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“Why?” Jane says and then looks like she’s going to yell, but a couple exits the restaurant. She lowers her voice as we move off to the side into the shadows. “It’s because you want Ellie to think you’re Mr. Nice Guy. That’s all this is.”
“I’d prefer if she didn’t think I’d assaulted a woman and left her at the altar for no damn reason.”
“Oh, you had a reason, then?”
“I regret how cruel and immature I was, but yeah, I had a reason.”
I raise my hand, almost touching his arm. Mom looks at me sharply, reminding me I’m supposed to feel guilty about my loyalty to Max and my belief in him.
“So let’s say it was true. Let’s say I got an abortion and—”
“Wait, what?” Mom cuts in.
“That’s what he says.” Jane points aggressively at Max. “He says I got an abortion because he wouldn’t stop talking about the baby. The baby, this. The baby, that.” Her tone gets mocking, and I hate her. I hate myself for hating her, but it’s the truth. She’s my family. “It was relentless, to be frank, but to tell such a vicious lie…”
“I don’t know how you grew up,” Max says, looking at Mom, “but it seems like Jane always needs to be seen in the best possible light. If this means stealing, gaslighting, or manipulating, she’ll do it. That’s my assessment.”
“Ooh, the English Literature professor’s assessment. You’re not a psychologist.”
“All fiction is psychological to some degree, Aunt Jane,” I say. “They’re all about people, how they work, and what makes them tick, just seen through different lenses.”
“Is this the shit you’re paying for?” Jane laughs right in my face.
“Stop it, Jane.” Mom steps in her path, raising her hand. “I never should’ve agreed to this. It wasn’t fair, violating Ellie’s privacy like that.”
Jane steps back, looking in disbelief at Mom as if she can’t accept that she’s standing up for me. The tears are gone. Somehow, it’s me, Mom, and Max standing on one side and Jane on the other.
“But you did it,” Jane snaps. “Mother of the Year, over here. You logged into FindMyPhone because you knew I was right. You knew this pervert, woman-beating professor would be with her.”
“You’re a liar,” I yell. “Look at you. You change moods every two seconds. Smiling, mocking, then crying. It’s all a pantomime, Aunt Jane. I bet you lied about why you left the West Coast too.”
It comes out in anger, but then Aunt Jane flinches. “Wh-what?”
Something fierce flares in me. It’s the same feeling I can imagine having if somebody threatened our children. A similar instinct I’d have to devastate anything or anybody who would ever try that.
“With your fiancé. You said he left you for somebody else. Call him, then. Call him and let him speak first. If he left you, he’ll answer differently, but if you left him, he’ll sound hopeful. If you stay silent, he might say something. I don’t know. Come back to me or whatever. That’s a way to prove it.”
Jane scowls. “I don’t need to prove anything to you, you fucking pig!”
Mom shouts so loud it hurts my eardrums. “How dare you talk to my daughter like that!”
She rushes forward as if she’s going to hit Aunt Jane. My hands fly over my mouth. Tears spring to my eyes. Distantly, I note how hypocritical that is, accusing Jane of faking tears when mine come and go just as quickly. It’s as if time slows down as I watch Max rush forward, putting his body between them.
Mom pulls up short and leans around Max. “You’re high, Jane. You need to get out of here.”
“I could call him right now,” Jane yells, her words directed at me as she paces around Max, trying to find an angle to stare. “He’d beg for me, kiddo. Don’t worry about that. Even if I left the little bitch in a puddle of his own tears and come, he’d beg.”
“Just get away from us,” Mom screams.
Jane turns and walks awkwardly into the parking lot, taking her cell phone from her bra. She leans against the sign of the restaurant, arms crossed.
“I’m so sorry she said that,” Mom says, wrapping her arm around me. “Being high is no excuse. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’ve never… never known what’s wrong with her.”
Mom breaks down. I hold her tightly as she cries against my chest. Max leans against the wall, his hands folded across his middle. We all turn when a car pulls up at the restaurant’s sign.
“She was texting on the way here,” Mom murmurs. “I wonder if it was him. He must’ve been close by.”
I recognize the car and the driver’s easy smile as an interior light switches on. He grins over at Jane as she stumbles toward the car. Cillian leans down and helps her into the passenger seat.
