“I have not asked Richard to wait for me. Our breakup is not temporary. I’m sorry my choices upset you.”
“You’re being incredibly selfish.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Selfish people often lack self-awareness. You are going to bring embarrassment to this family and lose Richard for good.”
As was inevitable, each lancing word brings on a throbbing headache. I breathe through the pain but refuse to remain silent. “I intend to complete what I came here to do. Please try to accept that.”
“I will do no such thing. Your father is as displeased with you as I am. But he leaves these unpleasant matters to me while heburies himself in work. If you can call late dinners with Drew work.”
That name pokes at me. Drew Marshall, whom my father made CEO of his latest acquisition, Ignite Advertising, is arrogant and condescending. He gives off sleazeball vibes that lend credence to the industry’s rumblings about bad behavior. There have been no specific complaints about him, or none that I’ve heard, which doesn’t mean a thing. I judged him as a walking red flag, but my father wouldn’t listen. Drew Marshall had the Midas Touch, and that was all he cared about.
This, among many other reasons, makes it impossible for me to return to Townsen Industries. I’ve seen how hard my father pushes for growth and profits at all costs. He’s rigid in his thinking and closed to debate and input. Whenever I voice my concerns or ideas, he dismisses them as inexperience or me being too emotional. I’m just a figurehead there, a mere puppet with Theodore Townsen pulling the strings.
“Why don’t you visit with Carmen and Genevieve?” I suggest, hoping to steer the conversation away from me.
“Do you honestly believe I can face the questions and all the talk?”
“No one is going to be talking, Mother.” I close my eyes, wishing I had my pills with me. “You’re upsetting yourself unnecessarily.”
“How can you do this to me?” she cries as if I’ve committed a crime.
“I’m not doing anything to you. I’m doing whatIwant, whatIneed.”
“Well then,” her tone turns brittle as ice, “since you don’t care about this family, I won’t contact you again, and you needn’t contact me either.”
“Mother—” The phone goes dead. Miranda Townsen is a master at having the last word.
I stand in the narrow alley, my back against the brick wall, feeling the cold slicing through my coat and the familiar pounding at my temples. I draw a deep, shuddering breath, willing myself to move, to let my feet carry me to the cottage. When it gets this bad, what I need is to take my meds, strip out of the clothing that makes my skin feel tight and itchy, and burrow beneath my soft, heated blanket.
Galvanized by the pain, I slowly make my way back across the boardwalk, my eyes squinting against the daylight. I had tried to stand firm, tried to deflect the hurt, and not let her sharp criticism affect me. But I realize just how fragile this escape of mine is. Even from a distance, their disapproval can still seep in to fill those weak cracks and pull me under.
“The song sounds great, C. Are you calling that one ‘Out of the Friend Zone’?” Sophia says with a grin, standing at the door to my music studio.
We closed the café at four on the weekend, which gave me time today to come home, shower, and work on my music. When I could finally afford it, I turned half the basement into a glassed-in studio outfitted with recording and production equipment, a massive amplifier, and my collection of guitars.
“Not a bad title,” I say, continuing to strum in a mellow key.
“So, I’m right? You two looked really cozy, and Lexie was giving off woman-in-heat energy.”
“Jesus, Soph. I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Why not? I’m an adult.”
“You’re my little sister.”
“Who is also a sexual being.”
“I swear, Soph. Not another word.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who taught me about the birds and bees, respecting my body, no means no, and all that.”
“Necessary lessons. I stand by respecting your body and consent, but that doesn’t mean I want to discuss either of our sex lives.”
“Well, in the last year, you haven’t had one to discuss.”
“Get out.” I toss a notebook at her, and she skirts away, laughing.
