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My heart thumps in my chest when I pull into Gus’s property. My mom has fixed her hair and makeup, and a sunny smile is plastered on her face. I sometimes forget how much she acts.
Gus is having a drink in the lounge when we enter. The pinch of his eyes says he’s pissed off.
“Hi, darling,” my mom says, making her way over and kissing his cheek. “I’m sorry we’re late.”
He takes a sip from the tumbler in his hand, studying my mom’s face with a tight expression. “Where have you been?”
“Pharmacy,” I say, waving the box of tampons in the air as I pass them on my way to the stairs. “I ran out. We had to drive for a damn hour to find one that’s open.”
“Why can’t you just get a birth control shot like your mother?” he asks with irritation.
My mom hooks her arm around his. “Don’t be grumpy. Let’s go through to the dining room. I’m starving.”
“I’ll be right there,” I say. “I just have to go use one of these.”
“Jesus, Violet.” Gus makes a face. “Spare us the fucking details.”
I go to my room, using the escape to gather myself. My mom is careful with her phone. She makes sure she never receives phone calls or text messages from the men she sleeps with. Gus checks her incoming and outgoing calls as well as her credit card statements. He won’t find anything suspicious in her call history unless the biker calls or sends a message. If that happens, we’ll say it was someone looking for me. I can always fabricate a date or fake a boyfriend who I’ll dump before Gus insists on meeting him. And all of that is a very big if, meaning if the biker is after money. I have no idea where we’ll get the money. We may have to secretly sell some of my mother’s jewelry and hope Gus never finds out.
When my heart rate has more or less stabilized, I wash my hands and go downstairs. My mom, Gus, and Elliot are seated at the table. Elliot gives me a toothy smile as I take my place opposite him. Gus sips his drink while studying me, making me shift on my seat, but miraculously, I manage to keep a poker face.
Our housekeeper, Flora, enters with a casserole that she deposits in the center of the table. It smells like cabbage stew, one of Gus’s Saturday dinner favorites.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off,” she says, shooting my mom a dirty look, probably for delaying her weekend by being late.
“Thank you,” my mom says. “We’ll see you on Monday.”
Flora leaves the room with a stiff back. If it was up to my mom, Flora would’ve been fired a long time ago, but, like everyone else remotely connected to our lives, the staff is on Gus’s payroll.
We go through the usual ritual of Gus serving the wine while I pour the water and my mom dishes up. Like always when Elliot and my mom or I are in the same room, the atmosphere is tense. I only have to look at my stepbrother’s face to know our presence is eating at him like acid.
My mom helps herself to a bread roll before passing the basket around.
Leaning over, Gus takes the roll from her side plate and dumps it back in the basket. “You know carbs aren’t good for your figure, sweetheart.” He eyes the helping on her plate. “Judging by the centimeters you’ve gained around your waist, you better cut that portion in half while you’re at it.”
My mom smiles thinly as she scrapes half of the food on her plate into the casserole. Then she sits back and takes a sip of her wine as if nothing is wrong, but it’s only for show. It’s her way of hiding her embarrassment.
I clench my fingers around my fork to prevent myself from stabbing Gus in the chest. Elliot’s grin mocks me as he shakes his napkin out on his lap.
I hate this family. I can’t wait to leave.
Gus digs into his food with gusto. Humiliating my mother always gives him an appetite. Elliot joins him, eating with enthusiasm. I push the food around on my plate while my mother downs her wine and pours herself a second glass.
Gus dabs his napkin to his mouth before addressing me. “How’s work?”
I tense. “It’s fine.” I wait, but when he doesn’t bring up the incident of the coffee I messed on Elliot’s keyboard, I say carefully, “I wanted to talk to you about that. I appreciate the money, but I’d like to look for something else.”
Gus puts down his fork. “Something else?”
My mother’s shoulders go rigid.
“Something in my field,” I say.
Gus scoffs. “In drawing pictures, you mean.”
“It’s called fine art. Now that I’ve finished my degree, I can find a job in that line of work.”
