“I couldn’t breathe in there,” she said so quietly it could have been the breeze.
“It’s a wonder any of them can.” Glyma took one last hit from her cigarette, then crushed the butt against the railing. “It must be suffocating, all that weight. All that fake, gilded plastic. Plastic smiles for plastic people.”
Inspecting her hands, Quin cocked her head and smiled sadly. “Am I plastic?”
The air shifted as Glyma reached out and took Quin’s wrist, turning her hand over as if to check. “Hmm, you feel like flesh and bone to me.”
But she wasn’t flesh and bone. Bone broke, and flesh tore. Quin was titanium; she had to be.
“Flesh and bone don’t belong in my world,” she said as she jerked her wrist from Glyma’s hold.
“Sounds like a cold world,” Glyma finally said, not unkindly.
“You have no idea,” Quin mumbled around another inhale of her cigarette.
A lilac finger drew a swirling design over the railing. “I’m sure I could keep up.”
The invitation was clear, and Quin longed to accept it. But honesty was dangerous, and trust was fickle. For all she knew, Glyma was fishing for information, for secrets, and the moment she had them, she could turn around and sell them to the nearest tabloid. Glyma didn’t strike Quin as the type, but she didn’t really know her, did she?
But when she met those hot pink eyes, she read nothing but sincerity inside. She wasn’t used to such honesty, such openness. Not in her world. But maybe she could step out of her own and exist in Glyma’s, if only for the time it took for her cigarette to burn out.
“It’s just how it works,” she said slowly, measuring every word. “There are expectations, and… it’s how things are.”
“People can have their expectations, but it’s up to you whether you want to fulfill them,” Glyma said, angling her head to peer down at her. “Your own expectations, however, are the most important to live up to, in my opinion.”
What a wonderful and ludicrous notion. Quin barked a humorless laugh. “My mother would beg to differ.”
Something dark passed over Glyma’s face, there and gone again before Quin could interpret it, but her voice was several degrees cooler when she said, “Well, your mom strikes me as a bit of a cunt, no offense. So I wouldn’t rank earning her approval as a top priority.”
Shocked at her candor, Quin laughed again, more genuine this time. She covered her mouth to smother it, glancing around to ensure they weren’t being spied on. Glyma beamed and giggled along with her, turning to lean back on her forearms.
“I’m sorry,” Quin said as her humor faded. “The way she spoke to you—”
“Oh, please, I’m used to that. This isn’t my first charity gala.” Glyma waved a hand, as if to bat away the apology. “I’m sorry for how she spoke toyou.”
Quin copied Glyma’s blasé hand-wave as she took another hit of the cigarette. “I’m used to it, too. She’s difficult to please.”
“You shouldn’t have to try,” Glyma said coldly.
With a shrug, Quin fidgeted with the emerald pendant with her free hand. “I’ve often wondered why mothers tend to hate their daughters.”
“Not all mothers do,” Glyma said softly.
And, ooph, that hurt.
“Then I’m just lucky, I guess,” Quin said in an attempt at levity, but neither of them laughed.
“I’m sorry, Quin,” Glyma said, sounding so genuinely sincere. “A mother’s love should never have to be earned.”
Quin had been trying to earn her parents’ love and acceptance her whole life. It was all she knew.
“In my experience, most things in life are transactional, especially love,” she said with a brittle smile, flicking more ash from her dwindling cigarette.
She hated the pity in Glyma’s tone as she said, “That sounds extremely lonely.”
“Oh gods, please, don’t look at me like that. You can’t feel that bad for me. Poor, little rich girl. All her privilege couldn’t buy her mother’s love.” Quin made a rude noise as her cigarette burned out. Glyma had a new one ready for her, already lit, a moment later, and she accepted it without question. “It’s pathetic.”
“Pain is pain, regardless of social status,” Glyma said.
