The evening air still clings to my skin as I enter the Thompson mansion. My walk did nothing to calm me—if anything, it gave my anger more room to expand. Through the foyer windows, I watch the sun sink behind manicured hedges, taking my patience with it. The dining room lights are already on. Dinner will be served precisely at seven, because God forbid a Thompson meal starts even a minute late. Some things are sacred in this house. My feelings aren’t one of them.
Skyler stands at the bottom of the staircase, his posture unnaturally stiff, even for him. He’s changed into a fresh button-down, as if proper attire might shield him from the fallout of his choices. His eyes search mine, looking for forgiveness I’m not ready to offer.
“You’re back,” he says.
“Dinner’s about to start,” I reply, stating the obvious because I can’t bring myself to address what really matters.
He steps toward me, that damned gift bag nowhere in sight. Smart move. “Harley, about earlier—”
“Not now.” I brush past him, my shoulder deliberately avoiding contact with his. “I need to change.”
I don’t actually need to change. My blue top and jeans are perfectly clean, but they’ll never pass Elaine’s inspection, and right now, I don’t have the energy.
Upstairs, I slip into a navy dress I know she’ll find acceptable, if not impressive. The fabric feels tight as I zip myself into it. Makeup comes next—just enough to look “presentable” without trying too hard. Can’t give Elaine the satisfaction of thinking I care what she thinks.
But I do care what Skyler thinks, and that’s the whole problem.
When I descend the stairs, the dining room doors are open, releasing the scent of expensive cuisine and even more expensive perfume. Robert and Elaine are already seated, cocktails in hand. Skyler stands by the sidebar, pouring himself something amber and strong. No one offers me a drink.
“There she is,” Elaine says, her smile fake. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d join us.”
It’s 6:58. Even though I’m technically two minutes early, somehow, I’m still late.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I lie, taking my assigned seat—the one furthest from Robert and directly in Elaine’s line of sight.
Skyler slides into his chair beside me, careful not to touch me in the process. The dining room closes around me. Family portraits stare down from walls paneled in rich cherry wood, generations of Thompson judgment preserved in oil and canvas. The table stretches between us, sterling silver weapons laid out beside bone china plates.
“Marta has prepared duck confit,” Elaine announces as the housekeeper appears with the first course. “A Thompson favorite.”
I’ve never once heard Skyler express fondness for duck confit, but I’ve learned that “Thompson favorite” rarely refers to individual preferences.
Small talk fills the space between serving courses. Robert discusses stock portfolios, and Elaine mentions her garden club’s upcoming charity auction. Skyler nods at appropriate intervals while I push food around my plate and imagine being anywhere else.
After the salad course, Robert casually drops the conversational equivalent of a grenade.
“I ran into Amanda at the club yesterday,” Robert says, examining his wineglass with intense focus. “George mentioned her new partnership is already bringing in significant litigation. Youngest in the firm’s history.”
Beside me, Skyler stiffens. His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, and for a second, I see the corded tension in his neck that he tries so hard to hide. It’s the third time her promotion has been served alongside our dinner this week.
Elaine leans forward, her eyes lighting up in a way they never do when she looks at me. “Was she as stunning as ever?”
“Absolutely,” Robert replies, his gaze sliding toward Skyler, heavy and pointed. “Asked about you, son. Seemed quite interested in how the Henderson project is progressing now that she’s handling the legal side.”
Skyler shifts, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusts his napkin for the tenth time. He stares down at his plate as if the answer to his life’s problems is buried in the duck confit.
As I watch him, a cold lump forms in my stomach. He’s already congratulated her—I saw the awkward, pained smile he gave her at the charity meeting—but his father presents the factlike a trophy Skyler was too foolish to keep. Robert isn’t telling us anything new. He’s reminding Skyler of the “perfect” life he traded away for a girl who brings mold and chaos into their pristine world.
I pick up my water glass, my knuckles white. They don’t just want me to feel inferior; they want Skyler to feel regret.
“Amanda did have an impressive grasp of business fundamentals,” Elaine continues, warming to her favorite subject.
I set down my fork, appetite evaporating. Skyler clears his throat but offers no response, no defense, no change of subject. Just silence that speaks volumes.
“She’s chairing the children’s hospital benefit this year,” Robert adds, cutting his duck. “The governor will be attending. Excellent networking opportunity.”
“How wonderful.” Elaine clasps her hands together. “She always involved herself with the right organizations. The perfect fit for the Thompson name.”
The perfect fit. Children’s hospital. They’re kidding, right? I’m a social worker who works with children, and all I’ve gotten are passive-aggressive comments about my lowly income.
