Page 40 of We Were Something
PAIGE
“You look nice today. Where are you headed off to?”
I grin at Lizabeta, enjoying the way her compliment makes me feel. It’s so rare for me to receive anything other than critique in this house, but Beta always has something warm and kind to say.
“Just helping a friend do some shopping for an interview,” I tell her, unable to keep the smile from my face at the prospect of an entire evening with Logan all to myself.
Beta knows me, though. Sometimes better than I know my own self, having been my primary caretaker and keeper of my secrets for much of my life. But that goes both ways. I know Beta just as well, and when I see her lips tilt up, I can already anticipate exactly what she’s going to say.
“Is this aboyfriend?” she asks me, her eyes narrowing playfully.
I drop my chin and narrow my own eyes right back.
“You know I don’t like to have boyfriends.”
She purses her lips, nods, and then continues wiping down the kitchen counter.
“Just make sure he’s not like Mr. Giroux,” she tells me, her thick Russian accent becoming even more pronounced when saying my ex’s French name. “If youdodecide to have another boyfriend, you need a man who is less pampered than that overgrown poodle.”
I snort, yanking the fridge door open and pulling out a bottle of San Pellegrino.
“You don’t have to worry about me getting with anyone likeMr. Girouxever again,” I say, rolling my eyes at the memory of my ex telling Beta exactly how he wanted to be addressed by ‘the help.’
Such a prick.
I can acknowledge that calling Beta a part of the family when we pay her to manage the house has a bunch of larger implications. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s important to me, that she has had a huge hand in raising me and deserves some damn respect.
Allof our household staff deserve respect. But Beta is more like…well, I guess she’s more like a sassy aunt than a mom or a nanny. A maternal figure though, no doubt.
I made certainMr. Girouxwas promptly put in his place when he treated her like something he accidentally stepped in.
Thank god he’s not around anymore, though I should have been smarter and kicked him to the curb sooner than I did.
“Well, just make sure you make good choices,” she tells me, eyeing me over her glasses with the kind of look that can only come from years of watching me stumble around doing the exact opposite.
I give her an obnoxiously cheesy smile.
“When do I evernot?” I ask, the rhetorical nature of my question heavily implied.
Beta just shakes her head and purses her lips, but I can see the tenderness behind her expression. I round the counter, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind
“Thanks for caring,” I whisper, squeezing her snugly for a long moment, only letting go once she pats my hands.
“Have a good time,moyo solnyshko,” she tells me, using the term of endearment she’s had for me for as long as I can remember.
Little sunshine.
Every time she says it, I feel exactly like that. A little ball of sunshine, ready to go be a bright spot in someone else’s day. Though on my more negative days, I worry I’m more like a sunburnthan sunshine.
I give her a small wave and head out of the kitchen, through the front lounge and toward the garage. But just as I reach for the handle, the sound of my name echoing through the foyer halts my movements. I cringe, wishing I’d moved faster.
Pulling back my shoulders, I turn, giving my mother a tight smile as she walks elegantly down the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“Shopping.”
Her nose wrinkles for a brief second, her distaste evident before it smooths away. My mother may be easily irritated by everything I do, but she’s evenmorehyperaware of any movements or facial expressions that will produce unnecessary wrinkles.
