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“It would be a lot easier if our mothers weren’t at war.”
She sighed dramatically. “I know! When will they let it go?”
“Apparently, they plan to take this right to the grave.”
She laughed. “Can you imagine Dad having to sit there for the rest of eternity with both our moms on either side?”
I thought about it and broke out laughing with her. “Oh God, I can see him just sitting there with his hands on his face, begging for mercy.”
“With our moms just yelling into his ears,” she added, bending over with laughter. “He’d be so miserable.”
“Actually,” I managed to say as I wiped the corner of my eye. “I think deep down, some part of him would have enjoyed it in a way.”
“He wasn’t that twisted.”
“And yet, he somehow fell for both of our mothers?”
She thought about it. “Okay, maybe he was a little twisted. But you know what they say—there is a thin line between genius and madness.”
“I miss him.” I couldn’t believe it had been a year already.
“Me, too. He’d be pissed if he knew what was happening now. He never wanted us to fight with each other.”
“We aren’t fighting. Our moms are.”
“On our behalf,” she said. “I’ve been trying to stop her, but she just doesn’t listen. There is more than enough money for all of us.”
“We could threaten to both give it all up.” I smiled, and she stared at me in horror.
“I think you’re twisted, too! I want to be a good person, but not that good.”
“It’s not about being a good person. It’s about ending the drama.”
“Odette.” She hooked onto me. “Nothing ends the drama. Even if we gave it all away, they would still be at each other’s throats. All we have to do is remember we are sisters. We aren’t going to end up like some Lifetime movie.”
“Now that you’ve said it, that might be exactly how we end up.” I snickered, washing my hands.
“Don’t jinx us!”
“Ms. Wyntor.”
“Yes?” Both Augusta and I turned to look at the bathroom door as a woman rushed in.
“Umm...your mothers.”
Augusta and I shared a look before running out of the bathroom. We’d only gotten a few feet before we heard them loud and clear.
“You would think you’d have a little bit of shame! But you still call yourself Mrs. Wyntor!”
“Shame? What can I do with shame? Can I eat it? Can I wear it? Does it keep me warm at night? No. Then why the hell do I need it?” my mother yelled. “But since we are on the subject of shame, how much Botox do you plan to use in that face. Sweetie, let go and let gravity!”
“You insufferable, uneducated—”
“Mom, let’s go!” Augusta grabbed her.
“I’m insufferable? You’re a gold-digging—”
“Mom!” I rushed into the conference room, squeezing myself through to get to her side and calm her down.
