Page 2 of Hearts on the Line

When I first told her I was going to live with Dad after the divorce, she pinched her lips and twirled her earring before giving a curt nod. Then again when I told her I was going to school for journalism, not Harvard Law like her.

“She’s ready. Sloane’s always ready.”

My mother’s hand reaches up to fuss with the top of her dress she insists is cream, not white. It’s a deep V-neck gown with a cape that shows off her current Pilates obsession and the boob job her latest boyfriend paid for. In every variation, it’s white.

“That’s what he said,” Amanda quietly quips from behind us on the couch.

“Who said?” I ask, not able to keep my mouth shut. “Your brother’s fiancée, or the woman he knocked up?”

Lauren tsks me, and my mother groans, exasperated. I’m ruining the vibe of the day. I guess it’s on me to keep up appearances as usual.

“He did what?” Lisa swats at my shoulder, a little too overconfident in our camaraderie. I grip the chair at her touch, my skin suddenly too tight. Or maybe it’s my gown.

“Jason will figure everything out,” my mother announces diplomatically. “It’s a family matter, Sloane.” The ice in her voice is worse than a late January morning in Maine.

That was my warning.

Fine.

I vault from my chair, reach for the champagne glass, and drain it. I’m still waiting for it to hit my stomach and calm me down when the wedding planner cuts in.

“Now, we don’t want the bride to get a case of cold feet.”

“The bride,” I say, straightening, “knows she can’t marry the groom.”

Talking about myself in third person? Guess I’m not jetting off for my honeymoon anytime soon, just toward a mental breakdown.

The brown grass-cloth wallpaper isn’t helping. I swear the room is shrinking.

I clamp my eyes shut and reach for my phone, but my mom yanks it away. “Will everyone excuse us, please?”

The rest of the room files out into the hallway, leaving us alone. The ten feet between us feels like inches. Either the room is too hot, or it’s this damn satin dress I had to pick out. We’re too close, and if I have to hear that grating waspy laugh of hers…

And there it is.

It’s the one sound in the world that makes my skin crawl. Everyone loves to knock New Englanders for being mean, but that fake laugh of hers is one reason I hate visiting Los Angeles.

“I can’t marry him, Mom.”

“You need to think before you ruin everything again. For all of us.”

That’s a low blow, but I don’t let the hurt play out across my face.

“Life doesn’t always go how we want it to, Sloaney. But he’s⁠—”

“Rich.” This time, the frustrated groan rips through me. I turn to my wedding bouquet on the nightstand in the vase of water. Lilies.

I fucking hate lilies. They smell like funerals.

I hate dupioni silk and tennis clubs too. I don’t even play.

“Well, yes. I was going to say he made a mistake. Everything can still work out, though.”

“He’s having a child with another woman.”

For the life of me, I don’t understand the confusion sweeping over my mother’s face. But then, in a blink, it’s a smile once again. “I’ve told you, love doesn’t cost a thing, but it helps if he can afford the bills⁠—”

“I have my own career.”