“You have a six-month-old. Who’s feeding him?”
She gave me a look like I’d just asked if she churned her own butter. “The nanny, of course. You think I wake up to feed a crying baby?”
“Wait—so you actually sleep through the night?”
Melanie nodded. “And you would too if you hadn’t married Scott.”
She said his name as if it offended her. And in that moment, I understood why we’d drifted apart. It wasn’t time or distance—it was this. Her open disdain for the life I’d chosen. For Scott.
I didn’t correct her. I should have. But I needed her.
Melanie lost no time digging in. “So, tell me what happened.”
“I found out he’s been lying to me.”
“Another woman?”
“What? No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
Despite how angry I was at Scott, I didn’t trust Melanie enough to give her details. “It doesn’t matter what he did. What matters is that his actions have put us in danger.”
“In danger?” she gasped. “Michelle. My god, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t… I don’t know, Melanie. I love him but…”
The word hurt just to say.
“But what?”
“I’m not sure I can trust him anymore.”
She leaned over, laying a hand on mine. “You could leave him. Come home. I’ve missed you so much. And even if they won’t say it, Mother and Daddy miss you too. It hasn’t been the same without you.”
After my exodus, Melanie had fallen in line, marrying a man of stature and producing heirs to the fortune.
“I need to think,” I said warily. “I’m not ready to make any decisions. It’s just… I needed a safe place for my kids, and I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m glad you did. I’m always here for you, Michelle. You’re my baby sister.”
I glanced over at the kids. Emma had tired of waiting for her costume change and had taken matters into her own hands, stripping naked and putting the tutu on herself. One leg was through the frilly armhole.
“Oh, my god,” I mumbled under my breath, getting to my feet. “This tutu is going to be the death of me.”
Fun, cool Aunt Mel strode to the door and picked up the shopping bags she’d brought with her. “Let me handle it, Michelle.”
“Please, don’t stress yourself. You must be exhausted with all that sleep.”
She rolled her eyes, reached for her bag, and pulled out a dress wrapped in plastic. “Who wants to be a princess?” she asked, her voice as high pitched as a chipmunk’s.
“I do! I do!” Both Keith and Emma raised their hands, jumping up and down on the bed.
Melanie removed the dress from its protection. It was absurdly beautiful, made of ivory silk with a hand-smocked bodice, seed pearls glinting in scalloped rows, and a skirt puffed like a sugared meringue. It had that unmistakable custom-made sheen. The kind of dress I used to wear once to a regatta and then my mother would throw it out.
“Ew,” Keith said. “Never mind.”
Emma, on the other hand, ditched her tutu. Even at her young age, she knew quality when she saw it. Melanie dressed her, fussing over Emma and making her feel special. A memory flashed, of Melanie and me. The two of us playing dress up. We’d been close once… and perhaps could be again.
