I lifted my hands, ceding the floor. “Just make sure you set half of your money aside when you start getting paid. Taxeswhen you’re self-employed are egregious.” I knew that first-hand.
“Taxes are boring,” Amber pouted.
“She’s right, though,” Mom said. “Maybe you should make an appointment with my accountant. She’s great.”
“Ugh, I do not need an accountant and I do not have to pay taxes,” Amber huffed.
I cocked my head. “Have you ever paid taxes?”
Sure, she had never been great about holding down a job for long periods of time, but she had worked before. Briefly, as a receptionist at my mom’s salon . . . before she decided that answering phones “sucked.” Then, she decided she was going to be a florist, and got a job at a flower shop in Manhattan. She hated being on her feet and really detested how much cleaning she had to do. Then it was wedding planning. She scored a position as a venue assistant, but didn’t account for all the heavy lifting, long days, and having to be nice to people. After a particularly long binge watch ofSuits, she decided that she wanted to be a paralegal. That dream lasted for all of two hours when she realized that meant she had to go to college. Then, it was being a barista so she could own her own coffee shop someday. Of course, she hated the early mornings and side work.
After I had reached a level of stability and freedom with my career as an author, Amber decided that she was going to write books too. She talked about it for six months—how she was going to write a book—but never put words on paper, no matter how much I offered advice or resources.
“Autumn. . .” Mom warned.
I bit my tongue as our meals were brought to the table and doled out.
Amber immediately grabbed her fork and started stabbing her salad with vengeance. “Sorry for not being perfect and not paying taxes like you,” she hissed.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Amber, you have to pay taxes. It’s just part of life.”
Mom dropped her head into her hands as she stared at her chicken piccata. “Why can’t you girls ever get along? Everyone told me it would get better when you two were grown.”
“Apparently, only one of us is grown. She’s a thirty-five-year-old child,” I grumbled.What I would have given to be back at the house with Ryan letting him?—
I pushed the thought of all the things I wanted Ryan to do to my body out of my mind.
That kiss had been like nothing I’d ever felt before. And it was just a kiss. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that man could do with access to a bed.
Amber slammed her fork down, grabbed her purse, and slid out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked.
“I asked dad if he wanted to go to lunch and he said yes. So I’m going to hang out with him,” she snapped.
My jaw dropped, and Amber wore a look of victory. It’s like she knew exactly how to gut me without even thinking about it.
I had texted my dad every other day, asking if we could make plans to see each other while I was here. But all I got were excuses or silence.
“We’re eating lunch here,” Mom said. And, frankly, I was surprised. Usually she let Amber get away with anything and everything. “Your salad is right there.”
Without skipping a beat, Amber grabbed the plate and fork, and marched right out the front door.
Anger choked me, burning my throat like a macabre scarf. “And you’re just going to let her get away with that?”
The waitstaff began to stare.
Mom let out a cleansing breath. “Amber’s just going through a rough patch. It’s hard for her to see you have so much success. She’s just jealous of you.”
“Jealous? Of me? My own father won’t even talk to me and she’s off to lunch with him.”
Mom snapped her mouth shut. I stared at my flatbread and watched as balsamic glaze dripped off the arugula.
She sighed. “I’ll talk to Greg and see if he can make time.”
“He’s my dad. He shouldn’t have tomake time.”
“Not everyone can be as perfect as you,” she clipped. “Stop expecting everyone to be. Life is messy.”
