“Fine?” I straighten in my chair, wine stein hovering midair.
“I’ll have the surgery if you go to Charleston, meet your father,andtell Nash about Bennie.”
“What?” I sound like I’m being strangled. “You can’t do that.”
“And you can bully me into brain surgery?” Mom laughs. “Can’t beat me at my own game, sweetheart. You have to tell Nash about Bennie, or I’m not getting the surgery. We can sell the store if we need to.”
Damn her.
Reese and Remy start talking about what they would do if they found out they had kids they didn’t know about—I don’t tell them that’s impossible as a female—at the same time a picture on the fridge of Bennie and my mom from last Christmas catches my eye. My mom is colorful and smiling the way she always is, and I realize how badly I need her to stay that version of her. For Bennieandme. I may not want to tell Nash, but I need my mom more.
I take one final sip of wine. “Fine.”
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Mom gloats. Like she’s not sending her firstborn straight to the dragon’s lair.
“Ree? Rems? Can you come help for a couple of weeks?” I rub my forehead, thinking about how to handle this with Bennie. “It might soften the blow with Bee—we’ve never been apart so long. And Nash ...”
“You think I’d miss a front-row seat to you trying to solve a financial dumpster fire by doing something that will make Dad—sorry,ourdad—roll over in his grave?” Reese snorts a laugh. “Fat chance. I’ll work from there.”
“Funny.” Because really, despite how fucked up this whole thing is, it’s a little funny. “Rems?”
“Are you kidding me?” asks Remy. “I was coming the second I heard Mom had a tumor. Darren has ...” She clears her throat. “Is busy. But I’ll be there in a week with the kids when school gets out.” In a more excited voice, she asks, “But seriously, Nash has been writing you letters foreight years?”
“Postcards,” I correct.
“Still. I bet he’s still in love with you—Ooohh! What if you get there and it’s like it was before? You two were nuts about each other.” She makes a giddy noise. “This could turn into an epistolary romance novel. Unrequited love via postcard.Postmarked: Missing You.”
Gag.
“Will you please stop?” Remy has always dreamed of writing a romance novel and I refuse to be the muse for it. “He’s an idiot, and I was an idiot for falling for him. That’s not what this is.” My stomach twists. “And I’m getting married.”
Mom makes a singsongy noise.
“What does Jonathan have to say about this?” Reese asks. “He screams capital preservation—bet he has a portfolio filled with bonds. Probably shit his pressed pants at the notion of a treasure hunt.”
I hate how well she has him pegged.
Remy groans. “How do you make everything about money, Ree?”
“You asking me that is the reason divorce rates are so high—case in point, Rue and the teacher.”
If she were standing in front of me, I’d throw my wine stein at her head.
“Jonathan didn’t shit hispressedpants, he agrees with the plan.” I’m done talking about this. And Nash. “Mom? Are you sure about this?” I ask. “The surgery I mean?”
She pauses long enough that I’m worried she might say no. “You meet your fatherandtell Nash about Bennie, I’ll have the surgery,” she says.
They may not be the terms I wanted, but for the first time in days, I feel relief. “Fine.”
Reese flies home the next day and helps me pack.
Nine
The face of my giddy and smiling child would be heartwarming if it wasn’t due to her excitement over me leaving for two weeks.
“You don’t even have to call.” She swings the driver’s door open, gesturing for me to get in. Wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt, pink cotton shorts, and bare feet, she looks like a summer camp butler.
Bennie not minding that I’m leaving for two weeks stings, but her seeming thrilled about it makes me question everything. I have to pry her from the door to get a hug.
