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Not everyone can shake their humble upbringings.

Red carpet don’ts: do not wear Kohl’s among Gabbana.

“Fuck.” I slam her phone into the mattress. “Fuck!”

And suddenly, we’re back to square one.

SEE YOU IN THE MORNINGS

I’ll go to my grave remembering your smiles on my pillow

Hair all messed up, eyes bright, my picture-perfect girl

But when they bury me six feet under, it won’t be goodbye

Because I know, I’ll see you in the mornings

THIRTY-NINE

TALIA

“Maybe we should talk about something else.” Tate attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere, but my mother is on a roll, and nothing is going to stop her. I knew this dinner would be a disaster, but I fear she’s only just started.

“They haven’t spoken about you in a while, but I found some old articles from last year…”

I know what articles she’s referring to. I spent an unhealthy amount of time reading and obsessing over them, questioning if what they said was true.

Since Tate returned to town, there’d been some new ones, with photos taken at the distillery and from when the press rioted on our front lawn. They weren’t kind, but they were kinder than the comments and articles following Tate’s introduction into the music world.

I wasn’t in the business of revisiting those miserable days following my first and only red carpet appearance with Tate.

“Melissa.” Tate wears a perfect smile as he tries to placate her. “This isn’t something we want to discuss at dinner, or ever. If we could move on and enjoy the rest of our evening, I’d really appreciate it.”

Tate’s hand finds mine under the table. He untangles my nervous fingers from where they’re twisted around my napkin.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way.” My mom drops her silverware and points at Tate accusingly. “I see your mother walking around town, nose in the air because her boy is some famous guitar player. She’s no better than the rest of us. You can’t polish shit, and she’s still the twenty-year-old who had a baby outta wedlock.”

“Mom! Annie is family,” I respond in shock as Tate murmurs, “Watch it.”

“And we’re not?”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “That isn’t what I said.”

My dad finally looks up from his plate, vacant eyes bouncing around the table. Welcome to the fucking party, Donald.

She doesn’t listen. Relentless and vicious, she continues her tirade. “I saw a magazine at the airport yesterday.” She sneers. “And do you know what it said, Talia? That your marriage is failing. While that boy has been off doing lord knows what, no one has seen you for over a year.”

Tate’s fingers are close to snapping under my death grip. I stare at my mother, unsure of the response she’s looking for. She’d love for me to roll over and bare my belly so she can sink her teeth into me.

“I warned you. I warned her, Donald.” She searches for my dad’s approval as if he gives a shit. “I said he’d throw you away, move on to something new. Thank god, you didn’t end up pregnant.”

Out of all the cruel things to say, her last unwitting comment slices the deepest.

“No. I’m not, Mom.”

“Foolish girl. You always thought you were better than us. You’re not, Talia. You think we’re trash? Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you ungrateful⁠—”

Tate stands abruptly, dropping my hand and silencing the room.