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I would, too, if I’d missed my calling in baseball. With that arm, she could’ve been the next Spencer Strider.
I shut the front door behind me and ignored the splattered yolk, feeling like a semitrailer had run me over several times before someone scraped me off the road, hurled me into a dumpster fire, then shot my remainders.
Every inch of me felt bruised, malnourished, and bone-tired.
When I hauled myself into the kitchen, the contents of the freezer greeted me. Frozen veggies, chicken nuggets, and ancient half-pints of ice cream—checkered across the floor.
“I can’t find my macaroons.” Reggie tromped out of the pantry with a face full of makeup and a dress straight out ofStepford Wives. “Please tell me you didn’t eat them, Tab. How can I complete my vlog?”
“That shit gets three hundred views on a good day.” Perched on an island stool, Tabby ran her tongue over her teeth in front of a compact mirror. She scooped the car keys from an ugly fruit bowl. “Admit it, Reggie, it’s not a career. It’s a money pit. Be an Elsa, not an Anna.”
“An Elsa?”
“Let it go.”
With a sigh, I jerked the fridge open, grabbed a yogurt cup, and commandeered someone’s half-eaten tray of raspberries.
Neither Thing 1 nor Thing 2 noticed me, even after I slammed the door shut with my hip and started trudging my way to my room.
I’d clean everythingtomorrow.
I was dog tired.
Reggie stomped around behind my back. “You’re just jealous I actually have a career.”
I tossed a few raspberries into my mouth and wondered what kind of mouthwatering dinner Zach’s chef made for him tonight.
Grabbing the banister, I took the stairs two at a time, shaking my head. It got warmer the further I traveled down the long, narrow corridor.
Mine was the last room and by far the smallest. It suited me fine. Easier to heat up in the winter.
I kicked the door open, thinking nothing of the fact that it was already slightly ajar, when I found Vera sitting criss-cross applesauce on my bed, surrounded by a halo of scattered documents.
I set my dinner on my study desk and rushed to the bed, collecting all the papers. “What the hell are you doing?”
My birth certificate.
An engagement letter with a lawyer that had already dropped me six months ago when I couldn’t afford her retainer.
Some legal documents regarding my fencing federation penalty.
All there.
Check, check, check.
Vera stood, rearranging her Gucci belt over her waist. A secondhand treasure she’d snagged at a thrift store.
“Don’t look so scandalized, child. I knew you were up to something, so I decided to sniff around.”
“You went through my stuff?” I spat out, collecting everything into my arms and opening the blue folder I’d organized them in. “Who gave you the right?”
She flung her bleached hair to one shoulder. “This is my house, you know.”
“Ours,” I corrected, shoving the documents inside and clutching the folder to my chest. “It belongs to me, too.”
Vera peered around the room with distaste, already calculating what she could do with the space. “I’ll buy it off you eventually.”
“With what money? I’m the only one here whoworks.”
