“He’ll be so happy,” she says genuinely.
When I climb the stairs, Mom doesn’t come out of her room to greet me. Dad had to go to Washington, DC, for a couple days. Mom loves the life of a senator’s wife, attending campaign events, throwing parties, and doing charity work for Vanderbilt Hospital. She was Miss Tennessee back in the day and went to the Miss USA competition in Atlantic City. Normally she’d go with Dad to DC, but she had to stay here to make sure I don’t get into more trouble. Mom cares a lot about appearances—for good reason, since that’s what politics are all about—so she’s been very pissed at me the past few days. What happened didn’t just get me kicked out of school and embarrass me; it embarrassed the entire family.
I inhale deeply, steeling myself, hoping she’s not as angry, and poke my head into her room. The shades are drawn, and she’s burrowed under the covers.
Without Dad here and if she doesn’t have any charity events, Mom has a hard time filling her days. And if she doesn’t fill her time, she starts thinking about her sister and gets depressed. Up until a couple years ago, Mom spent a lot of time with her twin sister (twins run in our family), but unfortunately, my aunt Virginia passed away after a long fight with lymphoma. Mom was devastated and didn’t come out of her room for weeks. Knowing Mom’s tendency to be dramatic, the press wasn’t kind to her.
“Those assholes,” I had said, poring over the Tennessee Star. The paper had reported the rumor that Mom didn’t attend the Tennessee anniversary celebration because she was having a nervous breakdown. “Why are they saying these things?”
“They think rich people don’t have problems,” Jenna had replied, “And because we’re rich, we shouldn’t be allowed to complain. Money changes a lot of stuff, yeah, but not everything. We’re allowed to feel shitty.”
I can always trust my sister to tell it exactly like it is. For instance, just this past summer, Jenna mentioned she’s worried my parents are arguing about money more. I’d noticed the same thing. I didn’t voice it aloud though.
Ever since Aunt Virginia died, Mom and Dad have had philosophical differences about wealth. Mom thinks that life is short, and since we have the money, we should be living it up, staying in fancier hotels on trips. Hell, she thinks we should be going on more trips in general. To experience the world.
And Dad is still Dad.
I shut Mom’s bedroom door with a click, letting out a sigh of relief. For a second, I was worried I’d have to talk to her. She’s been snapping at me, which is uncharacteristic for her. Normally, she floats around graciously like Duchess Kate.
I continue up the stairs. My parents’ room is on the second floor, and Oliver, Jenna, and I are on the third. When we’re all home for holidays and school breaks, it’s always rowdy and loud up there. Oliver loves blasting rap music—for some reason, the boy lives for clubbing—and Jenna is always screaming at him to turn the music down so she can read “a hot sex scene.” Jenna loves historical romance novels.
Today, it’s quiet and lonely.
Chewing on a cracker, I change into athletic shorts, a sports bra, and a T-shirt. Then I take a long run up and down the rolling roads of Franklin. With each step, I feel the tension bleeding out of my muscles, but the moment I get home, I’m alone with my thoughts again, and my shoulders clench back up.
Dinner? I sit at the long empty table with only a buzzing phone to keep me company. Texts from my friends, telling me everything I’m missing, wanting to know if I’m okay. St. Andrew’s is about two hours from Franklin, up on Monteagle Mountain, but students can’t leave without advance permission from their parents and the school, so I probably won’t be seeing my friends anytime soon. Sure, kids sneak off campus sometimes, but it has to be worth risking a week of detention.
Mom joins me for dinner way after I’ve finished my salmon and salad. I’d been staring out the window, pissed off at Ben—and glad he’s not around—yet missing him all the same. It’s complicated.
“Taylor, I’d appreciate it if you’d dress for dinner. Your outfit”—she pauses, scrunching her nose at my running gear—“is inappropriate for the dining room.”
“I’ll try to dress more like Jenna in the future,” I say dryly, but Mom’s too busy scrolling on her iPad and forking lettuce into her mouth like a robot to notice my attitude. When Dad’s away, she might as well be married to that iPad.
The loneliness gives me an idea. “Mom? Can I get a dog?”
She looks up from her screen. “Why?”
“For company. I miss Oscar—”
“Who is Oscar?”
“The dog at Card House. Can I please get one?”
“It would mess up the carpets.”
Spoken like a person who has never had a dog and doesn’t understand the happiness they bring to your life.
Mom adds, “Besides, you should be thinking about what you did wrong.”
How could I forget?
My phone buzzes, and I sigh when I see his name flash across the screen. Right before I left campus for the last time, I broke up with him by text, but he won’t stop calling.
“Who’s that?” Mom asks, staring at my phone.
“Ben,” I mumble.
“That boy is not good enough for you,” she says.
It’s true. He’s not good enough for me, but not for the reasons my parents think. Mom never approved of Ben because he’s a scholarship kid. Dad didn’t mind that my ex-boyfriend isn’t well off, but ever since Ben asked about internship opportunities in my father’s Chattanooga office, he hasn’t been a fan. Dad thought Ben was using me to get ahead.
I don’t approve because I tried to help him—and he abandoned me when shit hit the fan.
Mom goes back to scrolling on her iPad. My phone buzzes again. I turn it to silent so I don’t have to listen to more texts coming in. Madison complaining that soccer practice sucked this afternoon without me on offense. Steph telling me how Madison has changed her clothes four times since classes ended today, trying to figure out what to wear when she hangs out tonight with Chris, this guy she likes. Every other text is about how angry they are St. Andrew’s kicked me out. I miss my friends…
Ben’s texts are always the same: Tee, please call me back. Please.
I told him it was over, and now he wants to explain. To work things out.
Well, fuck that.
I text him back: We were over the minute you didn’t help me like I helped you!!
He does not respond. Which is heartbreaking, but not surprising. If he admits the truth, he’ll get kicked out of school and he’d lose his scholarship and probably his future along with it. Getting admitted to St. Andrew’s was his big break in life. His chance to rise above his poor upbringing.