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glared at her, tears stinging the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them form.
Sloane was unmoved as she slung her bag over her shoulder and left Ari seething where she stood. Glancing back as she reached for the door, she feigned sympathy.
“Buck up, Buttercup. You’re going to have to get used
to things not going how you planned. Bit of advice my mom used to give me. Don’t be angry with someone who beats you, be angry at yourself for losing and figure out how you can keep it from happening again. That’s a lot more useful than a pity party.”
Anger, shame, and disgust short-circuited Ari’s brain and robbed her of a comeback. She was so thoroughly stunned that all she could do was watch Sloane saunter away as a tirade of curses rolled through her head.
There was no way she was letting Sloane win the war.
“IT’S the end of August. I don’t want soup,” Sloane’s mother said before she walked into her room with the tray.
“Mom, it’s gazpacho. It’s cold,” she replied, undeterred as she willed her tired body forward despite the ache in her bare feet. Wearing brand new heels had been a bad idea, but she didn’t have anything else to match her new dress. Since learning they had to wear a full suit every single day to the o ce, she may have overindulged in ordering new things.
Pretty clothes were all she had left.
“I don’t like that,” she lied. “It’s glorified, cold, tomato soup.”
Like a petulant child, her mother crossed her arms over her chest as she approached. Sloane was almost too depleted to play the game with her, but she needed her to eat more than she needed to take care of herself.
Sloane plopped down at the end of her bed and handed her a bowl while she took the other for herself. “Oh really? Is that why you used to drive all the way to Morningside to get it?”
Her mother held the bowl up to her nose to give it a closer inspection. “It’s from Toma’s?”
Sloane smiled with the corner of her mouth. “The one and only. Will you have some now?”
Without giving her the satisfaction of a response, her mother took a spoonful. Her lack of complaint was the only token of appreciation or gratitude Sloane would get.
After emptying half the bowl, Sloane’s mother spoke again. “I don’t like that I can’t talk to you during the day.” It was her daily complaint.
“Maybe it’s time we get you more help. Someone who can be here around the clock so you never feel—”
“Oh, sure. So you can pawn me o and leave, right? Leave me to die alone with no family around me so I can expire in the arms of the help.” She threw the bowl on the tray, spilling what was left of the soup onto the gleaming silver.
Instead of reacting in anger, Sloane took a slow, steady breath and closed her eyes. She wanted to tell her she was a nasty, ungrateful narcissist who she’d given up everything for without so much as a thank you. Instead, she swallowed the rest of her soup along with her unspoken rage. A reaction
was what her mother wanted, and it was the only thing she wouldn’t give her.
“When do you find out the bar results?” her mother asked after Sloane finished her dinner and started cleaning up. “I know you’re going to pass. No daughter of mine is a loser.”
Sloane had no doubt in her mind that her mother thought she’d paid her a compliment of the highest order. She’d even try and take it if she didn’t know what was coming next.
3. . . 2 . . . 1
“You know your sister was the youngest. . .”
Sloane tuned her out as she helped her out of day clothes, cleaned her up, and changed her into her nightgown. As she did, she imagined herself as a zombie, her arms and limbs moving from muscle memory rather than focused volition.
Was her ghost out there somewhere living her actual life?
The thought of a Sloane-shaped specter drinking martinis on a rooftop overlooking Manhattan gave her comfort.
When she finished cleaning the kitchen, Sloane looked out at the pool glittering in the moonlight. Her compartmentalized emotions bubbled up and threatened to burst out of containment. Without a second thought, she peeled o her clothes and left them in a puddle by the sliding glass door.
Thanks to very high fences, privacy hedges, and a good amount of space between them and their neighbors, Sloane wasn’t worried about being seen walking outside naked. Not that she would care very much if she was spotted. After playing sports her whole life and always changing in front of others, she’d lost any sense of shyness. If she ever had it.
Outside, the August night was hot. The light breeze that rolled over her skin was thick with humidity. It was like being blasted with a heater and spurred her on faster. Taking a deep breath was almost impossible, but she reveled in the discomfort like pressing a bruise.
