Page 3 of Building What's Meant to Be

I shift left. He mirrors me. I move right. He does the same.

A huffy huff escapes. “If you want to dance, there’s a ballroom just down the hall. As it is, I’m too tired to play games, John.”

“Then you can turn around the way you came.” Angling his fingers overhead, he spins them toward the door.

“I cannot,” I say simply.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You’re saying that I can’t stay at my own house?”

“This is Mother and Father’s cottage.”

“Estate.”

“Right.” He grumbles, annoyed that I corrected him. “And I’m in charge.”

“Who appointed you King of the Cottage?”

“Mother and Father.”

“Why can’t we be normal and call them Mom and Dad?” I ask as an aside.

John’s lips form a tight little knot that reminds me of the business end of a hotdog. It’s an effort to contain my laughter, which borders hysteria at this point.

So. Tired.

“They named me the executor of their last will and testament.”

“You said they’re yachting, so that means they’re still alive unless yachting means something different since I last checked the Humber Family Dictionary.”

His lips flatten into a line. “Tinsley, unlike you, I take my life and my roles seriously. Mother and Father trusted me with this important task because they respect me. As such, I happen to know that this is not your house, cottage, or estate. They’ve left it to me.”

“What about Andrew and Vicky?” I ask, referring to our other siblings.

“Because Andrew is Manhattan-based, he’ll inherit the building with the penthouse. Victoria gets the home in Hawaii.” He rattles on about our parents’ rules and expectations.

Even though he doesn’t say,And that leaves nothing for you, I still hear the message. Loud and clear.

Then again, unless our parents purchase a fourth home, I guess there wouldn’t have been one for me anyway. I’ve always been the oddball, the afterthought. The renegade. Ha! As if chasing fame were in any way rebellious. I just didn’t follow the family mold to become an upper-crust socialite, a housewife, a trophy wife, or part of their legal corporation.

It’s not that I don’t want the luxury that comes with that lifestyle. I’m one of the most extravagant people I know. It’s allI’ve ever known. Rather, I don’t want all the fussy events, the strict dress code, and always having to do and say the right thing. Then again, in the circles I spin, we have our own sets of rules.

And I just learned a new one. Guilt by association. Thanks a lot, Puma.

Standing here on the threshold of a place I’d always called home, I don’t feel wanted or like I fit in. But where can I turn? Because the truth is, the path that brought me here—the high life of an aspiring starlet, band groupie, and celebrity by proxy hasn’t served me too well either.

I spent the night under inquisition for crimes I know nothing about.

So what am I looking for? To be seen? To be loved? The life I so recently fled during the party hours hasn’t exactly worked out either. John has made it clear that I’m not wanted here and even if I was, would I want to slide back into a mannequin’s life?

Granted, I wouldn’t mind a place to sleep. I’m already exhausted and all this thinking about change threatens to send me into a coma.

But if I woke up in a week, a year, or ten would anything be different? Like a whisper on the salty breeze, the answer comes.

I’m the one who has to change.

I’d like to send it out to sea, back where it came from, or get in the car and speed away from the idea that I’m the problem. However, I remain rooted to the spot because I’m stubborn and not about to let my too-big-for-his-britches brother drive me off. In fact, now that he’s hit midlife, he is getting a slight paunch. Nothing major, but it’s not the slim waistline that he’s always prided himself on.

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