Page 92 of Gilt

“He doesn’t want to see it, mom.” For the first time since I’ve known her, there’s an embarrassed edge to Monroe’s words. There’s no way I’m going to miss this. I take a step back and watch as she pulls out some candles and a framed picture.

“I thought it was best if Monroe redid her room here,” Evelyn tells Jameson, her voice tight with emotion. “I don’t want either of you going back to the penthouse.”

I expect them to put up a fight about this, but instead, they nod. I’d always assumed that Monroe’s lack of respect for authority figures stemmed from her father’s money. After all, who cares what people think of you when you can just buy their respect, or at least their silence. She’s different around her mother. If I hadn’t been subjected to such large doses of her bitchiness, I might even like her now.

“I left a few things in the car,” Evelyn says to Jameson. “Can you help me with them?”

He glances at me as if to check that this is okay, but she loops her arm through his.

“Do you mind if I borrow the man of the house?” Sadness coats her words, and I can see what a struggle it is for her to keep a smile on her face.

“Of course not.” It’s not like I can answer any other way.

Plus, I’ve just spent the better part of an hour trying to convince Jameson that I don’t need a babysitter. If I want him to believe me and to tell Maddox to step down, then that means I’m going to have to learn to take care of myself in any situation, even those that involve Monroe, a.k.a. The Witched Bitch of the West.

Monroe and I stare at one another. Neither of us speaks. She picks up a carrot stick from the tray of crudités her mother has set out for all of us and munches on it. The crunch of her teeth is the only sound in the kitchen, and I join her, absentmindedly eating as a means to pass the time. We might not be capable of being nice to one another, but surely we can shut the hell up and tolerate each other for a few minutes.

“Hugo said you went by the hospital,” Monroe says. Apparently, our relationship now includes casual conversation.

“I did,” I mumble.

“How did she look? I can’t stand to go in there,” she admits. “Hospitals aren’t my thing.”

“You haven’t gone to see her?”

Her eyes narrow at the judgment in my tone, and I immediately regret my words. “I went,” she says defensively. “But only once.”

“Yeah. I don’t like hospitals, either.” I decide to take a different tact. The fact is that Jameson isn’t going anywhere. Not if I have anything to say about it. So like it or not, his family is a package deal. Monroe included. As long as I don’t have to move into some type of creepy, multi-generational compound with all of them, I need to at least try.

“She looked pale,” I say at last. “I didn’t stay long. I had no idea Hugo would be there.”

“He’s always there,” Monroe confirms what I had suspected when I saw them. She doesn’t have to say any more than that.

“I had no idea they were so close.”

“I don’t think he did, either,” she confesses. “It’s funny how you don’t realize how you feel about somebody until you don’t have a chance to tell them.”

Is it opposite day? Because now I find myself wanting to hug her. I refrain, knowing that that would be too much, too soon. It probably always will be.

Jameson and Evelyn reappear, saving us from our uncomfortable attempt at discussion.

“I thought I’d cook dinner this evening.” There’s a brief glimmer of light in Evelyn West’s eyes as she says this, but it immediately extinguishes. She’s trying so hard to be strong; anyone can see that. Maybe that’s why her kids are treating her with such care.

“Would you like to stay?”

“I’d love to, but I promised my best friend ...”

She waves off my excuse. “No need to explain. Another time.”

Jameson’s eyes dart to mine, and he stops unpacking the grocery bags. “Mom, I’m going to walk Emma to her car.”

She nods and begins to discuss what color Monroe would like to paint her bedroom. Jameson doesn’t take my hand as he leads me back to my car. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he offers.

“But you’re still going to have Maddox follow me,” I guess.

“You can be mad at me all you want.”

“That’s good,” I jump in, “because I’m going to be.”