“For what you said to Adaline.”
“I expressed concerns,” she replies evenly.
“You waited until I left the room.”
“That’s your interpretation.”
“You did it on purpose,” I snap. “You wanted her alone.”
Her jaw tightens. “I was trying to have an adult conversation.”
“No,” I say. “You were trying to put her in her place.”
“She swore at me.”
“Because you pushed her,” I shoot back. “And now she won’t answer me.”
She exhales slowly. “Juliette—”
“What did you say to her?”
She sighs deeply before answering. “She’s using you for your money.”
“Oh my god.” I laugh the words out, bewildered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Adaline Emery, using me for my money? The very same girl who has worked for as long as I can remember, the very same girl who has to be forced into accepting gifts from me?
“Is it that ridiculous? You bought an apartment, you’re a lot better off than that girl—”
“That’s enough!” I slam my fist down on the kitchen island.
She blinks at my outburst and, for my mother, that translates to shock. “She isn’t like you, Juliette. She has no decorum. She was raised differently… from a whole different world.”
Anger flares from every crevice. “She is different! She’s not spoiled and entitled! She works hard for everything she has, even though she was dealt a shitty hand!” I shout the words loudly, finally understanding how Addie must have felt when mymother provoked her. My mother looks stunned at my outburst, but I don’t stop there.
“I like spending my money on her, on us, and you can cut me off if you want, but that is never gonna change. Don’t ever speak about my girlfriend like that ever again!” I slam my fist down again, fully expecting my mother to berate me for acting so insolent.
Instead she says, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the person you should be saying that to,” I tell her and walk away. I slam the front door on my way out. I can’t take it anymore. I need to see Adaline. I’m surprised I wasn’t pulled over with how fast I was driving, but I’m glad I wasn’t.
Her house looks the same. My mind had assumed it would look different. I knock once, no answer. I knock again, harder. This time the door opens, but it’s not Adaline. It’s a girl my age. Pretty. Casual. Standing inside Adaline’s house like she belongs there. She’s holding a notebook, hair pulled back, like she’s been here a while.
“Oh,” she says. “Hi.”
My stomach drops, my fists inadvertently clenching. Who the fuck was this girl? Standing in my girlfriend’s house and greeting me.
“Hi,” I reply, already sharp. “Who are you?”
She hesitates, her smile dropping. “I’m Chloe.”
Her name sounds as stupid as that look on her face. This feels all too familiar, flashbacks surface of Priya and when I was kicked out of Adaline’s house.
“Is Adaline here?” I ask, urgency plastered in my voice.
“She’s inside,” the girl says. “She’ll be back in a minute.”
Back from where? Nausea lives in the pit of my stomach, growing more precarious every second that this girl speaks. Were they upstairs? In her room? On her bed? The very thought feels like hot coals on my arm.
“So you’re just hanging out here?” I ask, stepping closer. “In her house?”
