Page 176 of False God

I stare at her, wanting to dispute it. Tell her that she must have misunderstood, that my father would never do that.

Problem is, he would.

I’m not even surprised to hear that he did. My mom leaving was a betrayal. Even before she did, he controlled everything.

The schools Blythe and I attended, who we socialized with, what activities we participated in. I can’t imagine him relinquishing any of that control for us to go on a vacation with the woman who chose to leave him.

But …

“Parental rights wouldn’t have mattered once I turned eighteen. Where have you been for the pasteight years, Georgia? Did you forget how old I was after missing all those birthdays? Blythe is twenty-one!”

Her hands drop to twist in her lap, no longer neatly folded. “I’m sorry, Charles. I didn’t—I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to hear from me after?—”

“It’s not about mewantingto hear from you. It’s about youchoosingto have no contact with us.”

“I sent the invitation,” she nearly whispers.

And that’s the only reason we’ve talked since she left. She mailed a wedding invitation to Newcastle.

Blythe refused to attend. My father told me going was a mistake. But I couldn’t shake the certainty that I’d regret missing it—for a wide range of reasons. Wanting to see what my mother was like, wanting to see if she was happy, wanting to be the bigger person. Then, my dad died, family was suddenly in shorter supply, and I agreed to visit her and her new husband the following summer. I kept indulging her, but it ends now.

Maybe that’s obvious on my face because she says, “I made a lot of mistakes, Charles.”

“Yeah, you did. Papa too. All he left me, aside from a title I don’t want, was a mountain of debt.”

It’s a relief to say that. Say it to my mother, in particular. Despite her many shortcomings in the role, she knew my father. Knows what the role of duke is like. This news means more to her than most people and like something she should know.

For the first time since she opened the door, my mom looks truly shocked. “What? I don’t understand what?—”

“There’s nothing to understand. His barristers sat me down after the funeral to tell me it was all gone, plus a lot of overdue payments. That’s one of the main reasons I came to New York the past two summers. To talk to American investors, try to salvage what I could.”

My mom tucks a piece of blonde hair behind one ear. “I’ll talk to Derek, see what he?—”

“No. I didn’t come here for your help. It’s been taken care of.”

“Taken care of? What are you?—”

I cut her off. “I came to tell you that I’ll probably be in New York a lot more often. We’ll likely run into each other at other events. But this is my last visit here. The last time I’m going to make an effort. Please give Derek my best.”

She scrambles to her feet when I stand, confusion written all over her face. “I-I don’t understand. What happened? Your other visits have been perfectly pleasant.”

We have different definitions ofperfectly pleasant, I guess.

“What happened? You decided you didn’t want kids, Georgia, after you already had them. I’m just respecting that decision, the way I should have done all along.”

“Charles …”

“I have to go.”

I head for the door.

“It’s Ellis’s birthday tomorrow.”

I don’t turn around, but my steps stop. “I know it’s his birthday tomorrow. I’m going to get dinner with him, his girlfriend, and the woman I’m going to marry. Because an inability to show up—to fucking care—isn’t a family trait, apparently. Papa wasn’t perfect, but he was there. He came to my rugby matches, and he bought Blythe gifts without me having to suggest it ten times. I used to worry I was too like him. Now, I’m just grateful I’m nothing likeyou.”

I walk out the door without saying anything else, accepting it might be the last time I see my mother.

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