I still am not used to my new name.
“Brewster?” The woman in front of me raises her trimmed and penciled eyebrows, her eyes wide. “You’re Sabrina Brewster?”
“Yes.”
She laughs then turns to the older woman. “Mother, look. It seems we’ve found Randall’s wife.”
“What?” The older woman steps forward to look at me from head to toe just like her daughter. She pouts. “What the devil has gotten into him? Is he really trying to ruin us all?”
“I think he’s just cursed with bad taste in women,” the younger says, studying me again. “My poor brother.”
Brother? Which means…
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Helena Brewster-Vasilievko. I’m Randall’s sister.” The younger one looks at my hand and frowns. “I’d shake your hand but um, it doesn’t look fit to shake.”
“You are Randall’s older sister?”
I think Randall mentioned it once.
“How dare you emphasize my age? Don’t you know how rude that is?”
“S-sorry,” I mumble. I was only asking a question!
She puts her arm in that of the older woman. “This is our mother, Jacqueline. Jackie Brewster.”
I bow my head. Now, I’m really embarrassed about how I look.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brewster.”
Mrs. Brewster? Is that what I should call her?
Randall’s mother snorts. “I’m definitely not happy to see you.”
I look at her in surprise.
“I’m old. Unlike my daughter, I can’t waste time playing around or beating around the bush. When I see bullshit, I call it. When I see a piece of trash, I call it. I don’t know who you are or what you did to my son but you do not deserve him.”
The words set me back, a lump forming in my throat.
“Now, now, Mother. Mind your blood pressure,” Helena says. “I’m sure Randall has a good reason.” She looks at me. “Are you pregnant?”
My eyebrows crease. “No.”
I don’t think so.
“Really? That’s weird.”
I’m starting to be annoyed by her rudeness. I know she’s older than me and richer but I still deserve some respect.
“And where did he pick you up, huh?” Helena touches her chin.
I don’t answer, still thinking of how to say it.
“What? Is it a secret? Or is it too embarrassing?”
“I don’t care how they met,” Mrs. Brewster, the original Mrs. Brewster, says as she looks at me. “Have you any idea how mortified I was when I found out about my son’s marriage in the newspaper?”
Newspaper?
“At least, the last time, he invited me. Now, he doesn’t say anything and I just find out like everyone else?”
“Mother almost had a heart attack,” Helena says.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing I have no excuse for that.
I was wondering about that, actually. I thought Randall’s family should be at his wedding but I didn’t bring it up because I thought our wedding wasn’t real anyway.
But after last night, is it still not real?
“Apologies,” she scoffs. “I hate apologies just as much as I hate excuses. Emily, bring me back inside. I came out for fresh air but the air feels stale here.”
Ouch.
The woman in white obeys, taking the older woman’s arm and leading her back inside after casting an apologetic glance in my direction.
“Now, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” Helena steps forward, one hand on her hip and the other holding her sunglasses, biting one of the tips. “But my mother is right. You don’t deserve Randall. Frankly, I don’t know what he sees in you.”
Frankly, I don’t see how she can be Randall’s sister, either. It’s almost like they’re from different planets. Maybe Randall’s adopted?
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she continues. “The last one conveniently got rid of herself before we could but we’ll get rid of you. We Brewsters always get our way.”
“You’re forgetting I’m a Brewster now, too.”
She laughs. “My, my, you are delusional. Pretty but delusional. You think you can hang on to Randall, can’t you? Think he’s your ticket to paradise?”
I’d like to tell her that I’m not after Randall’s money, but I can’t since that’s partly why I did marry him.
“Dream on, little girl. You may look strong but I can see your weakness, your fear. You don’t stand a chance against us. We’ll find your flaws. We’ll expose all your dirty secrets.”
I tense.
Helena gives a mischievous grin. “Do you really want us to do that?”
I don’t answer, still shocked by her words. She wouldn’t hand me over to Vince, would she?
Just then, Zombie barks and the next thing I know, he’s jumping on Helena. Helena takes a few steps back, dropping her sunglasses, which Zombie steps on.
“Why, you–” She looks at her sunglasses and her outfit in horror then stares at me. “Randall will hear of this. And you haven’t seen the last of me yet.”
With that, she hurries back into the house, and I manage to keep myself from laughing until she’s gone.
“Great work, Zombie.” I pet his still-damp fur. “It seems like you’re better at sniffing bullshit.”
He licks my face, and I continue laughing. Helena may have tried to scare me but for this round, I have the last laugh.
I wonder what Randall will think.
Meddlers
Randall
What the fuck are they thinking? That they can just drop by unannounced and scold me like I’m a five-year-old boy? That they can run my life like they used to?
I frown as I look across the desk at my father, William Brewster, and my older brother, Lloyd.
They weren’t happy when I married the first time. They didn’t even come to the wedding. Now, they’re still unhappy. What? They still want me to marry some CEO’s sister or some Senator’s daughter?
“I regret that you were not informed of my decision.” I sit up in my chair. “But I stand by my decision.”
“And we will not respect it.” Lloyd gets off his chair and rubs his temples. “Have you no decency, Randall? Have you no concern for us? No respect for us?”
“On the contrary, I feel like it is the other way around.”
“You married a nanny, Randall,” Lloyd points out. “Just when the world has finally forgotten that you married a chambermaid, just when you’ve finally made something of yourself, you go and marry your son’s nanny.”
I pick up my pen. “Well, she cares about David and that’s what matters most.”
“Randall.” My father beats his fist on the table.
“You know, I don’t understand. I’ve always been a disappointment to you so why put up a fuss about it now?”
“You think this is funny?” my father asks. “Is this all a game to you?”
“Actually, you–” I point to him and my brother– “are the ones who treat this as a game. You’re the ones who pull the strings, who move your pawns across the chessboard. You’re the ones who think marriage is some business agreement, just another step in your grand plans.”
“We’ve worked hard to establish the family name,” my father reminds me. “And you? What have you done?”
“Haven’t you read my feature in Time magazine, the one with my picture on the cover? I finally have one.”