Page 138 of Never Kiss and Tell

I pour the contents of the broken bottle in the bin beside her and put the dust pan back.

“You heard me. Are you going to leave him? Or are you just going to throw a tantrum and forgive him?”

She blinks up at me, disbelieving.

“You don’t speak this way to me. I am your mother.”

I grab a towel and wet it under the sink, then start wiping up the spilled perfume. Chanel doesn’t smell too great when it’s this concentrated and my nose burns.

“Well, you know, Mom, sometimes you’re just a selfish bitch and you need to be put in your place. You think you’re the only one who’s had their heart broken?”

“Bailey Grace Carpenter, what has gotten into you?”

I throw the towel down the laundry chute and turn to her, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You, Mom. You think these men can just treat us however they want to? I was sexually assaulted by Drew and you basically told me to suck it up. Marcus cheats on you constantly and yet, you continue to act like he created the entire world with his magical dick.”

She scoffs, snatching the clean wet washcloth I hand her and patting her face. She straightens her legs out in front of her, kicking her heels off.

“You think we would have anything if I didn’t make sacrifices to keep us here? I mean, look at you,” she starts, gesturing to me. “You don’t work. You don’t have to do anything. You took off to New Orleans without a word and shacked up with that trashy boy for weeks.”

I hold up a finger to stop her. “First of all, I would have a job if you had allowed it. You and Drew both made sure that no one in the city would hire me when I started looking out of college. Second of all, you don’t know what I did in New Orleans and Charlie is one of the best men I know, so don’t even talk down on him.”

“But could he have afforded the life you’re used to?” I blink, anger bubbling inside me. “I didn’t think so.”

“Not that it matters, because we aren’t together, but he wouldn’t have had to. I’m in love with him and I left because I’m too afraid of disappointing you.” I push off the counter where I’m leaning and walk to the bathroom door. “And now I’ll never probably never get the chance to tell him.”

“I was like you,” she says, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “I loved your father, but he was never going to provide for us the way he should have. I wanted you to stay away from thatboy because I knew you would fall in love with him. You’re too much like me.”

I shake my head. “I’m nothing like you. You care too much about money, Mom.”

“We need it, Bailey. Ineedit. Name one good thing that boy did for you to make you fall in love with him besides be handsome and probably good in bed.”

“First of all,” I sigh. “Ew. Second of all . . . he made me feel like me for the first time in years. Probably since Dad died. I felt beautiful, smart — free. And I’m too afraid to tell him because I know the moment I do, there’s no going back. I could never live with myself if I left you like this, without your blessing. And I know you’ll never give me that.”

She stares at me, eyes narrowed like a toddler who has just been placed in time-out.

I shake my head in disgust. “You need therapy. You’re sick, Mom. Money didn’t clean you up and put you to bed when you had too much to drink. Money didn’t make you pictures in school or tell you your cooking was the best even though it actually fucking sucked. Oh, and money sure as hell didn’t just clean up the broken bottle you threw at the wall because your husband is a piece of shit who can’t keep his dick in his pants. I think you need to think about that.”

Charlie

One week, six hours and twenty-three minutes. Not that I’ve been counting.

I’ve found that bourbon mixes well with coffee. I drink it black, strong, and boring, like most things these days. I sleep, I work, I go home, and repeat. Everyone avoids me, even Dad, who sidesteps around me like I might rip his kidneys out.

Things seem a little quieter. Lionel isn’t singing along to the old songs on the radio, Marybeth has a scowl on her face when she’s not waiting tables, hell, even the sky is pissed off. It rains a dull, light rain for most of the week, leaving everything muggy and humid as hell when it’s not.

I must debate thousands of times whether I should reach out to Bailey, make sure she made it home safely, but I know that’s not what she wants. A clean break. When the deal is done, we move on and we never speak about it again. Calling or texting her would just prolong the inevitable.

I try to get it in my head that she’s going to find some rich yacht boy to marry. She’ll have his spoiled kids and live out her best days as a Louis Vuitton mom, far, far away from the sweltering heat and fattening foods of New Orleans. Me? I might eventually settle down, once the pain in my chest has subsided into a dull ache that I can ignore, but I don’t plan on it anytime soon.

At the start of week two of the never-ending loop I’m stuck in of work, eat, sleep, repeat, Tom and Andi come home. I only know they’re home because a bucket of cold water is tossed on me in my sleep.

I surge out of the bed, gasping and sputtering before falling to the ground and bruising my knee.

“What the fuck?” I bark, wiping the water out of my eyes. Andi stands at the foot on my bed, bucket in hand and a scowl on her face. “What was that for?”

“Dad says you’ve been sulking since Bailey left.”

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