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Looking at my phone as though she can see the shocked expression on my face is an exercise in futility. This is how she thinks. A Southern doctor’s wife who has spent years at the top rung of the social ladder in Charleston, she can’t fathom that either of her daughters would think there’s more to life than galas and ladies’ lunches. And she never misses an opportunity to make sure I know how little she thinks of my life choices.
“Is there a reason for the phone call, Mom?” There’s no point in telling her how hurtful her words are. I’ve tried and failed many times.
“Well, if you had listened to any of my voice mails, you would have known I need a head count for Thanksgiving. The caterers call me every day asking for the final tally. It’s really quite rude that you haven’t returned my calls to tell me, Abigail. I have enough on my plate without having to try to track you down to get an answer.”
Yes, because she is the only one who juggles a million things. My mother has never once scoffed at a last-minute addition to her Thanksgiving table if the guests have the right last name. Unless it’s me. Then I get a fifteen-minute lecture on my rudeness and all around lack of manners that she is sure she raised me to have.
“Sorry, I can’t make it this year.” I’m not sorry at all. I avoid going home whenever possible.
“I figured as much. You will be home for Christmas this year though.” It’s not a question.
“Actually, about that. Because of my schedule with all the holiday events, I don’t think traveling that far is going to work this year.” Really, Kasey invited me to go to the Hayes’ cabin for a few days, which sounds like a much better idea than having to spend it with my parents and my sister’s fiancée’s family, talking about her Valentine’s Day wedding until everyone is blue in the face. Especially not when I’d have to deal withhim.
“I can’t believe you’re going to miss Christmas with your family, Abigail Barnes.” The disappointment in her tone would have had me withering and caving to her demands a few years ago, but when everyone decided to takehisside, I quit giving a flying fuck about familial obligations.
“Nothing can be done about it, unfortunately. Is there anything else?”
She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Your sister still hasn’t received your RSVP for her wedding.”
Oh, here we go.
“Because I haven’t figured out if I’m going to be able to make it yet.”
“You can’t possibly be so inconsiderate to your sister’s feelings as to not show up to her wedding. I did not raise you to be this selfish, Abigail.”
“No, Mother, you raised me to sweep everything under the rug, even if it means turning a blind eye to betrayal and heartache.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, no? You can’t possibly still be upset over the Davis incident. That was years ago. Everyone has moved on.” I can’t believe we’re having this discussion again.
“‘The incident,’ after which you and Cesily told me to forget about it and to understand that someone in Davis’s position was bound to wander, but it doesn’t really mean anything? Or the ones where you would still invite the Callaway family to all of our family functions and not so subtly try to put Davis and me next to each other anytime we were in the same room. Or would it be the one where I told you if you didn’t pick me, your daughter, over the dream you had of me being married to Davis and Cesily being married to Dawson and having little Callaway babies together, I would leave Charleston and not come back? There’s so many, Mother.” My Southern accent gets thicker the longer I talk to her and the angrier I get.
“I thought that was all water under the bridge. After all these years, I would have thought you would have gotten past this.”
Seriously? Davis’s betrayal was one thing, but when my family decided it was “just one of those things that come with being married to a rich man,” and I made too big of a deal about it, that was the last and most painful straw.
Honestly, I don’t have the time or energy to put in another conversation that won’t go anywhere.
“I’ll think about the wedding and let Cesily know. Now, I have to go. We’ll talk soon, okay?” Please let this be the end.
“Very well. I expect to hear from you next month. Goodbye, Abigail.” She hangs up without waiting for a response.
My eyes squeeze shut as an exasperated growl escapes me. At least I was able to avoid the holidays. I can’t wait to get away from the city and see what Kasey was talking about when she told me how amazing Donovan’s family cabin is. Just a few more weeks, then it will be nothing but rest and relaxation for the holiday.
As long as I can avoid a certain dirty-talking sex god, all will be hunky dory.
Ugh.
Chapter 7
Abigail
January
WhydidIdecideto drive back from the cabin with Jackson? Or rather, why did I allow myself to be talked into it? I must have been halfway in a sex-drunk coma to think an hour trapped in a vehicle with this man would be a good idea.
And let’s talk about this “cabin” for a minute. Try palatial estate on a lake. The place was huge on a giant piece of property that, had the weather been warmer, Jackson and I would have found plenty of places to get in trouble together. We found quite enough in the house itself as it was.
Then my mother had to call and bitch at me about still not returning Cesily’s RSVP. I made the mistake of confiding in Jackson about the pressure she was putting on me to let it go like I’m a fucking Disney princess and go to the wedding. It was an after-sex vulnerable moment, okay? I didn’t plan on telling him about any of it, and I certainly didn’t expect him to offer to go with me as my boyfriend, fake of course, to make sure they didn’t try to set me up with my newly divorced douche of an ex-boyfriend. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
