Chapter 22
Cal
"I just got fired!" Meghan's voice is so high-pitched I have to pull the phone away from my ear, missing whatever else she says next.
I sit on the porch steps, comparing the muddy slush of melted snow in the driveway to the vast clear blue sky above. It's like comparing Meghan's coldness to Elle's warmth. Two contrasts that couldn’t be more different.
"Meghan," I say calmly, "please slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying."
"I got fired!" she repeats. "What about 'I got fired' don't you understand?! Dani Hartman, that little b—"
I set the phone down, refusing to listen to the rest of her tirade.
After a few seconds, I return it to my ear.
"Did you hear me?!"
"You're still yelling," I say, keeping my tone even.
"She came into our board meeting and stood there like she owned the place," she seethes. "She got me fired over something that happened years ago!"
"So you're not denying it," I point out.
"Who the hell cares about what happened that long ago?!"
“Well,” I say, “sorry to point this out, but she cares. Her sister cares. And so does my family.”
There’s a pause. When she speaks again, her tone shifts—colder, more calculated.
“You sound like you have a stake in this,” she says, and I can practically see her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Need I remind you,” I say evenly, “that we already had this conversation? Or did you forget?”
“Whose side are you on?!”
“I’m on the side of reaping what you sow.”
"Need I remind you," she spits, "that I'm the mother of your child?"
"That's something I have to keep remindingyouof."
"You should have my back."
"You're Hannah’s mother, but you’re not my wife. I don’t owe you anything."
"I hate you," she says coldly.
"Yeah, well, get in line. Now, what is it exactly that you want?"
“Didn’t you hear me?” she snaps, voice sharp with anger. “You know, that’s part of the reason I divorced you. You never listen.”
“No,” I say calmly, “you divorced me because you couldn’t control me. Because I didn’t meet your expectations. I wasn’t ambitious enough, remember?”
“Well,” she bites back, “you can go ahead and add this to the list. I lost my job. How am I supposed to make ends meet now? How am I going to provide for Hannah?”
“First of all,” I say, keeping my tone even, “you were a trust fund baby when I met you. You could support yourself and Hannah full-time on the interest your bank account earns each month. Losing your job doesn’t hurt anything but your ego. You worked because it gave you control over the lives of kids who couldn’t do anything to fight back. Until Dani.”
“Thanks for reminding me once again why I left you.”
