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My brother can’t help but be vulgar. “I’m sorry, but what if you jump into this marriage and leave the country? Where does that leave me and Mama? Or the grands? Think about it.”
I snort, but he’s not wrong about Mama and the grandparents needing help.
“If we get married, the prince will take care of all of us. I know he will. It’s in his freaking DNA. I’m not even worried about that,” I say. “And by the way, why did you have to phrase everything like I’m a damn heifer and the family’s livelihood depends on me? What the hell century are you living in, brother?”
Toad makes a frustrated noise like I’m the thickheaded one.
“Don’t you get it? This is your chance. You’re the smart one who never went to college. You never see an opportunity when it smacks you in the head. Here it is, sister! This is our chance to pay back what Daddy owes the Cooper family. You don’t like our family being beholden to them? This. Is. Our. Meal. Ticket.” He emphasizes the last five words by smacking the back of his fingers against the opposite palm.
I’m dumbstruck because I’ve never seen Toad behave so dramatically. I knew he could be an ass, but I had no idea Toad was this greedy.
“Wow,” I breathe. “Can you…can you let me enjoy this moment? I’m already tied up in knots over…this whirlwind and over him meeting everybody else; I didn’t expect you, of all people, to be this psycho about it.”
Toad arcs an eyebrow and chugs down the rest of his beer. “One o’clock on a Wednesday. Nice,” I add, because I have to retain some semblance of normalcy, and being the judgmental older sister is normal.
“Fine,” he says. “Enjoy your moment. But when y’all break up, and you end up with nothing because of an airtight palace prenup, you’ll hear me say I told you so.”
I shake my head. “At first, I thought you were being protective of me, but evidently not. You think this match entitles you to something, and it doesn’t.”
“There’s no point in talking sense into you when you’re like this. I thought you had a good head on your shoulders, but it’s like Henry Mason all over again.”
I see red.
I can’t believe he said that name to me. Henry Mason was the last guy I seriously dated more than ten years ago. Toad warned me he was a rotten egg, but I’d ignored him, assuming Toad and his friends were being toxic because Henry was short and he cleaned houses for a living—and because Hitch was always trying to date me.
Then I woke up one morning, and Henry had cleaned my apartment. Like, really cleaned it. My TV, laptop, wallet, social security card, and coffee maker were gone. The Cooper brothers found him in Virginia trying to buy a bus ticket to Florida using my debit card. All my stuff had been pawned, but the real trouble was the stolen identity. It took years to straighten that out.
Yet another thing that the Coopers held over our heads. They helped me out, sure, but their neighborly “favors” always came with strings. They’d invited themselves to Memaw’s for Sunday dinners five weeks in a row after that, Hitch staring at me creepily while Marsh Cooper made pointed comments about how “some people don’t know a good thing when it’s right in front of them.” Barf.
I had made Toad promise never to say “I told you so” about the Henry Mason incident, and he never had.
Until now. It feels like a slap in the face.
And now, I want him to feel as shitty as he’s making me feel.
I have not physically assaulted my brother since we were in middle school. But he deserved it then, and he certainly deserves it now.
I completely lose control of my senses and fly at him with everything I have. I shove him so hard he stumbles backward and hits the wooden deck railing, cracking the top edge loose from the posts. He rights himself and gives me a withering look.
“The fuck is wrong with you!”
“How dare you bring up that name!”
He scoffs and turns around to check the railing. “Way to go, Hailey. Now, I gotta spend all afternoon fixing Mama’s deck.”
I slide open the glass door and throw out, “Yeah, well, that’ll give you some time to think about why you’re such a greedy, insulting asshole!”
“Go cool off, Hailey!”
Like the grown-up I am, I shout, “You can’t tell me what to do!” before slamming the door in his face.
When I enter the kitchen to get some water, Torben is there, talking to Mama. They can’t have been talking for more than a few minutes, yet already there’s a giant photo album on the counter.
In addition to whatever else she’s been dishing out in my absence, Mama has also dished out the Chex Mix and poured Torben a glass of her homemade sweet tea.
Oh, no.
I brace myself for impact, but Torben, bless his heart, drinks it without complaint. Not a comment about how too sweet it is. Not the slightest wince.
