Page 5 of No More Billionaires

“Are you depressed over Mark or something? Because you’ll never get him back looking like that.”

“Lisbeth,” my father warned, coming back into the room.

I took a breath, counted to five, and resisted the urge to smash the full glasses of tea against the tile floor.

“I don’t want him back, Momma. He cheated on me, if you’ll remember. No amount of money in the world is worth that.”

“Well the Fitzsimmons money surely wouldn’t havehurtanything…”

Of course. According to Momma, who’d grown up dirt poor, money was the answer to everything. Even infidelity, apparently.

The door from the garage opened, and Cadence came in, slipping off her muddy cleats and saving me from the rest of the tirade. I hoped.

She was sweaty, pink-cheeked, and utterly gorgeous in her lacrosse uniform and messy ponytail.

“Hey y’all. We won.”

“Great! How’d you play?” I asked.

Momma wasn’t distracted by something as inconsequential as her daughter’s athletic

prowess. She continued as if Cadence hadn’t said a thing.

“And you’re setting a terrible example for your sister, Kenley—look at you two—a mess, both of you. I might as well have raised two boys,” she scolded, and shaking her head, walked off toward the pantry.

Cadence gave me an amused look, one blonde brow arched and her lips on the verge of a smile. She crossed the kitchen to me and slung an arm around my shoulder.

“What have you done to me this time, Kenley? I hope you’re not going to encourage me to use my brain again. I might get it in my head to actually pursue a career instead of an M.R.S. degree.”

I giggled, loving my sister in that moment even more than usual. Somehow, Momma’s antics never seemed to bother her. She’d been born with alligator skin, while mine was made of rice paper.

And thank God shewasn’tsensitive. It had always driven me crazy the way Momma fussed over me, while treating Cadence’s talents and achievements as if they were somehow…less than.

A weaker person might have translated such second-class treatment into hatred for her older sister or have suffered from poor self-esteem, but Cadence was amazing. She just laughed at Momma’s subtle rejections.

I envied her that ability.

We set the dining room table together, chatting about my workday and her classes. Dinner was frostier than usual, with stilted conversation and a recap of Cadence’s match.

“I wish I could’ve seen it, honey,” Daddy said. “I hate that these long hours are keeping me from being there for your last few years at home.”

Cadence patted Daddy’s hand. “It’s okay. Youarehere for us. Anyway—I play because I love it, not because I’m trying to impress anyone. I’d play whether there was anyone watching or not.”

“Hmmph.” Momma made a prissy noise of disapproval and lifted her tea glass to her lips.

She never went to Cadence’s games. She’d wanted her youngest daughter to pursue beauty pageant crowns instead of sports trophies.

But my sister hadn’t been the compliant little dress-up doll I’d been. She’d promptly ruined every fancy church dress Momma put her in and flat-out refused to wear makeup, even as a teen, while I’d started begging for cosmetics at age eleven.

“Meeting any nice boys in your classes?” Momma asked her.

There was the one thing shewaskeenly interested in—her daughters’ husband-hunting scorecards. Now that I’d failed so miserably, Momma was probably pinning all her hopes on daughter number two.

“I did meet one great guy—he’s there on full financial aid—socute,” Cadence gushed.

Her wicked grin told me there probably was no such guy. She was just enjoying tormenting our mother with the financial aid line.

Momma didn’t react, just took a final bite of her own salad (dressing-free of course) and pushed back from the table to carry her plate to the kitchen.

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