a solid hour talking about her upcoming lady's charity.

Sounds like the debutant stuff of nightmares. I'm thankful when Aunt Vi changes the subject before there's any chance I get roped into the discussion.

The time for them to leave does not come soon enough. Aunt Vi ushers them through the doorway already promising the next tea party.

"Almost dinner, Bette. Rosie will have it ready shortly. Shall we?"

"Sure," I say.

Aunt Vi motions for me to follow her.

We cross the hallway from the side entrance to the main dining room. As soon as we turn the last corner, I can already smell it. The brisket. My mouth waters at the little staple from home.

Rosie has everything laid out on the tablecloth. My eyes rake over the feast before me, hovering over the buttermilk biscuits.

"Thought it might be nice to have a bit of a home-cooked home meal, hmm?" Aunt Vi grins.

"It looks delicious," I admit. I sit down in my usual spot at the table and my stomach grumbles in anticipation.

"You know, I don't believe I've ever had baked sweet-potatoes. They do look very tasty." Aunt Vi pulls out her chair and sits down beside me.

"Oh, they're to die for. Just wait." I catch myself grinning.

"I know that this whole transition hasn't been easy on you. No one expects it," Aunt Vi pauses. "It's been years since you've been here and you don't know any friends here, but it will become easier."

"I hope," I sigh.

Bless Aunt Vi and her attempt at making me feel more at home. It's true, Rosie did an incredible job on the brisket. She even melted pimento cheese, but like my gran used to. Still, it wasn't quite the same.

As I lay in bed, my journal open beside me, I cannot help but think of the leftovers I'll have tomorrow.