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"He helps make sure no others psychos have secret photographers following me," I retorted.
There was a long silence. We continued to walk, and Janette gave a few more half-hearted attempts at small talk.
"That's a nice suit," she said some time later. "It's good to see you in something more tailored. You have such a nice figure––it's a shame when you cover it up."
I rolled my eyes. Between Janette and Bubbe, I would always have someone trying to get me out of my favorite old jeans. The only person who seemed to like me in them was Brandon.
"Those shoes are...an interesting choice with that outfit," Janette continued.
I looked down at my flats. They were polished, but obviously not the standard choice for a suit––but I still couldn't walk in heels with my ankle the way it was. I frowned. I wasn't really in the mood for Janette's passive-aggressive bullshit.
"How about here?" I announced, stopping in front of a cafe that had an al fresco seating area. It was across from the Commons. Through the trees, I could actually see the black iron gate and the gray stone exterior of Brandon's old house. The house where we'd met.
The cafe was quiet. We could sit outside, where no one would overhear our conversation easily, and I could leave quickly if Janette was too much to deal with.
Janette looked over the restaurant skeptically. "Here? I was thinking we could go down to the Martin or someplace like that. It's only a few blocks away."
"Janette, aren't you broke?" I asked bluntly. "I mean, isn't that why you tried to fuck up your daughter's life?"
"Well––I––not entirely..." she replied with slightly reddened cheeks. She stood up straighter. "Mother is helping with an allowance."
Ah. So she'd used her kids to get back into her parents' good graces. I rolled my eyes and turned into the restaurant.
"Well, I'm going in," I said over my shoulder. "You can come or not."
We took a table outside, just under a hanging pot of overflowing petunias past their prime. Lucas sat a few tables away, giving Janette and me some relative privacy. A waiter brought some water while we perused our menus.
"I'll just have the garden salad," Janette said.
"The tortellini for me," I said as I handed him back the menu.
"Really?" Janette asked. "It's so heavy."
I didn't respond, just gave her a look. She held up her hands.
"Far be it from me to worry about my daughter."
"Seriously," I said. "Don't bother."
The waiter walked away with an expression that made him look like he'd rather stay to watch the show. After he was out of earshot, I leaned across the table. Janette leaned back slightly.
"I agreed to this lunch for two reasons," I said in a low voice that I hoped was menacing. "To get you off my back and to figure out a way to see my siblings. Beyond Christoph and Annabelle, you and I are never going to have the kind of relationship that allows you to comment on my clothes, my food, or, really, any other facet of my life. If you can't handle that, I'll leave right now."
Janette's green eyes widened, but she didn't move other than to take a slow sip of her water and then set it down.
"I understand," she said quietly. Her gaze finally blinked away, taking in the green landscape of the Commons across the street. "Boston really is a lovely town," she said. "Some parts, anyway."
I glanced back at the park. "Yeah, it is."
"I've left Maurice, Skylar. Or, I suppose I should say that he left me, and I chose not to follow."
I jerked my head back in surprise. "What?"
Janette nodded, shoulders hunched, as if the admission made her uncomfortable with her own body.
"I-I hated it. What he––what we did to you." She folded and unfolded her napkin.
For the first time, I realized that this was potentially one of the only times in her life Janette had had to deal with legitimate guilt. It wasn't like she hadn't done her fair share to hurt me and my dad over the years, between toying with Dad's emotions and essentially abandoning both of us when I was twelve. But for the first time, she had hurt someone she couldn't just leave or forget about. Not without real consequences, for her and for her family.
