I sigh heavily. I’m really not in the mood for company, especially not family who want to reminisce about Mother. But as I start to back away from the door, Lena calls out.
“We know you’re in there, Francine. We saw your car in the parking lot.”
Damn. I press my forehead against the door, weighing my options. I could pretend to be asleep, but they’d probably just keep knocking. Better to get this over with.
I unlock the door and pull it open. “Hey.”
Carmen bites her lip, looking surprisingly uncertain for someone who usually exudes confidence. She’s holding a large paper bag that smells like food. “Can we come in?”
“I’m a little tired, but be my guest.”
“Everyone grieves in their own way,” she says in a sad voice. “And I’m sorry for what I said at the funeral. I shouldn’t have pushed you to say anything.”
I let out a long breath, some of my tension dissipating. They can’t know the awful truth about Mother. It’s not their fault.
“It’s okay,” I say, stepping back to let them in. Carmen gives me a relieved smile as she enters, heading straight for the kitchen to set down the food. Lena follows, carrying a six-pack of my favorite soda and candy.
“I brought food,” says Carmen in a light trill voice, and as I walk over to her, she turns to give me a silent hug. She’s never affectionate towards us, and I hug her back, surprised as something in my heart softens.
“It better be my favorite food,” I say, pulling back and inspecting the food jokingly as Lena starts unpacking containers of lo mein, chicken, and egg rolls. “Oh wow, it’s a lot of food.”
“We wanted to be with you today,” Lena says quietly, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying at the funeral. “No one should be alone after... today.”
I swallow hard, turning away to grab plates and utensils before they can see my expression. They think I’m grieving normally. They have no idea that Mother’s confession is what’s really tearing me apart inside.
We settle in the living room, balancing plates on our knees as I turn on the ancient TV. It flickers to life with a static buzz before the picture settles on some mindless reality show. The normalcy of sitting with my sisters, eating takeout, and watching bad TV creates a strange bubble of peace within me. We haven’t done this in so long.
For a while, we eat in companionable silence, the TV filling the gaps where conversation should be. But eventually, Carmen sets down her plate and sighs.
“Remember how Mother used to freak out about us being single? Now I’m straddled with four kids even though I thought I’d be single forever,” says Carmen. “This is a nice break.”
Lena laughs. “You love those little monsters, and you know it.”
“Most days,” Carmen admits with a grin. She glances at me, and I force a smile, trying to join in their reminiscing. But all I feel is that hollow pit expanding inside me.
How can I laugh about a woman who burned our fathers alive?
“So,” Carmen says, clearly sensing my discomfort. “Let’s talk about something else. How are you feeling about going back to work? I can reschedule all of your assignments.”
I seize on the change of topic gratefully. “I’m ready. Really. I need the distraction.”
“I know you think you’re ready to work, little sis, but we all need time to process and grieve.”
“No,” I say, more forcefully than I intended. “I want to work. I need to feel normal right now.”
“If you’re sure…” Carmen hesitates, then nods. “Actually, a new client contacted me yesterday. Very high-profile. They’re looking for a full-time nanny for their younger sister.”
“Oh?” I take a sip of my soda, grateful for the mundane conversation.
“These are the billionaire brothers,” she says casually, as if she hasn’t just dropped a bomb. “The Silverwoods. They own half the properties on the island.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “The Silverwoods? Are you serious?”
Everyone knows the Silverwood Pack. They’re practically royalty in our world. They have old money, old power, with connections to every major pack on the East Coast. They live in a mansion on the most exclusive part of Howl’s Edge, and rumors about their lifestyle are the stuff of omega fantasies.
“Completely serious,” Carmen says, looking pleased with herself. “They specifically requested an omega nanny for their eight-year-old sister. They’re willing to pay top price.”
My mind races.
