Chapter 45
Maisie
We ordered pizza last night and watched a movie as a family.
It was nice, and I nearly forgot about what my mom had done, and what Karsen had texted.
I tried to tell Mom again that I didn’t want Karsen around, but she said it would be rude to uninvite him at this point.
I didn’t agree, but it’s her house; I guess she can invite whoever she wants.
I lie in bed for a long time, looking up at the canopy of my four-poster. I was tired. Not just physically, but mentally too. My muscles are sore, and a tension headache has plagued me since the car ride.
This break for Thanksgiving is nice, but there's still school to contend with, and diving, of course. And I truly don’t have it in me to face Karsen today.
It’s like someone vacuumed the willpower right out of me.
I wish my mom understood what she was doing.
Maybe I should try harder to explain to her who he is and how he has treated me.
But after so many unsuccessful attempts, I don’t know if it would do anything.
Eventually, I get up, take a shower, and put on a brown sweater dress and tan leggings. I curl my hair, tie one section back with a clip, and apply minimal makeup, opting to skip shoes for now, since I’m not planning to leave the house.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table. Who would be texting this early?
Connor: Happy Thanksgiving, Betty. Hope you have a good day with your family.
The text is sweet. Just like Connor. It makes my heart ache all the more.
I set my phone back on the table, screen facing down.
I don’t know what to say to him after ignoring him yesterday.
We should probably just talk in person when he comes to get me.
Maybe he’s regretting what we did. He’s probably regretting what we did.
For all I know, he’s regretting being my friend at all.
No, Connor isn’t like that. I shake my head free of the traitorous thoughts.
I open my bedroom door and peek out into the long hallway. No other doors are open, but that doesn’t mean no one else is awake. Mom always makes us keep our doors closed, so it looks nicer if guests wander up here.
I leave the safety of my room and slowly make my way down the main staircase.
Luckily, the marble doesn’t make a noise, so no one should be able to hear me descend in my stocking feet.
I pass by a series of employees speeding between the kitchen and formal dining room.
I hear the chef bellowing orders. I’m sure these people wish they were home with their families today, but instead they’re here.
Working for a paycheck. I guess money can buy almost anything.
Mom’s party-planning voice comes out of nowhere. “Can you confirm the first course will be served promptly at 12 PM?”
“Yes, ma’am, that won’t be a problem,” a petite woman with ebony hair slicked into a severe ponytail replies.
“Excellent. Thanks, Patrice.”
Patrice—apparently—heads toward the kitchen, and Mom turns to see me standing there awkwardly.
“Maisie! Perfect. I love that outfit on you. Are you planning to put on a little more makeup before the others arrive? You are looking a bit pale.”
She wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t say something.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say blandly.
I don’t feel like dealing with her shit today, and I’m proud of myself for not giving in and doing whatever she asks.
“Your choice,” she says with a half-hearted smile.
Thankfully, before Mom has a chance to say anything else about my appearance, Lauren bounds down the stairs, still dressed in sweats from her alma mater and hair tied up loosely in a messy bun. “Morning! What time are we expecting people, Aunt Madeline?”
“Guests will start arriving at eleven, dear. You might want to get ready soon. Unfortunately, the staff has overtaken the kitchen, but if you ask, I am sure they will whip you something up for breakfast. You can eat in the nook,” Mom explains.
“Sounds good.” Lauren stretches her arms above her head with a yawn. “Did you eat yet, Maize?” She looks at me expectantly, like she knows I need an out of this conversation with Mom.
I don’t think I can eat a thing—I’m sick to my stomach at the thought of today—but what I say is, “Nope. Let’s go.”
We’re about to make our way into the kitchen together when Dad appears from the left. Probably coming from his office.
“Maize. Lauren. Morning,” he says as he reaches for today’s paper stuffed under his arm. He hands me a section. “Did you want to read the comics?”
It’s such a thoughtful gesture. Even though he thinks comics are frivolous, he knows I love them. I nod, silently taking it.
“Well, see you all later. I’m off to my pre-meal 5K,” he says.
He doesn’t mean a Turkey Trot or anything like that.
Every year, he just walks—specifically 3.
1 miles—around the neighborhood. One year, I asked why he doesn’t sign up for a local race.
He said that it would be silly to pay to walk with strangers when he can easily configure a course himself.
I rolled my eyes at the time, but the older I get, the more I’m beginning to understand that he simply does what he wants.
It’s so different from how he is with me.
But maybe since he does so, he might eventually accept what I want without…
pressuring me so much? I won’t get my hopes up.
We watch as Dad makes his way out the front door. Lauren and I are walking toward the breakfast nook when Mom stops us.
“I love you both very much. I hope you know that.”
It’s a little out of left field, but my jaw muscles relax as she says it.
“We know,” Lauren says.
“Love you too,” I echo.
She gives us both a watery smile and stalks off in the other direction.