Page 95 of Anyone But You
“No, Mama. He’s gone!” I exclaimed, laughing while wiping away tears. “Nah. I ain’t gotta deal with him or his crazy ass mama no more.”
She smiled faintly before returning to a blank canvas. Just like that… she was gone again. But that little spark was enough to give me solace.
“I love you, mama,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. I grabbed her hand and allowed my thumb to trace the veins. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
“I need more pictures of you and Mr. Ramsey,” Amelia’s high-pitched voice rang through the kitchen as I added the final touches to the dining room table.
“You have enough,” I grunted, adjusting the stemware.
“As your publicist, I strongly disagree.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“Why are you here? Today is meant to be a private family gathering.”
“Again. I need more pictures.”
“So that you can sell them to the highest bidder? How much are you getting on the back end from those tabloids?”
“I need photos showing a stable, happy home, and your mother-in-law’s blessing,” she replied, ignoring my accusation.
“The headlines must be brutal today.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Amelia commented. She sighed and sipped from her bedazzled pink tumbler, which I was certain was filled to the brim with Cutwater.
Don’t ask me how I know, I just know.
Out of nowhere, a wave of emotion dragged me into the undertow.
“Um… Victoria,” Amelia said with an uneasy chuckle.
“Fuck,” I mumbled, realizing that I was crying. I snatched up a folded linen dinner napkin and dried my face.
“You know what you need?”
“A blunt?” I blubbered.
“I would not suggest getting high less than five minutes before your mother-in-law’s arrival. You need a Crying Room.” The next thing I knew, Amelia was shoving me into the pantry and consoling me while I cried. “What’s going on, Victoria?”
“I don’t know. I’m so overwhelmed. There’s too much to do and not enough hours in the day. I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water. Mom is fading, my sisters are likely going to prison, Knox is retiring, and social media is a drag. I wasn’t big on it before the island, and I’m certainly not fucking with it now. Everyone is in our fucking business and wants to know every move we make. I have to smile for the camera and tap dance for these strangers when I only want to feel my toes in the sand again.”
“You can always move to Florida.”
That made me bawl.
Of all places to suggest! Not Mexico, not Bora Bora—fucking Florida.
“Have you told Mr. Ramsey how you feel?” I shook my head. “Why not?” she pressed.
“He has a lot to deal with already with the transition.”
“I think a husband should know if his wife is depressed.”
“You think I’m depressed?” I questioned, wiping my nose with the napkin.
