Page 13 of Five Years
“I’m glad you do,” Grace joked.
“Are you ready for a week at Lake Michigan with your favourite step-mommy?” Leah teased.
“Don’t! I might be thirty-four years of age, but I will never learn to like that woman.”
“Big Daddy Harrison is no closer to divorcing her then?”
“I wish. For some reason, he refuses to see her for what she is—an idle, condescending, evil, money-grabbing whore.”
“You missed out ‘cheating whore,’” Leah added.
“Urgh. I plan on organising enough activities that I don’t have to be in a room with her for longer than an hour at any one time.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
Grace and Ariana’s mother left their father when they were eight and ten. He quickly found his rebound and proceeded to hurtle full-speed into a long-term relationship with the most unlikeable woman in the western hemisphere.
Now, she was entitled to half of everything—for contributing absolutely nothing. She was clever; Grace admired the audacity. She’d made her feelings clear to her father, which resulted in a falling out, followed by a promise that they would get together once a year—and only once—to ‘bond’ as a family.
“Ariana doesn’t want to come, but I’ve told her if she leaves me alone with the Wicked Witch of the West, I will never speak to her again.”
“Speaking of Ariana,” Leah said. The phone line went deadly silent.
“Leah . . .”
“I saw her,” she whispered.
“You saw her? When? How?”
“Last night. I went to a charity event in place of my father, and Ariana was there.”
“Hold up! I spoke to her this morning and she didn’t say anything!”
“Well, I mean, it isn’t that deep, is it?” Leah replied.
“You don’t believe that,” Grace disputed. “This is the first time you’ve seen her since my wedding, right?”
“Yep.”
“I need a drink.” Grace placed the phone on loudspeaker and proceeded to pour herself a glass of wine. “What the hell happened? Did you talk?”
“She invited me to her hotel.”
“She did what?” Grace interrupted.
“It wasn’t like that. She asked me to meet her at the bar to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Grace yelled.
“Grace, we bumped into each other—she was getting in a taxi. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I met her at The Whitby...”
“The Whitby!!” Grace interjected again.
“Will you let me finish!” Leah snapped.
“The Whitby is your hotel. I know all about your antics at The Whitby.”
“There were no antics at The Whitby.”
