I lean back in my groaning chair and fold my arms. “I haven’t spoken to Skyler in weeks, Elaine. The last time I saw him, he was leaving my father’s porch after I told him that forgiveness doesn’t mean a second chance. If he’s living in a hovel, that’s his choice. Maybe he just likes the way the air tastes when it’s not being filtered through your approval.”
Elaine’s mouth thins into a line of practiced disappointment. “Don’t be tedious. Skyler is a Thompson. He has a legacy. He has a firm. And he has a wedding to attend.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is he the groom? Because the last time I checked, he was pretty busy swinging a hammer for people who don’t know his last name.”
She steps closer, her perfectly manicured nails tapping an impatient rhythm against the clasp of her bag. “He is behaving like a child, and I know you’re the one holding the leash. Stop harassing him, Harley. Let him move on. Let him come home to the life we’ve prepared for him. You’ve had your fun; you’ve had your little moment of drama at the country club. Now it’s time to give him back.”
Had my fun?
A laugh bubbles up, but I keep it contained.
“I blocked him after the wedding, so I haven’t sent a text, made a call, or even checked his Instagram. I’m busy, Elaine. I don’t have time to manage your son’s mid-life crisis. If he isn’t coming home, it’s not because I’m holding him back.”
Her face flushes, a dull red creeping up her neck, ruining the porcelain perfection of her makeup. She looks around the room again, her lip curling.
“Is this really what you wanted?” she asks, gesturing to the peeling wallpaper and the brick wall outside. “This squalor? This…menial existence? I’d be careful if I were you, Harley. This building looks like it hasn’t been inspected in decades. Iwouldn’t be surprised if there was a bedbug infestation. Or black mold…though, I suppose you’re used to that, aren’t you?”
The reference to the mold—the catalyst that forced us into her stupid mansion, the beginning of the end—is a violent strike. She says it with a triumphant little glint in her eyes, expecting me to flinch. To remember the shame of being the poor girl who brought rot into their pristine world.
But I just smile. It’s a slow, relaxed expression that clearly catches her off guard.
“The mold was in the walls, Elaine. Just like the rot in your family,” I say. “But the thing about mold is that once you expose it to the light, it dies. I’m doing just fine here. I like the bedbugs; they have more personality than the people at your country club.”
Elaine’s grip on her bag tightens until her knuckles go white. She looks like she wants to slap me, but that would require touching someone beneath her tax bracket.
“You’re a spiteful, hateful little girl,” she hisses. “You think you’ve won because you’ve turned him against us. But Skyler will tire of this. And when he does, Amanda will be waiting.”
Lily had told me that a friend of a friend of a friend got an invitation in the mail from Skyler’s parents. I believed it for a hot second, but quickly dismissed it. How? Because I may have checked Amanda’s social media and couldn’t find a single photo of her and Skyler together.
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward. I catch her gaze and don’t let go. “I thought Skyler was marrying Amanda, anyway? Didn’t you send out the invitations months ago? The ‘Thompson-Davis’ union? I assumed the ceremony had already happened. Surely a woman of your efficiency wouldn’t let a little thing like the groom’s absence stop a business merger.”
The sarcasm in my tone lingers as Elaine’s composure shatters.
Her hand flies to her throat, her fingers fumbling with her pearls. Her eyes dart away, searching for an exit that isn’t there. For a fleeting second, the great Elaine Thompson looks human. Frantic.
“The…the date was moved,” she stumbles, her voice losing its silver edge. “We decided a longer engagement was more appropriate, given the circumstances. We want to ensure everything is perfect for their special day. I came here to ensure you wouldn’t do anything to…to ruin it.”
I watch her closely. The way her breath is shallow. The way her eyes won’t meet mine.
The truth hits me with a warmth that has nothing to do with the office heater. Skyler’s been saying no to her, repeatedly, until she was desperate enough to come to a social services office in a dangerous neighborhood to beg his ex-fiancée to let him go.
He’s really doing it. He’s finally standing on his own feet.
Good for him.
“He’s not coming back, Elaine,” I say, and my voice is almost kind. “And it has nothing to do with me. You’ve lost him. Not to me, but to himself.”
“We shall see.” She turns on her heel, her movements jerky and unnatural. “Enjoy your hovel, Harley. I’m sure it suits you perfectly.”
I lean back and let my shoulders drop. A small, satisfied smile plays on my lips.
I realize then that I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t even resent him.
He didn’t save me, and I didn’t save him. We just pushed each other toward the exits, and now we’re both out in the air, breathing for the first time.
It’s not love—not the kind that builds a home and shares a bed—but it’s respect. And in the world I live in now, respect is the more valuable currency anyway.
Chapter 26
