She nods, a slight smile turning up the sides of her lips at the memory despite herself. “Things changed the older I got, because I loved hanging out with my mom, but I hated the stage. Absolutely hated it. You know how there are some people that just love being the center of attention?” She locks eyes with me, and I nod my response. “I’m not one of those people. I hate it, which is a big problem, since getting on stage is a pretty big deal if you want to be in pageants.” She laughs and brings her hand down to her bracelet. It’s one of those embroidered ones, and not what you’d expect from someone with her background. She twists it around her wrist while she speaks. “I liked the dresses and the hair, but I didn’t want to get out there and walk or talk in front of a bunch of people. She used to have to bribe me to get onstage.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself in the pictures.” I instantly regret my words, since they’re inherently shaming, and wish I could take them back.
“You’ve been in my house?” She raises her eyebrows. I can’t tell if she’s angry or impressed.
“I have,” I say slowly, gauging her response.
“So you’ve seen all the Miss Alabama pictures too?”
“They’re a bit hard to miss.” I smile. She does too. I catch the server heading over, and I wave him off so he doesn’t interrupt us yet.
“Genevieve loved being Miss Alabama. She’s one of those people I’m talking about. The ones who come out of the womb ready to be onstage. That’s her. Which is totally fine. But that’s not me. It never was, and it was never going to be. The harder she tried to push me, the harder it got to be up there. I’d get so anxious and upset that I’d secretly throw up in the bathroom beforehand. Nobody noticed because by then half the girls had eating disorders anyway, and it was an unspoken rule that we never talked about what went down in the bathrooms.” Her eyes slip into the memory, traveling out of the restaurant and back there. Her body stiffens. “It got to a point where I hated every single minute of it, even the parts I used to like. The makeup. The hair. The lights on the stage. God, I hated those lights. And then one day, I just couldn’t go out there. I couldn’t get on that stage.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes. She quickly wipes them away before they have a chance to move down her cheeks. “I was standing frozen behind the curtain. Just standing there. Couldn’t move or do anything. And then suddenly somebody shoved me, and I stumbled out onto it.” She works her jaw, struggling hard not to cry. “Genevieve was the one who shoved me. She pushed me right out on that stage. I stumbled forward and then froze in front of everyone. It was mortifying. Two of the judges finally jumped up and helped me off stage. She said she pushed me because she figured as soon as I got out onstage that I’d snap out of it. Kind of like how sometimes you have to slap a person in the face when they’re freaking out? That’s how she explained it. She never even apologized for it.”
I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. Her fingers haven’t warmed up yet. They might even be colder. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry she did that to you.”
My touch makes her uncomfortable, and she slowly pulls her hand out from underneath mine. “Thanks, it was.” She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve and tries to shove her emotions back inside. “I quit after that. Never went back. Never did another show. She was so incredibly angry with me. She didn’t speak to me for three days. Not a word. It was like I’d done something horribly wrong to her by quitting. She even said those exact words: ‘How can you do this to me?’”
“Wow.” I couldn’t imagine treating Harper that way. It must’ve been so painful and confusing for her. “How old were you at the time?”
“Ten.”
“And y’all never did anything to make it better between you?”
She shakes her head. “Mason got diagnosed shortly after that, so she became totally obsessed with all his stuff. Which is understandable, right?” She raises one shoulder and tries to look understanding, but there’s no mistaking the weight of her sadness. “All that was going on with Mason, and then my daddy died a couple years later . . .” Her emotions catch in her throat, and she takes a moment to gather her composure. I wish she’d quit trying to be so strong and just allow herself to feel.
Losing a parent is a gut-wrenching and disorienting loss. I’m only in the beginning phases myself, so her pain hits me square in the chest. I clasp my hands on my lap to keep from reaching out to her since it makes her uncomfortable, but I really want to comfort her.
“Basically, I just learned how to take care of myself, and I’ve been doing that ever since.” She perks up at the end, doing her best to sound proud of taking care of herself the way she has all these years.
“That’s a lot of stuff for someone so young to go through. I’m sorry you had to learn how to take care of yourself when you were still a child. No kid should have to do that.” I do my best to encourage her. I hate when kids have to grow up so young. It’s not fair. “You’ve done a really good job, though.”
“Have I?” She lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine with a curious challenge. “I could be a total mess. You don’t really know anything about me, do you?”
THIRTEEN
GENEVIEVE HILL
“Genevieve, stop, you can’t come in here like that!” Richard yells as I barge through his office door. The client sitting in the leather chair in front of his desk snaps his head to look at me in shock and surprise. He scans my body, taking in my disheveled appearance, but I don’t care.
“That lunatic is out there, and he’s coming to get me and my son. You have to do something,” I shriek as I storm toward him.
“I’m so sorry, Stephen.” Richard leans down and whispers to his client like I’m not standing right here and can hear everything.
“No worries,” his client responds, not bothering to lower his voice. He’s not paying any attention to Richard, anyway. His eyes are on me. He looks perfectly content to sit there and watch me implode, but Richard’s not having it.