Page 7 of The Stranger
My mum pops her head through the gap and smiles. “Your father is about to leave for the airport to pick up Abigail and Kayne. Do you want to go with him?”
Why the hell would she ask me that?
I’m forced to turn my face away and whisper, “No.”
That answer brings her further into the room to sit down beside me on the bed. “Lilah,” she says, placing her hand on my leg. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s been a month. You need to accept this.”
My head snaps in her direction. “Really, Mum?”
“I’m sorry this happened to you. Truly, I am, but he makes your sister happy, Delilah.”
“He made me happy once too,” I grumble. The fact that they don’t seem to have an issue with how this is affecting me hurts. Abigail has always been the smart one, the pretty one, the popular one, the one most likely to succeed. Am I the only person who can see her for who she truly is? Fake, shallow, and selfish. “How would you feel if Aunt Becca ran off with Dad?”
Ignoring my question, she blows out a puff of air and stands. “I’m cooking a welcome-home dinner for them tonight; I hope you will join us.”
The moment she leaves the room, I’m not sure if I want to cry, scream, or punch someone. I feel so alone in this mess, so I pick up my phone and click on the Messenger app.I need to vent.I no longer have friends I can trust, since the majority of mine are two-faced, backstabbing arseholes. I saw some of their comments on my sister’s posts from Hawaii. Granted, they were mine and Kayne’s joint friends, but it’s obvious which side they’d now chosen. Just another loss to add to the growing list.
Me: My mum just asked me if I wanted to go with my dad to the airport to pick up Abigail and Kayne … can you believe it?
I’m not expecting Eloise to reply, but when I see three dots appear a few seconds later, my heart rate kicks up a notch.
Eloise: Oh, sweetheart, that’s very unfortunate. I’m so sorry, Delilah.
Me: *Sigh, I know. My mum is cooking a special welcome home dinner for them and hopes I will join them.
Eloise: I know she is your mother, and I shouldn’t speak out of place, but that’s very insensitive of her.
Me: Tell me about it. I don’t want to dine with them.
Eloise: You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, darling. Don’t let them take anything more from you than they already have.
Me: I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get through dinner without stabbing someone with my fork and ending up in prison. I can’t just sit there while they all play happy families and pretend that this isn’t tearing me apart.
Eloise: Do you want me to send my driver over to get you? We can dine somewhere together.
Me: That’s very sweet of you, but you’re right. I need to get used to this situation because it’s not going away anytime soon.
Eloise: What time is dinner?
Me: We usually eat around six. Why?
Eloise: Tell your mother you’re bringing some company and to set an extra plate.
Me: That’s sweet of you, Eloise, but I couldn’t ask you to do that.
Eloise: You’re not asking me to do anything I’m offering.
Me: Are you sure you want to do this?
Eloise: I wouldn’t have brought it up if it was something I didn’t want to do. Scorn women need to stick together. Besides, it sounds like you could use an ally in your corner.
A knot forms in the back of my throat. I can’t believe she would offer to do something like that for me. We barely even know each other. On the plus side, having her here will go a long way in helping make my fake relationship with her son plausible.
When I hear my father’s car pull into the driveway, I quickly slide on my earphones and lie down on the bed. The last thing I need to hear is all their loved-up holiday stories.
Puke.
I hope they got so sunburnt in paradise on my dime, that their skin is shedding like the snakes they are.
