“I found out about Tsai Shu-fen. My grandmother. I met her. She passed away three weeks ago because of cancer.” Focusing fully on my mother, I let all my disappointment and anger show in my face. Drip from my voice. “I thought, as her child, you might care.”
As my parents both grapple with this info, I march up to my brother, determined to get more out of this visit than just the hollow victory of shocking Bill and Vivian Lamont.
“Hug me, or I’ll put you in a headlock.” I stand next to Leo, arms spread wide, glaring to keep them from seeing how vulnerable I am in this moment. How much I need this single sign of affection from my brother.
One glimmer of hope that this man is still someone I know.
Leo snorts, but then rises from his chair and envelops me in a tight embrace. The hug feels like hope, and with us standing close, I’m able to whisper one more thing to him without ourparents hearing. When I step back, my twin has wiped all emotion from his face, giving me no sign of whether he’ll follow my whispered directions.
I can only hope.
CHAPTER 8
CHARLIE
“You left this to the last minute, huh?”
My mother glares at me over a display of blenders. “Hush now. You going to help me or shame me?”
“Both?” I offer her the cheeky smile that always melts her glare away.
“You’re lucky you’re my only child, or I’d ship you straight back to Germany. Lord knows there was less sass in my life before you came around.” As she grumbles out the words, her lips start to curl at the edges.
I whistle an innocent tune as I tuck my hands deep in my pockets and stroll down the next aisle. Passing by cookware, I let the happy glow of the day infuse my entire being. In the past, shopping with my mother would have ended up low on the list of fun activities. But now, after being away for so long, I’m enjoying myself.
Doesn’t hurt that I just ate a delicious brunch with my best friend and treated her to a nail appointment, and before that, I spent more time in Luna Lamont’s presence. I convenientlygloss over the part where I once again made a complete fool of myself.
Overall, this is shaping up to be a great day. Which puts into stark contrast how few of those I’ve had lately.
I wince at a stab of shame.
How could I think that? I have a great life.
I work for a company with a good atmosphere and reasonable hours. They’ve set me up with a position in a foreign country, just like I told them I wanted when I was first hired four years ago. Over those years, I’ve built up a group of friends in Germany, getting drinks with them at least once a week and traveling all through Europe.
Some might say my life is charmed. For a while, I thought so too.
The dissatisfaction came on slowly, with small dips in my mood that lasted for a few days. I’d press the snooze button a few more times and find myself gazing at the clock, trying to will the workday to pass by faster. Then there were the spikes of anxiety that gripped my chest whenever my supervisor gave me a new project. My mind shied away from spending any more brain capacity on fabric sales.
All of those signs I forced myself to ignore, accepting them as normal among all adults in the workforce.
But then one night, when I was chatting with Paige about her latest editing project, I blurted out the question. “Does your work ever depress you?”
On my phone screen, Paige blinked wide eyes. “Depress me? I mean, some of the authors write about hard topics. They craft the scenes so excellently that I feel what the character does. Their sadness. Is that what you mean?”
“No.” I searched for a way to explain the creeping shadow descending over the hours I spent at the office. “I mean, does the idea of doing your job ever … I don’t know. Do you wish youcould get away from it? Just keep sleeping through the day or something.”
My friend stared at me, and I let her. The moment was important. The first time I’d shared the ache no painkillers could correct.
“Martin.” Paige announced her cheating ex’s name like it was the solution to a brain teaser I’d given her.
I flinched at the sound, my dislike for the asshole rooted deep in my bones.
“I’m not talking to that motherfucker about my work problems, if that’s what you’re saying,” I growled.
But she was already shaking her head. “Sorry. Meant to say more words. What you described—work never made me feel that way. Martin did. Our relationship. I should’ve gotten out of it long before he cheated on me. You should break up with your company. Not that I think they’re going to cheat on you. How would a company even do that?”
And just like that, my friend had me laughing, my anxiety forgotten for a time.
