Chapter Ten
Audrey felt like her chest had been hit with a battering ram.
This wasn’t what families were supposed to be.
She’d always known that, but having someone ask her, simply and directly, who she was here for was both unexpected and made it hard to hide from the truth.
Not that they would, but if one of her relatives asked, she’d answer with the party line and think little of it.
She’d push back on the faintly sick feeling in her stomach.
She knew that feeling well. Long acquainted, long familiar, long used to the feeling of disgust it started off inside her.
But, when Hallie was the one asking, it was harder to hide.
She didn’t want or need a fake answer. Hallie had no skin in the game of being a Sinclair and wanting to keep the image intact.
She didn’t need Audrey to be anything other than herself.
Like the moment they’d first met, strangers over balsamic, just themselves and whatever spark came naturally between them.
Audrey sucked in a sharp breath, looking down at the wood of the balcony floor.
She couldn’t be thinking about how easy being around Hallie was, not like that.
Sure, Zora had—somehow—been spot on that River and Hallie were faking it for the family, but they still had a charade to keep up.
Audrey encroaching on that with thoughts of how comfortable she was with Hallie and how maybe that initial spark had been something more than just friendly was not going to help anyone.
It wasn’t like it had been attraction exactly, more…
potential. The initial magnetism that maybe, just maybe, something could exist there.
But, even knowing her relationship with River was fake wasn’t going to make that spark more explorable.
The Sinclairs would never tolerate knowing the truth, and Audrey had no interest in throwing River under the bus.
“I didn’t mean to make this whole thing harder for you,” Hallie said softly, her brow furrowed as she looked at Audrey.
“You didn’t.” She shook her head. “Being here is always hard, and, every year, I think this will be the one where it gets easier. That they’ll stop caring about whether I date, or that I’ll stop needing them.”
“It’s normal to want your family to love you. Especially around the holidays when everyone is talking about family time.”
Audrey shrugged. “Maybe, but, sometimes, you have to accept the family you’ve got and move on. Do what you need to in order to protect yourself. You’d think I’d be smart enough to have figured that out by now.”
Hallie’s hand burrowed through a tiny break in her blankets and she reached for Audrey’s arm.
“You can be as smart as you clearly are and still be led by emotions when it comes to things like this. It’s not really something you can intelligence your way out of because they’ve spent your whole life preying on your emotions, not your intelligence. ”
Audrey breathed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, maybe. If only it were that easy.”
Hallie nodded and squeezed Audrey’s arm tighter. “Hey, if you need a place to work through all of that, I’m here. Maybe this will be your year.”
Audrey smiled softly. She wanted it to be so badly, but how did you reach the place where walking away felt okay?
People had a lot to say about those who cut off their families, but, as far as she could tell, all those people were brave, braver than she was.
Sure, they were probably also broken and bruised by their families, just like she was, but they had reached the place where they were ready to heal, to be respected, to reach for better. She wanted to hit that point so badly.
It felt easier while sitting on a balcony in the middle of the night with Hallie, but that wasn’t permanent.
Hallie was here for now, gone in a few days.
She was here with River. And, when Audrey had to face her family, she’d experienced more than enough times that things just…
felt impossible. How did you change a generations-wide thing alone?
She looked at Hallie and noticed the way she shivered. It was cold and they’d been sitting still for a long time now. This whole night had not gone the way she’d been expecting.
She smiled softly. “You should get back inside.”
Hallie shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.”
“And that means more than you could possibly know, but it really is very cold. And late. We should both be getting to bed.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked Audrey over. “Okay. If you’re sure? But, while I’m here, I promise you’re not alone in all of this.”
Audrey wanted to cry because that felt real.
It felt like she meant it. Of course, Audrey had Zora, who would do her utmost to be there for Audrey while she was away, but, for the first time, there was someone physically here who got it, who was on Audrey’s side, and that was completely new and different.
“I know,” she said, her voice a little rough. “Thank you.”
Hallie nodded and stood up. “How do you feel about hugs?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah, not bad.” Probably better than she did about the perfunctory ones members of her family gave her.
“Audrey, do you want a hug?” Hallie asked, and the power of that simple question was not lost on Audrey. A question, an offer. A request, sure, but one where any answer would be okay. There was so much trust and freedom in that.
She nodded, swallowing hard and unable to trust herself not to cry if she tried to speak. And she fell into Hallie’s arms.
Despite the numbing cold, being held by Hallie was warm. It was soft and safe and comforting.
When Audrey had towered over Hallie and River at Horrocks, she’d felt momentarily like a giant, but, as Hallie’s head rested on her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her, Audrey didn’t feel anything but right.
Eventually, she released her grip on Hallie and stepped back, feeling more sentimental than she thought she should from a simple hug—though simple did not feel like an accurate descriptor.
Hallie smiled up at her, looking cold and tired and perfect. “Sleep tight, Audrey.”
“You too,” she whispered back, and she stayed perfectly still as she watched Hallie walk back to her door and disappear inside with one last look at Audrey.
They wouldn’t be able to look at each other that tenderly come tomorrow, but, for tonight, it was okay.
She shook the moment off and headed back into her room, realizing as she did so just how cold she’d gotten too.
The house would be quiet now, everyone tucked up in their own rooms, their own beds.
She’d be safe heading down to get tea, and she really didn’t want to go to bed without warming up a little.
The house was quiet, and, when she wasn’t busy concentrating on managing being around her family, Audrey was finally able to take in just how beautiful the cabin and its decorations were.
Lush greenery, traditional red accents. The most gloriously charming backdrop for her to fall apart in. Naturally.
The only tea in the kitchen was chamomile. It wouldn’t have been Audrey’s first pick, but it was probably the best option for her in the circumstances
She was halfway through brewing, standing mostly in the dark, the blue glow of the kettle lighting the space, when a lamp flicked on in the hallway.
Audrey’s body locked down, trying not to jump and give away her surprise, as she turned to find her mother smiling at her. Michele Sinclair. In all her glory.
“Checking if everything is locked up for the night?” her mom asked, as if she couldn’t see the kettle racing towards a boil.
“Just getting tea. Sorry.” Audrey’s chest felt tight, her breathing painful. She wasn’t sure why she’d apologized. It was just the thing to do around her parents.
Her mom laughed but Audrey felt the way it was very slightly off. She’d spent more than enough time hearing her mom laugh to know when it was fake. “I guess you’re still on that California time, huh?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“We ran into Mrs. Dixon the other day.” Her mom’s voice was loaded, expectant.
“Oh, yeah?” Audrey knew Mrs. Dixon, or she had done, years ago. She’d been Audrey’s teacher in third grade, and, by virtue of her family staying in the same town for generations, they ran into her from time to time.
Audrey always disliked conversations about her former teachers. They had a script that her mom pretended they weren’t using, and they always went the same way. One that left Audrey feeling cold and carved out.
Her mom hummed, busying herself around the kitchen despite there being nothing for her to actually do. They couldn’t just have a conversation, of course. Talking was something they did as an aside to other things.
“Yes,” she said, wiping the counter around Audrey’s mug as if she’d made a mess. “She asked how you were doing, of course. We told her you’re still out in California. She wanted to know when you were coming back here.”
Audrey tried not to wince as her mom laughed again. That one wasn’t real either. They’d had this conversation so many times. After every single time they’d run into someone she used to know.
She wasn’t entirely sure why her family kept pushing it, kept acting like they wanted her back home. When she was here, they ignored, avoided, or insulted her. Surely they knew nobody would be running eagerly back to that.
Most people wouldn’t be running back at all.
Her conversation with Hallie felt like a physical thing, pressing into her back, demanding attention even as it felt like protection from her mother’s barely concealed judgment.
When she didn’t reply, her mom simply shrugged. “Well, we caught her up on what you’ve been doing. She said again that we must be so proud of you.”
They’d have said they were, at least to Mrs. Dixon’s face.
That was what they did. Just like when people commented to Audrey that her parents must be so proud of her, she’d smile, nod, and tell them that they were.
It was what they did. It was polite. It was one of the many ways they tried to plaster over the cracks and shine them until everyone else was impressed.
Because that was what mattered. It was all that mattered. Just like with the relationships thing.
Her parents would tell other people they were proud because other people thought she was impressive, other people thought they should be proud. But they’d never say it to her directly. They weren’t really proud. It was just a game.
“Thank you,” Audrey said stiffly, as if her mom had said she was proud. It was the script. It was what she had to do. Her stomach roiled, her heart clenched, and her muscles ached. She could have gone to bed without tea.
“Mm. Well, you know everyone would like it if you came back here, settled down.” She moved in and poured the hot water for Audrey. Control, care… What was the difference? What did it matter?
“Right.”
“But. It’s good that I ran into you here. We haven’t had a minute to catch up this week. So busy.”
They’d had opportunities. Her mom just hadn’t wanted to talk to her.
“Yeah. How are things?” she asked dutifully. Like two people who barely knew each other.
“Oh, you know, good. We’ve all been having such a fantastic time since Cal and Delaney’s wedding.
What a fantastic couple, and so nice to have her as part of the family.
” She sighed heavily. “You know, her own parents aren’t great.
It’s better that she’s here with us. And, hey, at least we don’t have to lose him to their holidays. Delaney would much rather be with us.”
Audrey nodded slowly, looking down. She knew it was childish, but she didn’t even want her tea now that her mom had taken over making it.
She winced against the pain in her head. The circling thoughts that told her not to think things like that, that she was terrible for doing so.
And she didn’t know how to reply to her mom. It was a comment designed to point out how removed Audrey was from them all, to suggest she had a great family and should want to be closer to them.
Her family wasn’t great at irony.
“And how are things with you?” her mom asked, sliding her the mug.
“Fine, yeah.” For one moment, she hesitated between saying more and stopping there, but, if she gave them nothing, she’d be accused of shutting them out. Still, if she told her mom the thing that came to mind, that wouldn’t go well either.
She’d had it pointed out to her by friends and professionals that her mom couldn’t stop trying to compete with her.
It was weird and awkward, but she’d spotted the trend.
If something was going well for Audrey and she told her mom, inevitably, her mother would spiral, slowly make it about her, and require comforting.
The small, broken, innocent child inside Audrey still wanted to tell her mom things. She wanted her mom to be proud. She wanted to believe it wouldn’t be like that this time.
Maybe it wouldn’t. This was a family trip. Surely her mom wouldn’t commandeer the whole thing with her jealousy?
“Is everything going well at work?” her mom prompted, as if she really wanted to know.
Audrey so wanted to have a family who asked those things and meant them. And she felt weak and tired, emotionally drained and unable to fight her mom, so she nodded. “Really good, yeah. I just got invited to be the keynote speaker at an important conference, so that will be good.”
She felt like a child again, standing before her mother and begging for love. It broke her, scared her, made her feel sick and like she wanted to run. And, paradoxically, it made part of her hope—a part she wished she could leave behind and move on from.
Her mom smiled and it looked so close to genuine. “That’s great! Congratulations! When is it?”
Audrey blinked, feeling the heat of the mug burning into her hand, and they went through the motions. Her mom sounded more and more genuine, like she really was happy for Audrey, like she realized how big a deal the invitation was, and like she really was proud of Audrey.
“Okay,” she said eventually, still smiling, “you should be off to bed, and I’d better tell your dad all about your conference.”
“Right.” Audrey nodded and let herself be herded towards the stairs.
She felt sad and overwhelmed and confused. Scared about what came next, because surely this wasn’t real. This was what her mom did, but then it came crashing down. And she had to wait for the crash now, barely able to breathe, her head pounding, body aching, mind racing.
But that timid, tiny voice hoped, just this once, that things might be different.