Mom is seething. She’s poised and collected, but fury dances like flames in her eyes, and her lips are pressed so tight she might smudge her perfectly applied lip liner. Her gaze fixates on me, like she’s too scared to look at Tristan. And maybe she is.
He does have serial killer vibes to match his serial killer hobby.
“Daphne.” There’s still a harsh clip in her tone, which softens as she continues. “Your father needs your help. You know how important the presidency is to him. A loss would be humiliating. We need to present to everyone that we’re a united family.”
“We’ve never been a family, Mom.” I grind out behind clenched teeth. United family my ass. I’m done with this so-called family. “Ever since I was born, you made me compete against Paige. She was always the perfect daughter in your eyes. I was the spare for you and Dad, and you were so damn miserable that I was the one who lived. I heard you telling your friend that you wished it had been me in that car instead.”
Anger strikes my vocal cords, but I will not cry. I’ve shed too many tears over the people who were supposed to wipe and kiss them away. They might have given me everything money can buy, but they can’t buy genuine affection and love from a parent.
“I know we haven’t been good parents.” There’s a glimmer of sincerity in her voice, but I don’t think the woman’s truly capable of introspection. It’s another ploy to manipulate me into bending to her iron will. A sympathy tactic. “It was difficult for us when Paige died. We focused so much on work and your father’s career that we lost sightof what’s important.”
“Bullshit,” I snap.
“Language,” Mom reminds me.
“Bull-fucking-shit. I grew up hating my sister because I had to be better than her in everything, or else I was ignored. She was older. She got to do everything first. If I didn’t do it better than her, I was treated like a piece of fucking furniture. Paige tore me down every chance she got, and she learned that from you, Mom.”
I swallow the ball of hot tears burning the back of my throat. “I was so happy when she died. I thought maybe, for the first time, I’d know what it’s like to be loved. But no, I had to compete with a ghost. A figment of your imagination for the person you thought Paige would be if she had grown up. A doctor. A mother. A size-fucking-four. She wasn’t even alive anymore, and you’d still tell me that Paige would have done this, or Paige would have acted like that.”
Mom’s eyebrow rises in amusement.
My words aren’t getting to her, and my emotion entertains her as she stands, silently judging me. I bet Paige would never have spoken to her like this.
“Your father needs you,” Mom says softly. “Even if we never got along, Daphne, your father loves you.”
I shake my head. “Dad loves his job. He loves it even more than you, Mom.”
“I know.”
Silence fills the room as that sinks in. Mom knows Dad cares more about the presidency than about her—about their decades together—and she doesn’t seem to give a single fuck. I pity her.
“It’s one State Dinner,” Mom continues. “And some of the rallies. He’s leaning on the family angle in his reelection, and it would help if you were there.” She pauses, likeshe’s considering her words carefully. “After that, we won’t ask anything from you. You won’t have to see us again if you don’t want to. But please, help your father.”
Hawkeye bounds over from his doggy bed and looks up at me with those wide, pleading eyes.
“Come here.” Mom’s tone goes soft as she crouches down in her Louboutins, her knees pressed tight together in her starched Chanel dress as Hawkeye dashes over. He bounces up, licking the underside of her face where her foundation flawlessly blends into her neck. His grass-streaked paws splotch the cream fabric of her dress.
Mom’s manicured hands give Hawkeye a scratch behind his ears. She looks up at me with a ‘see I can be a good person’ expression.
God, this is as close to on-her-knees-and-begging as she’s ever been.
“Alright,” I hear myself say.
“You’ll do it?” Mom slowly stands to dislodge Hawkeye’s paws.
“The State Dinner, and one rally.” I hold up one finger to make my point. “A local one too. I want to be home by dinner. After that, no more events. Not even Thanksgiving.”
Mom nods. “One rally, with a speech,” she adds. “Your Dad’s campaign manager will be in touch.”
Mom’s eyes flick to Tristan. “You should come. To the State Dinner.” Mom’s tone shifts back to the icy politician’s wife. “It would be a pleasure to have you there. And I’m sure Grover will want to meet his daughter’s beau.”
She ignores her fur grandbaby, who whines as she turns on her heels and leaves without a backward glance. And why would she check when she’s leaving with exactly what she wanted, plus a dry cleaning bill?
“I’m so damn proud of you,” Tristan says as he wrapshis arms from behind me, around my waist, and settles his chin on the top of my head. “I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”
Leaning into his sturdiness as my adrenaline ebbs away, an overwhelming calmness blankets me. His smoky cologne mingles with freshly brewed coffee, and now that my mother is gone, it feels like I’m at home again, finally at peace. Tristan’s here. Brent’s gone. My mother left, and I finally have my way out from under her thumb.
“You know,” Tristan says, “I bet our Thanksgiving dinner will be better than the fancy garbage they serve at the White House.”
