Page 8 of When Hearts Remember

And I can’t go tonight. The project, remember? I’m so screwed, Sum. I’m going to fail this class and be the first Vaughn to get rejected by Columbia.

Summer

Chill, girl. You have like ten lives. You’ll get it done. All-nighter, last minute, but you always do.

If she only knew I’m currently failing the class.

My phone pings again, and this time, it’s Liam.

Liam

Firefly, where are you? I swung by the mansion and you weren’t there. Grab dinner tonight?

Alexis

Studying at the library. Not everyone is a tech genius like you.

Alexis

I can’t. I also have ballet practice tonight.

Liam

Why are you doing that, anyway? It’s not like you’re going to be a professional ballerina.

Alexis

I like ballet. And maybe because Mom did it?

Liam

You got to stop doing this to yourself. I’m sorry, I know she’s our mom, but what kind of woman leaves her kids alone 360 days of the year?

A familiar heaviness blankets me. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. Peter and Martha Vaughn are the textbook definition of absentee and neglectful parents, completely in love with each other and their partying lifestyle, but forgetting everyone else. We spent our childhoods with nannies and tutors, strangers who were paid to take care of us.

But on the rare days when Mom was around, our large, empty house would sizzle with energy. There’d be dancing, movie marathons, and makeovers. She’d ask me about the guys at school and tell me about her adventures abroad—seeing polar bears in Alaska, lounging on a yacht in the south of France, learning opera from the best soprano in Venice.

She’s exciting. You can’t help but be drawn to her.

I know that’s why Dad is addicted to her.

The highs would be beautiful until it’d inevitably collapse. Slamming doors, screaming matches, hurling curse words at each other, their ugly spats showing up on the front headlines of newspapers and magazines.

But Dad, the man who never cared about anything, not the family business or his responsibilities, would always go back to Mom.

The cycle would repeat itself and they’d jet off on some new exotic adventure, leaving the three of us to our own devices again.

Mom would forget me, just like five years ago, and two years ago, when I asked her to come to my ballet showcases. She’d say yes, but I’d never find her among the crowd.

I stopped asking.

And yet, I’m still that stupid little girl who hopes I can shine brighter, fly higher, so I can finally catch…and hold her attention.

Sure, Grandma and Uncle Ian, Dad’s younger brother, tried their best to fill the void—visiting us a few times a month when they were around, but it wasn’t the same.

Alexis

She sent me a card and a limited edition Gucci for Christmas. She didn’t forget about us.

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