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Dream on,she thought.
“You should do it,” Rhys said after swallowing a mouthful. He was polite that way.
She glanced over at him. “What?”
He pointed at the small screen. “That Missed Opportunities thing. Queenie. You should apply. Send in a video.”
She giggled modestly. “Who, me? What would I say? What would I have to offer?”
“You’ve got a fine arts degree, Mom, and you’ve never used it. Because of me.”
“It wasn’t because of you!” she denied hotly. “There were a lot of things going on in my life that—”
“You wanted to be an interior designer,” Rhys said, showing very little emotion, as if he was simply stating just the facts, ma’am. “Dad wouldn’t let you. He said you were his wife and he expected you to stay home and take care of his kid.”
She stared at him. “How did you—”
“He told me. He said he regretted that decision, that if you had a fancy job and had to work for fancy people, maybe you wouldn’t have let yourself—” Rhys stopped, reddening fiercely, and hung his head.
Go,Melanie finished for him silently. Her hands went to her puffy waist again, and all of a sudden the lamb didn’t taste as delicious as it had when she’d started eating. She looked over at him sadly, feeling like such a failure. Poor kid was saddled with a train wreck of a mother, living a train wreck of a life, hiding from a mean, spiteful person who thought tearing down other people made him a bigger man.
On screen, the website for The Queenie Show was flashing, and her idol was smiling encouragingly, telling her to call. Her, specifically, Melanie. It was the edict of the Queen.
She reached for a paper and pencil and took down the address.
