“You can’t treatoneperson like she’s saved and the rest of us like we’re misbehaving children when we’re all doing the work.”
“Are you doing the work, Michael?Are you?”
Lola squeaks like she can’t stand conflict, despite conflict being as essential as oxygen in her—ourline of work. “Oh, wow, being part of a family isso hard. It’s, like, worse than economics class.”
Gigi’s eyelid visibly twitches.
My father glares at her.
“And they wonder why I can’t write a fucking song when I’m surrounded by this,” Carter mutters, as if he’s actually written a song in the past five years instead of pretending he’s trying to.
“We’ll continue this discussion when we can all put our best feet forward.” Gigi’s seething. She’s not yelling or growling or sticking her nose in the air, but her jaw is ticcing and her nostrils are flaring and her cheeks are going pink.
And now I’m having a solid case of the regrets.
She doesnotforget, and despite what Phoebe thinks, Gigi doesn’t forgive either.
My father grunts.
Niles marches in from the kitchen with a tray laden with—you know what?
I don’t think I want to know what’s on that tray.
They’ll call it breakfast. That’s all we need to know.
Gigi looks at him, and her jaw visibly relaxes, and the pink stain fades from her cheeks. “Thank you, Niles, that looks delicious.”
“Looks like what Tavi’s dog ralphed up after too many of those vegan treats last week,” Carter replies.
And there she is.
There’s the grandmother that I know and can’t stand, rising thirty feet tall and igniting her eyeballs on fire. “I’m beginning to think I should give all of your trust funds to people who actuallyappreciatewhat they have and whodo the workand who show up when they don’t evenhaveto be here.” She glances at Lola, once again reinforcing my assumption that Gigi has no interest in changing her own habits and patterns to be a better person herself.
When Uncle George went to prison,histrust fund—and the trust funds of all his kids—suddenly disappeared, and my father’s and his family’s got a little bigger.
Carter snorts. “Yeah, we’re all becoming better people if we’re just doing it for the money.” He rises and gives me a look that I’m nearly certain means,We’re all going to hell, so this is pointless.
It’s not pointless.
I was doing good with my trust fund. My influencer salary, too, which is also taking a hit, since so few high-end companies want pictures posted of their products in places where the prettiest scenery is a murky lake.
There’s only so much my team has to work with right now, and even our backup plan isn’t much of an option so long as people know I’m trapped here.
“I’msoexcited to work with everyone here for the pure joy of it,” Lola says. “Everyone’s so ... unique, and they have such a fresh perspective on life.”
Translation:These people are weirdos.
Gigi sniffs. “At least someone is doing it for the right reasons. And that always calls for a reward.”
And I want to scream again.
Iamdoing good things in the world.
But I can’t say that here.
Because for all of Lola Minelli’s show of hating conflict, I have zero doubt she’d be the first person to throw me under the bus if she knew I sometimes eat meat, that I’d sell my mother’s secrets if I thought they’d make me enough money, where I spend several hours most nights, and what all I’m up to.
I can’t go on like this.
