30. Amelia
Chapter 30
Amelia
AMELIA
I've just arrived in hell. I can't believe you're not here this weekend. Bad friend points go to you. Not really. I'm sorry your grandma is sick, and I understand why you had to go see her with your mom. love you xx
I quickly fire off a text to Allison before stepping out of the car. The house towers before us, obnoxiously grand, like it's trying too hard to prove something. Sprawling white columns, hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives, and a front door so massive it could double as the gates to a castle. It's the kind of house that doesn't whisper wealth and status—it screams out a loud, unapologetic "Look at how important we are."
Tobias slams the car door shut, and we both stand there for a moment, taking it all in. I tuck my phone into my pocket, turning to look at him. His shoulders are stiff, his jaw locked like he's physically restraining himself from turning around and driving back to Chicago. Honestly, I get it. If it wouldn't make things worse, I'd turn around and leave too.
We take a breath together, one last inhale of freedom, before forcing ourselves to move.
At the front door, I pause and glance at him. His lips twitch—not quite a smile, but just enough to say he's wishing he were anywhere else too.
"Ready?" I ask, though the word is more for my benefit than his.
"Not even close."
I swallow hard, already wishing I was back in Chicago, and with one last look at Tobias, I press the doorbell.
It only takes a few seconds for the door to swing open, and there she is—my mom, perfectly put together as always. Her dark hair is styled into an elegant chignon, and her yellow dress is so bright it practically glows.
"You're finally here." Her voice does that thing where it's both relieved and annoyed, like we're exactly on time and three hours late all at once.
She steps forward, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me into a brief hug before she steps back just far enough to study me. "How was the drive? Was it long? Did you stay somewhere decent? Did you eat?"
My eyes land on Tobias, silently begging for backup. But the smug bastard just leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, smirking like he's thoroughly enjoying the show. He knows damn well he's next in line, but for now, he's basking in my misery.
"I'm fine, Mom," I manage to say, my voice tight as I force a smile.
"You look like you've lost weight. Are you eating enough? I told you to take care of yourself. You know you—"
"Mom," I cut in, holding up a hand to stop the onslaught. "The drive was fine. The motel was fine. The food was fine. Everything's fine. Super fine. All the fines."
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods, gripping my arms for a second too long when Tobias clears his throat behind me.
My mom redirects her focus to him, and I take the opportunity to exhale and step back, watching as Tobias becomes her next target.
She pulls back from me and moves to embrace him. It's more of a this is what polite people do hug than anything heartfelt. My mom never tried to fill the role of replacement mom, and Tobias has never been interested in opening himself up to that kind of dynamic. Not that I blame him.
"You look really well, Tobias."
"So do you, Kayla. You got your hair done?" There he is—the smooth, complimentary Tobias I know so well. Charming just enough to disarm any hot-blooded woman.
"I have, actually," she replies, her hand instinctively touching her hair. "You know, your father didn't even notice."
"Want me to tell him to get his head out of his ass and start paying some attention to his wife?" My mom arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, and Tobias raises his hands in mock surrender, the picture of innocence—well, almost. "Alright, alright, my mouth stays shut. But you know I'm right, Kayla. You could do so much better," he adds with a grin as he grabs most of our bags and starts up the stairs.
"Wow, look at you," I call after him. "A gentleman and a home-wrecker all in one."
He pauses mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a cocky smirk that could set fire to the air between us. "Multitasking is a gift, Firefly. And trust me, I'm well-equipped to handle more than one thing at a time."
"Go get settled, then come meet me for tea," my mom says, and I nod, plastering on a polite smile that feels more like a mask, before turning and following Tobias up the stairs.
Our rooms are exactly as we left them. Untouched and cleaned regularly, as if time has stood still within these walls. We're at the opposite end of the house from our parents, but still right next to each other, just like always. Tobias drops my bags outside the door, his hand brushing the handle before pushing it open and stepping aside to let me go in first.
The sight of the room hits me hard, the way it always does.
Pink walls. Too much fucking pink. A place frozen in time, holding onto memories I wish I could erase. Right here is where my world imploded. It's where I was when I found out my dad had died. The same walls closed in on me when my mom sat on my bed, trembling, telling me about my dad's plane crash and how no one survived. The memory punches me square in the chest like it does every time. I'd stared at these walls for hours afterward—days, even—trying to make sense of it and failing.
I begged my mom to repaint it, to redecorate it, and do anything that might make this room feel different. But my mom is nothing if not self-centered. This room isn't about me or my grief—it's about her. It's about preserving the perfect little dollhouse version of her daughter.
I don't even realize I've stopped moving until I feel the warmth of Tobias behind me. His arms wrap around me, and his chin rests lightly on top of my head. He pulls me back against his chest, and he doesn't say a word because he doesn't need to. He knows everything this room represents for me, and for a moment, I just let myself melt into him, taking whatever peace he's offering.
"Wanna come to my room?"
I nod, carefully stepping around my bags as he holds the door open. As we enter his room, a wave of memories washes over me. The nights we spent lying side by side on his bed, talking until sleep blurred our words. Tobias telling me about his dad, about the pressure he hated and the expectations he couldn't stand. The friends he trusted and the ones he didn't. The girls who never meant enough to mention twice. Back then, he told me everything.
I sit on his bed, folding my legs beneath me as he unzips his bag.
"I wonder if these bedrooms just stay locked until we come home," I muse, glancing around Tobias's room. Shades of gray dominate the space, like even his childhood wanted to rebel against the idea of color.
"Do you think they ever go in our rooms?"
"No, probably not. That's why they still look like they belong to a fourteen and sixteen-year-old." I gesture to the shelves filled with dusty trophies and books he outgrew almost a decade ago.
"I was happy then, you know. I was happy when we lived here." His voice is quiet, as if he's speaking more to himself than to me.
"No, you weren't." I laugh, turning my face to his. "You couldn't wait to get out of here."
He always told me how much he wanted out, and I hated it. I dreaded every moment he spent preparing to leave, selfishly clinging to the thought of him being here, of not losing the one person who made this house feel less suffocating.
"I couldn't wait to get away from my dad." Those blue eyes meet mine, saying more than his words ever could.
"I'd better go see my mom. You know how she gets if her tea isn't practically burning her tastebuds off."
Tobias lets out a gentle laugh and holds out a hand to me, and I take it, allowing him to pull me up from the bed. "You should go see David before the party tonight."
"Can't wait." The sarcasm rolls off him effortlessly, paired with an exaggerated eye roll.
I close the door behind me, pass my nightmare of a room on the way down the hall, and head downstairs to find my mom.
Attached to the west wing of the estate is the summer house, a glass-walled monstrosity that someone in an overpriced suit probably convinced my mom was "timelessly chic." It's filled with light, every surface catching the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The floral couch, adorned with dainty coral and burgundy flowers, is front and center, looking as pristine as the day it arrived. My mom sits poised, a picture of composure, in her usual spot, her back straight and her ankles crossed. I have to bite back a laugh because this whole Queen of the Manor act is so far up its own ass it's coming out the other side.
A tray rests on the glass coffee table in front of her, perfectly arranged with two tiny china cups and the most pretentious teapot I've ever seen.It'sstupidly expensive, one of those antique sets she bought impulsively during an auction she attended for "charity."
"Sit, darling. It's been forever since we did this."
"It's been a few months,"I reply, already bracing myself.
"That's the longest I've gone without seeing you. I don't like it."Her tone is light but edged with the kind of guilt she wields like a weapon. "I just can't wait for the year to end so you can come home."
"Who says I'm coming home?"
"Oh, don't be silly. Of course you're coming home."She laughs like I've just told the most ridiculous joke. "Everything you need is here."
"Firstly, it isn't,"I say, sinking back in my chair."And secondly, if everything goes well, I'll have a full-time position with the company and go wherever that takes me."
I pick up my tea and take a sip, ignoring the way it scalds my tongue because, honestly, I might prefer a burned mouth to the conversation I know is about to happen.
"Amelia,"she starts, her voice dipping into that patronizing tone she's perfected over the years. "Do you know how many dancers actually make it?"
"I'm going to be one of them,"I say flatly, refusing to look away.
"I'm sure you could,"she says, which is code for Dream on, sweetie . "But just be prepared that it might not work out, and if it doesn't, you'll always have something here to come home to."
"And what's that?"I ask, setting the cup down harder than I mean to.
"Family, security, friends…"She trails off, her tone so syrupy sweet it makes my teeth ache.
"Right,"I say, crossing my arms. "The perfect trifecta of things I didn't ask for."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Amelia."
"Not succeeding isn't an option for me, Mom. I'll keep going until I get to where I want to be, and you need to accept that. I won't end up like—"I stop myself, but it's too late. The words are out there, and her raised eyebrow tells me she heard them loud and clear.
"Like me?"
"You're happy. This life makes you happy. But it doesn't mean it's the life I want."
She leans back, crossing her arms, her expression hardening into that condescending look I haven't missed. "There are a lot of people out there who would love to have the life you've been provided with, Amelia. I may not have done everything right over the years, but you never wanted for anything."
"And I appreciate it."
"It doesn't sound like it. You wouldn't be where you are now without the dance tuition we've paid for over the years," she snaps back."So really, you should be thanking me, not judging me for enjoying the small luxuries in life after struggling for years when I was married to your father."
My head snaps up, and I can feel the heat rising in my chest. "Nothing was wrong with our life with Dad. We were loved."
On the verge of losing it altogether, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stop before I say something I can't take back.
"You know what? I'm not doing this with you. We're here for your and David's anniversary, and I won't spend the weekend like this."My tone is sharper than I intended, but I don't care. "All I'm asking is for you to respect my choices. That's it."
She sips her tea, clearly composing herself, but the tension between us remains.
"I've brought some dresses for you to try on tonight. Is that allowed?"
"Well, I didn't bring anything that would be worthy of the type of party you're throwing, so thank you."
Her lips curve into the faintest smile. "You know, it's the one thing we love to celebrate. Our friends look forward to it every year."
"I assume it'll be all the usual faces?"
"Yes,"my mom replies, her tone breezy, like she doesn't notice my growing irritation. "Oh, I meant to tell you that Bryce will be here tonight."
I freeze as I reach for my cup, my eyes narrowing. "Bryce?"
"Yes, Bryce."
"Bryce, as in the Bryce who asked to take me to prom, Bryce?"
"Okay, let's stop saying his name like that, but yes."
"Why?"
"He started working for David last month."
"Okay, you need to tell me how the hell that happened, considering they met like once or twice, and that was only in passing when we'd hang out here with Allison."
"I think Bryce reached out to him,"my mom replies, her tone casual as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "He said he was looking for a permanent position somewhere after college and asked if David would be willing to take him on. Train him so he could go into the job knowing what he's doing."
"And David just said yes?"
"Well, it's not like he has Tobias asking him for the same kind of opportunity,"she quips, and I feel my jaw tighten at the unnecessary jab. "So, yes, I think he was impressed by how direct Bryce was about what he wanted. And the fact that it's David's company he wants to be involved in—it's flattering. Of course, I put in a good word for him, considering I know him."
"Well, that was nice of you,"I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
She either doesn't catch it or chooses to ignore it because she sips her tea and adds, "He's single, you know."
"Okay…"I say slowly, knowing exactly where this is going but wishing it wasn't.
"I'm just saying he's very handsome, and he always had a thing for you."
"Mom,"I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "I'm not going to start a relationship with someone I'll never see. So you can stop the meddling."
"All the more reason to come home when the year ends,"she says, like it's the most logical solution to all my problems.
"Bryce isn't the answer."
"Well, I'm sure it'll be nice for you to catch up regardless."
I shake my head, pick up my tea, and allow the hot liquid to burn my throat as a welcome distraction from the headache this entire conversation is giving me.
"So how was the drive here?"
"It was fine. We took turns, so it was probably better that Tobias waited too long to get a flight."
She gives me a puzzled look. "Tobias had a flight. David booked it for him. He would've booked you one, too, but we all know you won't fly."
I blink, my mind stalling for a second.
Tobias had a flight.
He chose to drive with me.