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“Yeah, Mother,” Ivy adds, checking her watch. “You can’t invite us to brunch and tell us to show up at seven-thirty. That’s just breakfast.”
“Are you done?” she snaps and I sigh as I peek over at Ivy as she bites back a smile.
“Yeah, we’re done.”
With a sharp nod, she turns and walks away from us, her heels clicking against the marble floors. “We’re eating on the deck.”
“Seriously,” I whisper to Ivy as we follow behind her. “Who is in full makeup, a dress, and heels to walk around their house at seven-thirty in the morning?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Satan?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing and Ivy nudges me, grinning. Mother peeks over her shoulder at the two of us and lets out an annoyed sigh. She wasn’t always like this. There was a time, back when both Ivy and I were still little, that she was happy, but everything changed. Maybe I was just too young to realize what happened but to five-year-old me, it came out of nowhere. One day, she was my Momma and the next day, she was cold and unreachable.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” I hiss and Ivy shakes her head, pressing her hand to her heart.
“No, no, sissy. I’m the good one and you’re the bad one.”
“Since when?”
Her “duh” expression says it all. “Always.”
Mother guides us over to the private elevator that leads to the top floor and rooftop deck, and after we all cram inside, she presses the button for the deck. The silence is awkward, and I spare a glance at Ivy, whose eyes widen in a “say something” gesture but I’ve got nothing. It’s too damn early for me to navigate the minefield that is Grace Mills.
When we get up to the deck, Mother steps out first and we continue on behind her as Ivy pulls out her phone and smiles.
“Is that Julian?” I whisper and she nods.
“Yeah. He wants to know what was so urgent with Mother.”
I flick a glance in her direction as she struts over to the dining table on the far side of the deck. “Tell him it’s a toss-up. It’s either the end of the world or she’s planning to redecorate and felt we needed to have this information.”
“Okay,” she whispers, smirking as she types out her message.
“What are you two going on about?” Mother asks, pulling our attention to her, and Ivy tucks her phone in her pocket.
“Nothing,” we both answer before sharing a grin.
Mother rolls her eyes and points to the table. “Have a seat. Rhonda will be up with food in a moment.”
“We could have just grabbed our plates while we were down there,” Ivy points out and Mother shakes her head as she sits at the head of the table. Ivy and I sit opposite each other on the other end and I bite back a smile as I think about how fitting it is—Mother on one side, Ivy and I on the other.
“That is what I pay Rhonda for, my dear.”
“So, Mother, why are we here?” I ask as the elevator doors open and Rhonda wheels out a cart full of covered plates. She turns to Rhonda, ignoring my question, and I sigh as I rub my temple. I’ve not had enough caffeine for this shit. Rhonda places a dish in front of each of us before pulling the dome off and I hold back a grimace at the egg white omelet and toast on my plate. Ivy’s nose wrinkles as she meets my gaze. We’d both prefer something smothered in gravy, but Mother would chew us out—something about not being able to land a good man with hips the size of Texas. And by “good”, she means rich.
“What’s this about?” Ivy asks, ignoring her food and I’m right there with her. If it were just Ivy and I, I would love to stay for breakfast but with Mother, I want to go as soon as possible.
“What?” she asks, looking offended. “Can’t I have breakfast with my daughters?”
“No, you can’t,” I reply, taking a drink of orange juice. “You’ve never wanted to sit down to a meal with us.”
“What’s so wrong with catching up with your mother? You have those silly little weekly dinners with…”
“Mother,” Ivy and I both say at the same time and she clamps her mouth shut. She’s always had a problem with Aunt Dottie. Maybe it was because Dottie called her a vindictive bitch at Daddy’s funeral or maybe it went back way before that; I’m not sure but we’ve heard this rant too many times to count.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I called you over because I heard a little rumor at the club yesterday.”
“And?” I ask. Does she expect us to guess? It could be anything, and knowing the ladies that hang out at the club, it’s likely I won’t give a damn anyway.
