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“What is this about, Stella? I have things to do.” I turn to her, standing in the living room of my childhood house. Looking around, there are photos of Evie—graduation photos, dance, and cheer photos—all of her accomplishments are celebrated.
There is one photo of me, half hidden behind another of her and my dad.
There’s no point in trying to be civil, or salvage this relationship. I don’t think there was ever a relationship to be had, to be honest.
“Did you tell Riggins I was dating Tripp five years ago?” I ask.
Her arms cross on her chest. “Yes.”
“You’re not even bothering denying it?”
“Why would I deny it, Stella? I did it. I always told you if you were going to take action, make sure you’d stand behind it. I’d do it again, Stella, though it didn’t really work in the end, did it?” She sighs like I’m a nuisance. “I tried so hard,so hardto set you up with good men, make you fucking useful for once in your life, but no. He,” her head tips to Riggins without looking at him. “Always was in the way. I knew when we moved in that he was going to be a problem, the way you always looked at him with wide, doe eyes.”
“Did you answer the phone and tell him I was done when he called?”
“When he called drunk, gave a whole sob story about how much heloved youand howsorryhe was? Of course, I did.” The knife in my chest twists.
“And the letters?” I ask through a tight throat.
“Oh, I sent those back. I threw out a few, but I figured if I sent them back, he’d be more likely to get the hint. And he did. He stopped sending them, you know.” She says it like it’s a challenge, a reason not to love him.
“So when I was so depressed I couldn’t leave my bed when I thought he didn’t give a shit about me when I was in the depths of my sadness, you were getting letters and sending them back?”
“You weren’t depressed, Stella. Jesus. You’re just lazy. I’ve told you this a million times.”
“Did you put the articles in my mailbox?” I ask, Riggins’ hand tightening against mine because I haven’t mentioned this theory to him.
“I thought that would work,” she says, disappointed. “You needed to see that the night he married you, he was out getting drunk like a loser. Don’t you see that he doesn’t care about you? He’s only using you for your songs, Stella.”
A beat passes and I weigh my answers. I could tell her how much Riggins loves me or how much she hurt me, but does it even matter, does it? Is it going to change her mind? No. So instead, I ask the only one question I need an answer for.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask, my voice small.
“I don’t hate you, Stella, god. You’re always so dramatic.”
“Fine, why don’t you love me enough to care about me?”
“I don’t?—”
“I’m done, Mom. I’m done with these games. Not a single thing I ever did made you happy. Not a single thing was good enough for you. Everything was a manipulation, something to pit Evie and me against each other, something to use to control us. Just tell me why, and I’ll be gone. You won’t have to look at what a disappointment I am ever again.” I shake my head. “I just want to know why. Why were you so adamant that I wasn’t good enough when all I wanted for so long was for you to accept me. To fucking love me.”
She sighs like I’m an inconvenience then steps forward, anger and irritation written all across her face.
“Fine, Stella. Do you want to know? Do you want to know why I resent you so much?”
A chill runs through the room, and I don’t have to ask her to continue.
“I was almost out of this fucking town,” my mother says finally, venom in her words. “I was almost done. I had a man—a good man, with fucking prestige and money. We were engaged.” My eyes go wide because this is all new to me. “Old money, house in the Hamptons. The whole nine. I was getting out of this shit town.”
“And?”
“And you two happened.” My head snaps back in confusion, but I don’t have to ask to get answers. “I went and got drunk at a party of losers and low-class schmucks in this stupid fucking town that ruined my life, and I got pregnant.”
Silence fills the house, my ears ringing.
“Your father got me pregnant. My fiance dumped me and said I was used goods. My mother had always loved this god-forsaken town, so she was pleased as a punch. Hank thought the only right thing to do was get married for the kids. Then I had daughters.”
She sighs again. “Two girls, two chances. I raised you to be what we needed to get out. To get to the next level, to be someone whomattered. God, how much money I spent on dance and etiquette classes, matching you with the right people, and setting you up on dates. And are you even thankful? No. Never.”
