Fuck. Beck.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t write—”
“Yes, you did,” Beck cut in. “You did write it. I know your handwriting. You worked for me as my assistant in apparently the worst job in the entire world that you hated more than anything. And as you tell it, you hate me more than anything since I’m at the top of your hate list—not your stepfather, who threw you out, or your stepsister, who tried to screw you over, or your mom, who never treated you like you were worth anything, but, oh wait, who knows if any of that was true because clearly you have been lying about everything from the moment I met you.”
“Itwastrue,” I said through the tears. “People did mistreat me, and you were not the greatest boss, especially since you fired me for actions that you also participated in.”
“I was going to find you another job, Tess,” Beck said after a pause. “I didn’t want to fire you. I’m sorry I lied to you about it. I was afraid of—”
“Yes, I know, your sisters.”
“Not just that,” he said. “I was afraid of losing you, but apparently, we were never anything.”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t write any of that!” I protested. “Well, not the article at least.”
“Just own up to it,” he said in disgust.
“I’m not going to admit to something that I didn’t do,” I said stubbornly. “And I need to tell Enola and Annie that whoever wrote that article wasn’t me and they don’t know what they’re talking about. I adore the girls. Tell them I’ll come take them to lunch. Once I get a new job of course.”
Beck made an incredulous noise. “You’re never going to see them again.”
“I’m a good influence on them! They like me,” I argued. “You can’t just take the girls away. That’s horrible! They’ll miss me!”
“You’re not a good influence,” Beck snarled. “You’re bitter and angry, and they don’t need that in their lives.”
“I’m only acting like that because people keep ruining my life,” I cried.
“Maybe you’re the common denominator,” Beck shot back.
“No,” I said bitterly, “you are. I lost my painting because of you. I don’t have a job because of you. And I can’t even see the children I cared for because of you, because you won’t believe me. Shit, maybe this is another of your crazy lies. Now that the adoption is going through, free and clear, you’re just trying to shovel me out of your life.”
“I never wanted you out of my life, Tess,” Beck said quietly.
“Yes, you do,” I choked out.
“I got your painting back, Tess. After quite a lot of difficulty, might I add. Because you were right—I never should have given it away. It was important to you. And so I got it back.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling deflated.
Beck sighed. “I would say you can have it back right now, but there’s a certain condition.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, the bile rising in my throat. “Conditions like I’m supposed to just forgive you for the betrayal and the lying and go back to being your live-in nanny that you fuck occasionally? No thanks. You can keep that shitty painting. I never liked it anyway.”
I hung up the phone then started crying.
Maeve rushed over to hug me.
“This is why I don’t date,” I told her tearfully as my upstairs neighbor’s shitty music pounded away, the perfectly awful soundtrack to my perfectly awful life.
“That’s okay,” Maeve said, stroking my hair. “You’ll always have cake.”
“No, I won’t.” I sobbed. “Because the stupid oven is broken!”
“We’ll just eat the batter,” Maeve said, patting me on the shoulder and handing me one of the cake pans and a spoon.
I dipped it into the raw batter.
“This is it,” I said from my spot on the couch as I stuffed the chocolaty spoonful in my mouth. “This is the absolute low point of my life.”
