Page 52 of Return to Us
“You work here, for my family.”
“Mother,” I say in a warning.
Jessica doesn’t seem fazed. “Yes, I just started, actually.”
“Funny how your mother started working here after her failed marriage, and now you’re here after your failed career.”
“You. I . . . that . . . crash.”
That one strikes exactly where it was meant to, and I won’t let Jessica be upset and stutter in front of her. “And you’re leaving,” I say, placing my hand on her back. “I know you have a very busy day and need to prepare to be charitable. I’m sure the effort you’ll need to do that is far too important to waste here.”
My mother pats my cheek. “I’ll let you be, and . . . not waste more time. Your father returns tomorrow from visiting Oliver, please come by around six. We’ll be having dinner and he needs to speak with you and Stella.”
There’s no getting out of this dinner. My father won’t accept any excuse and will show up at the worst time to make a scene if I choose not to attend. “Fine. I’ll have Melia.”
She leans down, kissing her on the cheek. “Be a good girl.”
“Always, Yaya.”
My mother turns, starting to walk away before stopping. “Jessica, do stop by the house sometime this week, I think I have a check for your mother’s wages she never collected.” She walks out, and I’ve never hated the woman more.
Jessica stands there, her eyes filled with pain and rage. My need to fix it is too great to stay away from her, which is what I’ve done the last three days.
I turn to Amelia. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen and grab some cookies and then find Auntie Stella and bring her some.”
Her face brightens. “Okay, Daddy!”
Once she’s gone, I turn to see Jessica still standing there. The look on her face makes me want to slay dragons. “Jess . . .”
She shakes her head, snapping out of the trance. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I knew it.”
“No, it’s absolutely not fine.”
“I should’ve—” She breathes deeply through her nose. “Said something cutting.”
I want to laugh because Jessica isn’t built that way. She never was, and being rude and mean-spirited has never been her thing. Not to mention, there is no one as good at being horrible as my mother.
“What would you have said?” I ask as I make my way closer to her.
“Something about her hair.”
I fight back a grin. “She would’ve hated that.”
The color is back in her face, and she lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know why she upsets me so much.”
“Because she’s a horrible person and has always treated you like shit.”
“How did you come from her? You, your brothers, and sister are all wonderful and kind.”
I rest against the wall so I’m close to her but not so close that she doesn’t have space. “My grandmother was a saint, and she was around when we were little.”
She worries her lower lip. “I remember you talking about her.”
It hurts to think of her. Love wasn’t a weapon with Nana. She was warm when my parents were cold and always pointed out the reasons they were great parents. “When my parents were first married, back when they could actually be tolerant of each other, Nana lived with us. She was my mother’s mother and loved her grandchildren more than anything. She would spend hours with each of us, trying to shield us from the hatred she saw coming from my parents and giving us a better model to follow.”
There were so many times my grandmother would just talk about love and acceptance. We were learning from her, even when we didn’t know it.
“She did a good job of it.”
