“She misread the situation.”
“She can’t come home.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale through my teeth.
Minxy.
Something happened. Something she’s covering up. And now Penelope is walking straight into the same family web without knowing any of it.
Awesome. Great. Love that for me.
I roll out of bed, scrub a hand through my hair, and pull on a shirt. I almost forgot that I spent the night at the house last night after the party. I wanted to keep an eye on my mom, so I drank too many cocktails and slept here. The house is too bright, too clean, too expensive. It feels like a hotel lobby with better landscaping.
Mom’s already in the kitchen.
Of course she is.
She’s dressed for Pilates or brunch or whatever rich-woman activity lets her wear a matching set that costs more than my books this semester. Her hair is pinned flawlessly, makeup fresh. She’s humming while she scrolls through her phone, sipping cucumber water like she didn’t spend last night lying through her veneers.
She looks up when she notices me.
“Oh, good morning.” Her smile is warm. Perfect. Fake.
“Morning,” I mutter. “Where’s Chad?”
“He’s out having a boys’ day with some old friends. I think he said rugby or lacrosse? I don’t know.”
“Sounds fun,” I reply, thinking of Chad covered in mud and bruises from playing a contact sport.
“You were a hit last night,” she goes on, rinsing a glass. “Everyone kept asking about you.”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “I bet.”
She tilts her head, studying my face. “Something wrong?”
I think about telling her what’s wrong or throwing her phone into the garbage disposal.
But I swallow it down. “Just tired.”
My mom watches me a second too long, then shrugs lightly. “Well, get some rest today. We have tux fittings tomorrow.”
“We’re doing fittings?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “Family must look presentable at weddings.”
She moves toward me and pats my cheek like I’m eight instead of almost twenty. I fight the urge to recoil.
“Try not to sulk,” she says sweetly. “It makes you look like your father.”
I let her walk past me and watch as she heads down the hall and upstairs.
But when she turns the corner, her phone rings, and the minute she says hello her voice changes.
Not sweet.
Not soft.
Not even pretending anymore.
