by A. M. Myers
“The nerve,” Ivy quips, laugher in her voice and I nod.
“What do you think she wants?”
She shrugs, yawning. “Maybe she’s found her next ex-husband.”
“Oh, that poor bastard,” I whisper with a shudder and Ivy throws her head back, laughing.
“We should probably warn him.”
I shake my head and reach out to grab her arm in a dramatic fashion. “And risk angering the Wicked Witch of the West? I don’t think so.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“To me?” I ask, pointing a finger at my chest. “Nothing but I’m not the one using the trust fund she swindled out of number three for us.”
“She wouldn’t,” Ivy gasps, her mouth forming an O. I don’t touch the money, but Ivy has no qualms about using the trust fund to her advantage. She was smart and used the money to build her jewelry design business to the success it is today.
“You know she would in a fucking heartbeat.”
With an adorable pout, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the back wall of the elevator. “I guess the schmuck is on his own then.”
“Nice to know where your priorities are, baby sister,” I tease her and she sticks her tongue out at me.
“Hey, I don’t owe him anything, and he’s a grown man… hopefully.”
I gag, covering my mouth with my hand. “Please never insinuate mother will become a cougar ever again. It’s bad enough when the men are her age.”
“Sissy, I’m certain if she ever found herself a teenage billionaire, his age wouldn’t even cross her mind.”
“You mean, eighteen, right?” I ask and she shrugs.
“Hopefully.”
I shake my head. “So gross. She’s got to be almost a billionaire on her own by now, right?”
“No clue but she likes to spend it as much as she likes to make it.”
“You mean steal it,” I point out and we both giggle as the door slides open to reveal our mother. She arches a brow and stares at us as we try to get ourselves under control.
“Well, aren’t you two in a good mood today,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and said good mood takes a nosedive.
“Or delirious. You called us over here at the ass crack of dawn.”
“Yeah, Mother,” Ivy adds, checking her watch. “You can’t invite us to brunch and tell us to show up at seven-thirty. That’s just breakfast.”
“Are you done?” she snaps and I sigh as I peek over at Ivy as she bites back a smile.
“Yeah, we’re done.”
With a sharp nod, she turns and walks away from us, her heels clicking against the marble floors. “We’re eating on the deck.”
“Seriously,” I whisper to Ivy as we follow behind her. “Who is in full makeup, a dress, and heels to walk around their house at seven-thirty in the morning?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Satan?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing and Ivy nudges me, grinning. Mother peeks over her shoulder at the two of us and lets out an annoyed sigh. She wasn’t always like this. There was a time, back when both Ivy and I were still little, that she was happy, but everything changed. Maybe I was just too young to realize what happened but to five-year-old me, it came out of nowhere. One day, she was my Momma and the next day, she was cold and unreachable.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” I hiss and Ivy shakes her head, pressing her hand to her heart.
“No, no, sissy. I’m the good one and you’re the bad one.”
“Since when?”
Her “duh” expression says it all. “Always.”
Mother guides us over to the private elevator that leads to the top floor and rooftop deck, and after we all cram inside, she presses the button for the deck. The silence is awkward, and I spare a glance at Ivy, whose eyes widen in a “say something” gesture but I’ve got nothing. It’s too damn early for me to navigate the minefield that is Grace Mills.
When we get up to the deck, Mother steps out first and we continue on behind her as Ivy pulls out her phone and smiles.
“Is that Julian?” I whisper and she nods.
“Yeah. He wants to know what was so urgent with Mother.”
I flick a glance in her direction as she struts over to the dining table on the far side of the deck. “Tell him it’s a toss-up. It’s either the end of the world or she’s planning to redecorate and felt we needed to have this information.”
“Okay,” she whispers, smirking as she types out her message.
“What are you two going on about?” Mother asks, pulling our attention to her, and Ivy tucks her phone in her pocket.
“Nothing,” we both answer before sharing a grin.
Mother rolls her eyes and points to the table. “Have a seat. Rhonda will be up with food in a moment.”
“We could have just grabbed our plates while we were down there,” Ivy points out and Mother shakes her head as she sits at the head of the table. Ivy and I sit opposite each other on the other end and I bite back a smile as I think about how fitting it is—Mother on one side, Ivy and I on the other.
“That is what I pay Rhonda for, my dear.”
“So, Mother, why are we here?” I ask as the elevator doors open and Rhonda wheels out a cart full of covered plates. She turns to Rhonda, ignoring my question, and I sigh as I rub my temple. I’ve not had enough caffeine for this shit. Rhonda places a dish in front of each of us before pulling the dome off and I hold back a grimace at the egg white omelet and toast on my plate. Ivy’s nose wrinkles as she meets my gaze. We’d both prefer something smothered in gravy, but Mother would chew us out—something about not being able to land a good man with hips the size of Texas. And by “good”, she means rich.
“What’s this about?” Ivy asks, ignoring her food and I’m right there with her. If it were just Ivy and I, I would love to stay for breakfast but with Mother, I want to go as soon as possible.
“What?” she asks, looking offended. “Can’t I have breakfast with my daughters?”
“No, you can’t,” I reply, taking a drink of orange juice. “You’ve never wanted to sit down to a meal with us.”
“What’s so wrong with catching up with your mother? You have those silly little weekly dinners with…”
“Mother,” Ivy and I both say at the same time and she clamps her mouth shut. She’s always had a problem with Aunt Dottie. Maybe it was because Dottie called her a vindictive bitch at Daddy’s funeral or maybe it went back way before that; I’m not sure but we’ve heard this rant too many times to count.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I called you over because I heard a little rumor at the club yesterday.”
“And?” I ask. Does she expect us to guess? It could be anything, and knowing the ladies that hang out at the club, it’s likely I won’t give a damn anyway.
“When were you going to tell me you are dating Julian Henshaw, Ivy?”
“Uh,” Ivy stutters, choking on a bite of toast. “Where did you hear that?”
“His mother.”
Ivy’s face falls and I wish there was something I could do to help her. It makes sense she would hide this from Mother since the woman is probably already drawing up wedding plans and divorce papers for Vi. Her eyes widen and she nods. “Uh, yes.”
“Wonderful,” Mother exclaims, beaming at Ivy, and I roll my eyes. She doesn’t even know the man. But, as usual, all she cares about is his bank account and his name. “How long have the two of you been seeing each other?”
“Four months.”
“Excellent. And things are going well?” she asks, her gaze locked on Ivy, and I swear, she could be an interrogator with the FBI.
Ivy nods. “Yes, they’re going very well.”
Mother laughs, clapping her hands together, and as I watch her, I wonder what happened to her to make her this way. What was it that turned her into this person? Because I have a hard time believing she was born obsessed with wealth.
“Are we thinking wedding bells?”
<
br /> Ivy groans, tossing her fork down on the table. “Jesus, Mother. I don’t know. We’ve only been together for a short time and we just moved in together.”
A look of horror washes over Mother’s face. “You moved in with him?”
“Yes.”
“How many times have I told you girls to get a ring on your finger before you move in with a man?” she hisses, pressing her fingers into her forehead like our mere presence is giving her a migraine. Hopefully, it is so she’ll kick us out.
“Mother, we haven’t been together that long.”
“Ivy,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You don’t let a man like that get away. Whatever you have to do to lock it down, do it.”
“No, I will not force him into something. We love each other and if we decide to get married, we will.”
I give Ivy a little nod of support and Mother scoffs.
“Love? Love has nothing to do with it. The Henshaws are a very influential family and Julian makes a good match for you, Ivy.” She turns her attention to me. “And what about you, Carly? Any men in your life?”
“You mean besides the orgy I had last night?” I ask, my patience gone, and Ivy chokes on her juice as Mother’s eyes bug out of her head.
“Carly Rae Mills,” she gasps, clutching her pearls as she looks at me in horror. This is totally worth the verbal beating she’s about to give me. “How dare you speak like that in my house?”
I bite my lip to stop myself from pointing out her “house” was paid for by all her ex-husbands.
“No acceptable man will ever want you if you keep up this behavior,” she hisses and I roll my eyes.
“Oh, fuck. I didn’t realize,” I quip, my tone dry. “What ever will I do?”
She stands from the table glaring at me. “Where did I go wrong with you?”
Without waiting for my reply, she stomps off.
“Probably spent too much time with me and didn’t buy me enough shit!” I yell at her back as she storms inside and Ivy giggles next to me.
“Oh my god, you will pay for that.”
I sigh. “I know.”
* * * *
I pull up to the curb in front of the little pink house, the only place that’s ever felt like home, and throw the car in park, more than ready to sit down for Sunday night dinner with Ivy and Aunt Dottie. After grabbing my phone out of the cup holder, I turn to reach for the door, but it buzzes before I can even get it open. Chance’s name flashes on the screen and I’m fighting back a smile. This man is ruining me. We’ve been texting almost non-stop since Wednesday night and I almost feel like a teenager again. Each new message that comes in has me falling deeper into this dark abyss. I know better than to allow things to continue but I can’t stop it either. I’m useless at resisting him.
Chance:
Go out with me?
There may be a question mark at the end of his message, but I know damn well it’s not a request. In the short time we’ve been talking, I’ve learned that he’s single-minded when it comes to something he wants and turns out Chance Turner wants me. He won’t quit until he’s worn me down. It terrifies me but there is also this excitement racing through my body, zapping me with sparks of electricity, whenever I talk to him and I’m not sure I even want to fight it anymore. It feels good. The kind of good I haven’t felt in a long time and like an addict, one little taste has me craving more. But thinking about it and acting on it are two different things. I’ve been avoiding this exact situation for so long I don’t even know how to act.
Me:
Sorry, I can’t. I’m busy tonight.
Smirking, I tuck the phone into my back pocket because even if I don’t know where this is headed, I’m kind of enjoying the ride. Sometimes I wish I could have met Chance when my heart wasn’t so battered. Or when, at sixteen years old, the most popular boy at my new school asked me out, I would have been smart enough to tell him to go to hell. I wish, more than anything, that I had something more to offer him than this empty shell.
With a sigh, I open the door and wave at Ivy as she steps out of her car behind me.
“Wow, you’re on time tonight,” I tease and she sticks her tongue out at me as she grabs her bag and shuts the door.
“You know Dot would lock the door if I tried to show up late and I’ve been looking forward to her cooking all week.”
I can’t help but grin. She’s right. Sunday night dinner with Aunt Dottie has been a tradition since we moved to Baton Rouge and it’s important to all three of us, but Mother has never made it easy. She used to say Dottie was a bad influence on us. Though, Dottie was the only good role model we had in our life and I don’t know where I would be without her. She’s sweet and always there for us but she doesn’t take shit from anyone, even us so when Ivy showed up to dinner late one too many times, Dottie locked the door. The first time Ivy showed up and couldn’t get in, she stood on the front porch pounding on the door and begging to come in while Dottie and I laughed until our sides hurt.
“And now look at you, showing up on time!”
She scrunches her face up as she pushes past me and bounces up the front walk, showing off in front of Dottie for being on time as she steps onto the front porch. Dottie just shakes her head, the beads in her salt and pepper hair clinking together when she does. My phone buzzes again and I stop halfway up the walk as I pull it out of my pocket.
Chance:
Darlin, it doesn’t matter when. Today, tomorrow,
two years from now—whenever you say yes,
I’m jumping on the opportunity.
My breathing stutters and I stare down at my phone with wide eyes as my heart pounds against my ribcage and my belly flips. How the hell am I supposed to resist him when he says shit like this? For the first time in my life, I feel like someone wants me for me and it’s addicting. I need his questions because it means this might be real. I’m not just a passing craze or a game to him.
“Don’t think I won’t lock you out either, Carly,” Aunt Dottie calls from the front door and I look up, smiling.
“Coming, Dottie.”
Me:
I’ll keep that in mind.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I walk up the sidewalk, unable to wipe the grin off my face as his message plays over and over in my mind. Just as I pass by Dottie in the doorway, her arm shoots out and she grabs my wrist.
“Well, look at you, child. You look radiant. What on earth put that smile on your face?” she asks, pulling me into a hug. As her arms wrap around me, I desperately try to get control of my face because I’m not ready to tell either of them about Chance. Not that I know what’s going on anyway. Dottie releases me and I step back as she studies my face like she can read my mind. Ivy shuffles out of the kitchen and I turn to look at her. She watches me for a second, her eyes narrowing, and she gasps.
“She met a guy,” she calls out, like an accusation, and I glare at her.
“Shut up. No, I didn’t.”
She steps into the living room with her hand over her heart. “I cannot believe you would lie to your baby sister. I know that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror.”
“Now, wait one minute, who the hell are you seeing?” Dottie asks, sounding more like our mother should as she releases me and I’m reminded again how lucky we are to have her. When our mother learned about Ivy’s relationship, her first thought was dollar signs.
“Uh… no one,” Ivy says, her eyes flicking to me with a pleading look but she’s on her own here. She tried to sell me out and it backfired. Dottie narrows her eyes, studying Ivy closely and my heart aches as I smile for a completely different reason.
Dottie is our father’s older sister and sometimes, she looks so much like him it’s almost like he’s here in the room with us. In some ways, it’s comforting but it can also sting like a bitch. After his death, this kind of thing—a family dinner—was non-existent in my life and I didn’t even realize I wanted it until Dottie insisted we get together every week.
&
nbsp; “Who said I was seeing anyone?” Ivy asks. She spins around with a guilty expression and escapes into the kitchen before Dottie can ask any more questions. Dottie shakes her head and follows her, the loose colorful blouse she’s wearing billowing out behind her as she moves.
She has this hippie vibe to her and some people might call her eccentric, but she’s always been true to herself. It’s something I admire about her. After growing up around someone who was always pretending, it’s a nice change of pace to be around someone real. She’s the kind of person who does whatever she wants and gives absolutely no fucks to what anyone else thinks of her. I need that in my life. Lord knows, with my mother, I could have turned out way worse than I did and Dottie always reminded me what normal was.
The dining room table is already set as I walk past it to the kitchen where Ivy passes me, carrying a plate of food, and Dottie lines three glasses up on the counter and fills them with water. She peeks up from her task and makes a disapproving noise.
“Don’t just stand there gawkin’, girl. Grab those napkins and sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grabbing the napkins off the counter, I go back into the dining room and sit down just as my phone buzzes. As discreetly as possible, I pull it out and read the message under the table.
Chance:
Tell me something.
Me:
What?
“No phones at the table, Carly,” Ivy says with a shit-eating grin on her face that reminds me of when we were kids and her favorite thing was tattling on me. I sigh as I roll my eyes and stuff my phone back in my pocket.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” I shoot back but she keeps grinning at me until I look away, a smile teasing my lips.
“Jesus, you’re grown ass women and y’all fight like you’re kids sometimes.”
Ivy sticks her bottom lip out as she crosses her arms over her chest. “She started it.”
Dottie makes a noise of exasperation and we both burst into laughter. “Will y’all just sit down and eat some damn food? I’m starving.”
