"It’s absurd," she sighs. "I’ll never understand why men struggle so much to perform the roles they've been assigned since the beginning of time. He had one job: do what his father told him, stand by you at events, and look good in photos. I actually liked him once. Which party is he running for?"
"The Republicans. He even forged my signature on his letter of recommendation to the committee."
"Bring him back to reality before he drags you into his delusions," she says firmly. "And the next step for you...?"
"The Supreme Court," I say with a heavy sigh.
"Good. For the Republicans, consider a relationship, even a fake one, just to distance yourself from Peter. They hate independent women; give them a distraction." She returns from the kitchen with two glasses of water. "I’m considering an image consultant," I mention. "But explaining where that money comes from is tricky."
"Does it have to be in your name?" She pulls a black ledger from the bookcase. She points to a company name and a tax code. "Buy the D.C. apartment in my name. It’s cleaner. Your father left enough cash in offshore shells to fund three lifetimes. Use the Swedish account I’ve marked here. Sparingly, but use it."
"You people always surprise me. Just when I think I have the full picture, another secret comes to light." My mother laughs softly as I jot down the details.
"Some of these are yours, Megan. Your father made them self-sustaining—the capital stays in motion, and the dividends are siphoned into a separate holding." She points to a Swedish account number in the ledger. "Use it discreetly. As long as we don't draw attention, our standard of living remains untouched. Nothing changes. And it won't have to for a very long time."
"Some would argue we should stay on the right side of the law," I counter dryly.
"They also say we should live on less than the politicians who are one step away from begging for the clothes off our backs. Don'tdo anything illegal, darling, but for heaven's sake, don't be naive. We raised you better than that."
"I’m nearly forty, Mrs. Woods. I think I’ve moved past 'naive'."
"And yet, it took you nearly forty years to realize your husband was parasitic, using your name to line his own pockets."
"Oh, right. Naturally, his dishonesty is my fault." I stand up, my irritation boiling over as I lean against the kitchen counter. "Is it my fault he’s got some other pussy on the side, too?"
"Megan... your tone."
"My tone? You play strip poker and I have to be the one who's 'straight as an arrow' while he drags my career through the mud? I'm leaving."
She catches my hand as I reach for my purse. "I’m not against you, dear. Breathe."
She opens her arms. I collapse into them and cry—just a little. The smell of her hair, the weight of her embrace... it’s the only place I can truly drop the mask. We separate, and I wipe my eyes. "I'm sorry for the outburst."
"It happens. You need to find ways to relax, my love."
I look out at the snow. Most people find it melancholic. To me, it’s peace. Something I need desperately, along with the Xanax I forgot to pack. I lie down with my head in her lap as the staff brings the tea.
"I just want you happy, Megan. Your father and I paved a good path, but the steps you take define who you are. And if your orientation gets in the way of the Court... keep it a secret. I don'tneed to teach you discretion. Once you're in the chair, you can do whatever you want."
We drink our tea, discussing the family's assets. She suggests I take a teaching post at Columbia, a legacy appointment to show the Senate I care about "education." I promise to think about it.
When the car arrives to take me back, I check my emails. I try to call Sarki, but it goes to voicemail. I need to talk. I consider Kelsey, but she’s likely knee-deep in meetings.
I call Donald. He’s the only one who knows my mother well enough to understand the subtext. We talk about D.C. gossip—a delegate who is a closeted bigot, the social politics of the upcoming inauguration. Donald confesses he had to hire a high-class escort for an event because he had no other options. He isn't openly gay, and I wonder if that’s the secret Kelsey was hinting at.
Sarki finally texts back with a Friends meme. She’s arriving on the 23rd with Elisa. We’re going to get drunk, and I couldn't be happier.
My phone pings with a new email: my first case load for the new year. I have a legal recess until the end of January. Plenty of time to study, settle into the new role, and plan my next move against Peter.
#24
"Um quarto pra ficar tudo legal. Me conectar com o universo. Só que tá que tá muito imoral" - Xamã
"Thank you for taking the time to help me with this session, Mia," I said, acknowledging her expertise with a respectful nod.
"It’s an honor to fulfill a request from Charlie," Mia replied, her voice as smooth and disciplined as her appearance. "She mentioned your particular affinity for pleasure deprivation."
"I won't deny that," I agreed, my eyes tracking her movements.
