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“Phoebe, are you with me?” Laurent asked, his tone too calm and caring for my frenzied brain.
“Yes, sorry. I’m here, and I’m fine.”
“You’re redder than a glass of cabernet.”
“I wish my blood was cabernet. I would slice myself open and have at it vampire style.”
“Okay, you’re officially going over the deep end.”
“Oh, this is nothing. I am perfectly calm. You’ll know when I go over the deep end.”
“No one is going over the deep end today, especially you. That is why I’m here. I’m going to be with you every miserable minute of this party. Now inhale.”
I shot him a glare, but he tilted his head, making him look all cute and irresistible. I took a deep breath.
“That’s good. Now let it out.” As I did, he massaged my shoulders, helping to ease the tension in my muscles. “Better?”
“I guess.”
“You guess.” He laughed, and it echoed through the room. “You’re acting like you’re being walked to your death.”
“Because I am. A slow, agonizing death that will include torture, humiliation and me questioning every life choice I made for the last twenty years.”
“I know she’s bad, but she can’t be that bad.”
My eyebrows shot so high I was afraid they’d reach my hairline and smear the perfectly accented arch. I spent too much time on my makeup to let that happen. I slowly eased them into place. “At Christmas she asked if I liked being lonely.”
“Okay, but I’ll be there to prove you’re not lonely.”
“She also asked if I always have seconds, and maybe that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend. Oh, and then there was that time at Thanksgiving when she conveniently forgot to include me in her seating chart. I got stuck at the children’s table, though Parker made the cut, despite being almost half my age. Oh! And let’s not forget that time for my dad’s sixtieth birthday when she criticized my outfit in front of the entire party because she never gave me the updated memo it went from a 60s theme to a formal event. So there I was in this ridiculous psychedelic dress with flared sleeves and a deep V-neckline, go-go boots, and big Brigitte Bardot hair while everyone else is in evening gowns and fancy updos.”
Laurent’s lips cracked, and he quickly covered his mouth, but even if I didn’t see the amusement in his mouth, I heard the suppressed laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny. And I bet you looked a thousand times better in that psychedelic dress than all those women in their evening gowns.”
“I did look pretty freaking hot.” I shrugged. “Plus, I wasn’t an idiot. I knew she did it to make me look bad, so I turned the tables on her and made a scene, saying I can’t believe you didn’t call me when I didn’t reply to your email she insisted she sent. I know damn well she did not.”
“Can I ask you something without you getting crazy?”
“With the mood I’m in, I can’t guarantee anything, but I shall try.”
“Why don’t you write her off? Why keep showing up?”
If his hand hadn’t slid down my arm and held me in place, I might have stumbled back. It was an obvious question, but one no one ever asked. Not even myself.
“Remember my friend Brady? Franc’s best friend.”
“Of course, he was like another brother to you.”
“Still is. His dad was an asshole. Manipulative, abusive, and when he turned eighteen, he said fuck you, and never looked back. You could do that too.”
“As someone who has always been about family, I would think you’d tell me I’m overreacting, and she’s family. Family can drive you crazy. It’s what they do.”
“What she does seems to go beyond that. There’s dealing with annoying family members and then there’s knowing when you’re being blatantly mistreated. You don’t have to put up with it.”
I bit my lip, the taste of my lip gloss filling my mouth. I hoped it didn’t smear or get on my teeth. “If I write her off, then I have to write off my dad, and the little girl who worshipped that man is still inside of me. She won’t let him go.” My eyes watered, and I cursed under my breath before looking up and trying to prevent the tears from falling. I couldn’t get streaks in my bronzer.
