Page 18 of Gilt

“Of course, it occurred to me!” she snaps in a low voice. It takes a lot of skill to be pissed and still maintain your face in a crowd. “Do you think a day goes by without thinking of her? But Becca isn’t here. You didn’t die that night, Emma. I wish I could be discussing her college plans with her right now, but I can’t.”

So now what? I’m supposed to feel sorry for her. No freaking way. The utensils clatter out of my hands as I stand up in a rush, searching for the next way to needle her. Angry feels good. Vital. It’s like a dose of adrenaline straight into my blood, and I can see it’s having the same effect on her.

“Sit down,” she hisses.

But maybe she’s not ready to jump from practiced oblivion to all-consuming rage yet. I consider my options. I can storm out of here and hope it provides even more of a shock to her anti-depressant-riddled system, or I can prove that I’m the adult she’s afraid I’m becoming.

I sit down. Nothing rattles a parent’s cage like fear.

“Accepting that she’s gone might sound harsh to you,” she whispers hurriedly, her eyes darting around the room to see if people are watching our little scene, “but it’s the truth. I miss her, too. I’ve already taken two Xanax this morning. Truthfully, she is the reason that I’m here. I should never have left you two with your father.”

“Is that why you want me to come to Palm Springs this summer?” I ask. Her guilt is misplaced. She shouldn’t feel bad that she left us with our father. She should feel bad that she didn’t want to be our mother anymore.

“Partially,” she admits. Her new drink arrives, and she clutches it like a security blanket. “Honey, you’re a teenager. You shouldn’t spend all your time taking care of your dad.

“Someone has to.” It’s supposed to be your job. Apparently, my mother had missed the whole for richer or poorer line in her wedding vows. She might have been able to walk away from her marriage with no regrets, but I couldn’t give up on dad. He’d already lost one daughter.

“Consider it. I want you to have a nice time this summer.”

I do, too. Working at Pawnography isn’t exactly my dream vacation, but I’d chosen where my loyalties lay a long time ago.“With all the has-beens? Palm Springs isn’t exactly a happening place, Mom.”

“It’s quiet,” she corrects me, and she has a point. Vegas isn’t exactly known for its calming presence. No, its energy is exciting at best and frantic at worst.

It’s one of the reasons I usually don’t mind going to Palm Springs. Yes, the population skews toward senior citizen, but it lacks the stimulus overload of my hometown. Usually, I spend my time there each summer reading by the pool. Hans would stay in L.A., shooting dailies or overseeing edits so Becca and I could hang out with mom. We’d get our nails done and shop for the new school year. We stayed just long enough to pretend that our family wasn’t a dysfunctional mess.

“I know your sister won’t be there this year,” Mom says in a quiet voice. I don’t miss the slight tremble she’s trying to hide. It’s possible she’s hurting more than she lets on.

That doesn’t mean I can run away from my obligations here, though. “Exactly, I—”

She stops me. “That’s why I need you to come.”

“I’ll be there in June like I promised, but I can’t stay longer.”

The prodigal waiter arrives with our breakfast entrees in time to soften my proclamation. I’ve never been so happy to see a stack of pancakes in my life. Across from me, my mother doesn’t touch her chicken salad. Instead, she stares directly at me, but her eyes remain vacant. Her mind is elsewhere even though she’s sitting at the same table.

I cut into my food slowly, wondering if I should clap my hands or shake her. But after a few minutes, she blinks rapidly. Taking one look at my plate, she frowns. “Careful with the carbs, darling.”

She’s back. I pick up the syrup and pour more onto my plate. So much for the acting-like-an-adult plan. If it means being as checked out as she is, I think I prefer to stay at my current level of maturity.

“Were you at the party at the West’s last night?” She picks up her fork but doesn’t bother to use it.

But it had the unsettling effect she, no doubt, hoped for. All the questions I’d left at the door when I came in race through my brain. There goes my appetite. “I thought we were avoiding morbid topics at breakfast.”

It doesn’t make sense to me that she’s so desperate to avoid all mention of my sister, but here she is, bringing up the latest scandal. The woman really should run for president. She knows exactly how to spin a situation in her favor.

“I cannot imagine what Evelyn is going through right now.” There’s an unusual amount of concern in her voice. Given our family history with the Wests, I didn’t think she would care. Just like I wouldn’t care if I hadn’t been there last night.

If I hadn’t been in the same house as a dead body and possibly a murderer.

“I didn’t know you knew her.” I try to sound casual even as my pulse ratchets up.

“Of course, I do.” She stops, visibly adjusting as she corrects herself. “Or I did before I got involved with your father. When you take away the tourists, this town is smaller than people think. I’d reach out, but right now…”

Nerves get the better of me. I’d hoped to avoid the media circus, choosing to foolishly believe that what happened last night in no way will affect me. But most of Belle Mère Prep was at that party. The chances are decent that I know the person. “Did they say who died?”

Her eyes dart to her phone. I know she wants to check for the latest information, but she refrains from picking it up. I, on the other hand, wish she would. At least this subject doesn’t directly affect us, and it feels a lot safer than continuing to discuss Becca or college or my summer plans.

“Not yet,” she says without bothering to check.