Page 67 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
My mom tilts her head, her expression softening. “I know, sweetheart. It’s hard to be a woman in this world. You have to fight tooth and nail to get an ounce of respect.” The waiter arrives with our food, so she’s quiet for a moment. But as soon as he leaves, she presses on. “That is why I’m trying to guide you to the path that I’ve forged. I will not lie and tell you that there are no misogynists in corporate law. But I’m a name partner, Juliet. I don’t have to put up with anyone’s bullshit.”
Ducking my head, I nod. “I appreciate that, Mom. I know you are looking out for me. But I’m fine. Doing well.”
She tilts her head and gives a closed-mouth smile, the kind she always uses before making a surgical strike. “Your LSAT scores expire in another year. It’s a shame to let them rot.”
I knew it was coming. The LSAT thing. She always circles back to it as though it’s the only real measurement of my worth. I force myself to take a bite of salad, even though it tastes like ash.
“Going to law school doesn’t interest me,” I say carefully. “I never did. I just didn’t know how to tell you that.”
Her fingers glide along the rim of her wine glass. “You didn’t have to tell me. It was obvious when you followed that boy to Houston instead of taking the interview I arranged for you.” Her tone stays mild, but I hear it. The disdain. The memory she’s never quite let go of.
I bristle. “Patrick was a mistake. We both know that.”
“Hmm,” she says, which means she agrees but won’t give me the satisfaction. “I never liked how he spoke to you. Smug. Entitled. The way he used your ambition against you. No backbone.”
That part surprises me. She’s never said it outright before, not even when I came home sobbing the week I ended things. She’d only handed me tissues and changed the subject.
“I’ve moved on,” I say, even though it feels like I’m saying it for myself as much as for her. “That relationship doesn’t define me.”
She sets down her fork and checks her watch, not because she needs to, but because she wants me to know she has somewhere better to be. “Then stop acting like it does.”
“I know what I’m doing, Mom.”
“Do you? Because this whole thing with dating a second hockey player seems...” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Impulsive. Beneath you.”
I want to tell her that Hunter isn’t beneath anyone, that he’s actually more complex than she’d ever bother to discover. Instead, I just nod and smile and let her pay for lunch while she continues to discuss my life like it’s a problem that needs solving.
This lunch just reinforces the fact that I shouldn’t have ever come back from vacation. My Jimmy Choos suck all the joy out of my life as I return to Hunter’s apartment. These thingshurt.
Back at the condo, I slump on the couch with my phone in hand, looking through the news for mentions of Hunter’s name. Then, I get a text from a group.
Jessa: Hi! Ivy suggested I make a chat with all the girls so that we can talk about using witchcraft to control the Havoc team. What do you think?
A laugh bubbles out of my chest. I write: Do we think we have that kind of power?
Ivy: Ivy here. Speak for yourself, Juliet. I hexed my last three meetings.
Wren: Hi, it’s Wren. I know I’m not part of the team, but Ivy said I could still be here. Here’s my contribution:
Jessa: We should call ourselves The Coven. Let people know we’re totally serious about using witchcraft to control our fate.
Ivy:
Me: Sounds wicked. I’m in.
Something about that name sticks in my chest. I don’t say anything out loud, but it hits me that this might actually be a real circle of friends. Not networking contacts or professional acquaintances, but actual friends who text each other memes and make plans just because they want to spend time together.
Jessa: Coven meeting tonight?
I type: Yes. We’ll do it here. Hunter’s place is really fancy. Bring wine and takeout. I’ll provide the couch.
Wren: *can’t freaking wait* gif
Twenty minutes later, another message arrives on my phone. This one’s from my mother. It includes the links to two law school applications.
Mom: Just in case you change your mind.
Something inside me buckles. I stare at the links for a long moment, then walk into my bedroom, close the door, and sink down onto the bare hardwood floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
