Page 46 of This Life and All the Rest
The faint hum of music drifts down the hallway from the studio, and I fight every force I feel trying to tug me in that direction.
He’s in there.
I don’t know if he’s sketching or working the wheel, but I know he’s making art in some form, and the need to create alongside him is strong. Despite everything—despite last night and my fucked-up feelings and every ounce of bad blood between us—the artist in me longs to be inside that studio.
The core of me wants to be next to him, regardless of logic and lessons learned.
Lennon will always want Macon.
That’s why I can’t be her anymore.
I hurry to the door and slip on my shoes, then quietly let myself out. I get to my car and breathe a sigh of relief. I let myself relax for a few inhales and exhales, then I turn the car in the direction of Andrea’s and prepare myself for the next uncomfortable situation.
Even Stevie Nicks can’t calm my nerves the closer I get to the house, but I have to get my things out of the guest room and office. And as much as I’d like to pretend Claire doesn’t exist, I have to face her, too.
The last few days have made me realize how badly I want to be a part of Evelyn’s life. I don’t want to take the risk of her forgetting me again when I leave, and that means I need to get used to Claire.
No more avoiding family holidays. No more silencing calls.
I can still be a present sister while in France. I just have to make more of an effort.
I can do this.
For Evelyn. For Dad. For me.
I pull up to the curb outside of Andrea’s house and try my best not to scowl at the car in the driveway. Claire would be riding around shotgun in a brand-new Audi SUV. No way in fuck it’s hers, but I bet she drives it like it is. I’m sure she views the engagement as another possession she can manipulate.
I climb out of my car and walk slowly toward the front door, grateful that I changed out of Macon’s sweats and back into my own clothes this morning, because it makes this feel less like a walk of shame. I give myself two breaths on the front porch before I knock, and thankfully, it’s Andrea who answers.
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to knock,” she says quickly, moving over so I can step inside. “You can come in and out as you please.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, forcing a small smile. Andrea turns and walks into the house, and I do the same.
I can hear Claire and Eric talking in the kitchen, so when I step into the room, I’m not surprised to see them sitting at the counter drinking coffee with Evelyn propped in a highchair covered in something orange. My face must give away my disgust because Andrea laughs.
“It’s squash,” she says, moving to wipe off Evelyn’s cheeks with a washcloth.
“Oh,” I say with a fake smile. It wasn’t Evie grossing me out, but I’ll let Andrea assume. It’s safer this way, anyway.
“I’ll be right back,” Andrea says, picking Evie up out of the highchair. “She needs a change.”
Then she turns and exits the kitchen, leaving me alone with my ex-whatever and the bitch who had a hand in orchestrating one of the worst times of my life.
“Good morning, Capri,” Claire says sweetly, and I don’t miss how she moves her left hand, so the rock is in view.
God, was she always this insufferable?
“Good morning, Claire,” I say, mimicking her tone, then I look to Eric. “Good morning, Eric. I trust you both slept well in the bed you kicked me out of?”
The way this grown man looks like a scolded puppy makes me want to both laugh and cry, but it’s not his fault this family is fucked up, so I smile.
“I’m joking,” I say.
He doesn’t believe me. I turn back to Claire.
“I need to grab my stuff out of Dad’s office and my suitcase from the guest room,” I tell her, then pause for a breath. “Unless you already packed my shit and put it out on the curb?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Capri,” Claire says with a huff and an eye roll.
