Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
VORTEX
The coffee shop is bustling at this hour of the day. I feel out of place in between all the students and business people, but I spot Connie sitting at a table in the far corner, a large, colorful tote bag at her side.
She smiles when she sees me and waves.
With dread, I approach. I wish she hadn’t taken the booth seat, so I could have my back to the wall and eyes on the doors, but Connie doesn’t understand my caution.
“Hey, Sebby!” Connie says, smiling. “I got you coffee already.” She pushes one of the two coffees in my direction.
I pick it up and take a sip. It’s a sweet, caramel-flavored drink. “Connie, you know I don’t drink this sweet stuff.”
Connie rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, you do. Stop pretending. You can afford to have a few extra calories with how much you work out.”
I huff, but I take another sip from it. I wouldn’t order this on my own, but now that it’s here, I’ll drink it. I only wish my stomach wasn’t already roiling because of the conversation we’re about to have. She’s not going to like it .
Like Seven, she’s going to cry, pout, and rage, and I suddenly feel guilty for arranging to have this conversation in public.
It’s the only way I’ll keep my resolve, though.
I set the drink down. “How’s business?” I ask, hoping against hope that she’s going to tell me that she’s had some major success and I won’t need to have this chat with her.
“Oh, I got another TerBaby to sign up!” Connie says cheerfully. “I met with her here half an hour ago, actually. I offloaded—I mean, I sold her a bunch of my stock. I just need to get two more people to join, then I’ll qualify to be a bronze level TerMom.”
I fight my grimace as Caleb’s words come back to me.
I understand how these things work more than I care to admit. Those at the top are preying on those like Connie, who in turn prey on others. It’s unsustainable — as my bank account keeps showing me again and again — but because I’ve always been there to rescue her, she doesn’t understand that.
I wish I could give the CEO of TerMa a visit like I give Caleb’s problems visits, but that won’t solve anything.
It’s still tempting.
“So what happens when you…” No. I’m not asking. I’m not feeding into this. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t do this anymore, that I wouldn’t encourage her or enable her. That means I have to stop trying to placate her.
Connie takes her own coffee and sips on it. “How are things with the boyfriend?”
“Good,” I say, my hackles instantly going up. “How are things with you and, um…” I don’t want to say his name. No matter what she thinks, he’s a weasely little shit.
Connie waits expectantly.
I finally sigh and give up. “Peter. ”
She bursts out laughing. “I didn’t call him. I like that you tried so hard not to say mean things about him. But don’t worry, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
I glower at her, then take another sip of my coffee. “Good. No one you’ve tried to date is good enough for you anyway.” I know she’s going to gripe about me trying to parent her again, but if not me, who?
It’s not like she knows how to take care of herself — and that’s no one’s fault but my own.
Connie and I sit quietly for a few moments, and I brace myself for the usual requests for cash. But we’d only just met up. She can’t need more money again so soon, right? Especially not if she managed to con somebody else out of their life’s savings.
“You know what day it is next month?” Connie asks, a lot sadder. “Are you going to be free that day? I thought we could go out to the cemetery.”
My mood, already shaky, turns darker. “Yeah. We can go visit them.”
Visit them, like our parents are still alive. Like they haven’t been dead for a decade, like they’re going to magically come back to life if we faithfully return to their graves every year.
“I’ll pick you up that Saturday at ten?” I suggest. “We can have lunch afterward. Put it in your phone so you don’t forget I’m coming.”
“Yeah,” Connie says, her smile turning brittle. “I was thinking about Mom the other day. I tried baking an apple pie, like she did. Of course I fucked it up, but do you remember that one Thanksgiving, when her pie was?—”
“ —a slimy goo,” I finish with her. We both laugh. “I still don’t know how she managed that.”
“She blamed Dad!” Connie smiles at me. “I remember that. She said he bought the wrong type of… something. Butter? I think she actually underbaked it. The pie crust was gross and soggy too.”
“It wasn’t her best year, no,” I agree. “But the turkey that year was great.” I pause, then add with a chuckle, “Probably because Dad made it. Good thing one of them knew how to cook, huh?”
Connie scoffs. “He cooked twice a year. Barbecues for July 4, and turkey for Thanksgiving. Mom handled all the heavy lifting. Maybe she wasn’t a gourmet cook, but I loved her mac and cheese. ”
“I can make it for you,” I tell her. “I have the recipe still.”
I wonder if Seven likes macaroni and cheese, too, or if he’d like her recipe. Maybe after I try it out on Connie, I can make it for him.
“I’d like that,” Connie says, smiling. “And then I’ll teach you how to do it properly, because I’ve seen your kitchen, Sebby. You don’t own a casserole dish.”
“I can get one,” I say. “Fuck, we can make a day of it. Go to that kitchen supply store, visit the cemetery, make mac and cheese and apple pie…”
And hopefully never bring up TerMa or Caleb Spade or even Seven, anything that could cause us to bicker and argue. It’s a pipe dream, I’m sure, but it would be nice to celebrate our parents’ lives without fighting.
“You think you can manage an apple pie better than I can?” Connie says skeptically. “There are so many steps involved!”
“I can absolutely buy one from the supermarket that’s ten times better than anything you could make,” I say, smirking.
She throws a straw wrapper at me, and I chuckle.
We chat a bit more about our food plans, and I’m so relieved at how simple the conversation is that I figure there’s no need to rock the boat. This is fine. She isn’t asking for money, and we’re going to honor our parents and do something fun together as a family.
Connie’s phone buzzes, and she glances down at it. “Oops, sorry, I gotta dash. I’ve got a meeting with another potential TerBaby.”
My cheer fades. “Connie,” I begin, searching for the right words to say. “I really, really think you should stop while you’re ahead. You’re doing okay now, right? We can get you a real—” I catch myself. “Another job.”
Connie frowns. “What? Why are you on about this now? I just told you I got a new woman to join my business. I’m doing fine.”
She’s not doing fine. She’s on a sinking ship, and some part of her has to be aware of that fact. “You know that it doesn’t matter how many women you get to sign up,” I tell her. I don’t want to do this. So badly, I don’t want to do this .
But I think of Seven, of his utter despair when we’d finally cut him off from gambling, and how I wish we’d done it sooner. She has to have at least a little cash, or she’d be asking for help, which means it’s the perfect time for her to try something else.
I wish I thought she would.
Connie glares at me. “I’m fine ,” she repeats. “God, did you invite me out for coffee to give me a fucking lecture?”
“No, I didn’t come to lecture you. I came to…” I falter, hating how difficult this is — and hating my past self for not having put my foot down sooner. “Connie, I know you think this is the best way forward, but it’s not. You’re being played, and I can’t keep watching it happen. No matter how many women you con into doing this, it’s never going to matter. There will always need to be more. Bronze tier, silver tier, how many tiers are there? How much money do you have to sink into this before it pays off?”
Her face blanches.
Connie knows. She knows this isn’t sustainable—like the last two schemes weren’t sustainable either.
She reaches for her tote. “You’re such a dick,” she says, clutching the bag to her chest. “I’m finally doing something that’s… that’s working , being my own boss, making money, and you have to come in here and get all Dad in my face. News flash: it’s my own life.”
I flinch, but even though the words hurt, I continue, “It’s not working!” It’s all I can do to keep my voice contained. Now isn’t the time to worry about daddy issues. “If it was, you wouldn’t be worrying about the balance in your bank account right now and your next payment to TerMa.”
It’s a guess, but from the way she’s looking at me, I know I’m right.
“I didn’t ask you,” Connie hisses. “I didn’t say one single fucking thing about you dating that underage, cheating boy , did I? I wanted today to be a fun day.”
My own expression darkens. “Don’t bring him into this,” I snap. “He has nothing to do with the mistakes I’ve made with you. I’ve tried to let you do your own thing, tried to support you a hundred percent, but I can’t keep doing it. That is what this is about. Not Seven.”
“Fine!” Connie shouts. Several of the people around us go quiet. “I don’t need your stupid support anyway. You can play father to your new boyfriend and go visit the cemetery on your own and bake your own stupid apple pie.” Her eyes well up with tears and she gets up.
Am I playing father to Seven?
Does it even matter right now?
I stand up as well. “Connie, please don’t leave with things like this,” I quietly plead with her. “Put that Saturday in your phone, okay? I’ll see you then?”
Connie rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. “Whatever. I have a meeting to get to.”
I grab Connie’s arm when she tries to walk past me. “It’s for your own good,” I plead. “This is a pyramid scheme. An MLM. Whatever you want to call it. It’s a scam .”
“I’d know if it was a scam, Sebby,” Connie hisses. “Now let go of me before I scream in front of all these people.”
She’s mad enough to do it, too.
I release her, and before I can say anything else, she storms off.
Well.
This went about as well as I’d expected.
I yank my phone out of my pocket, sending Seven a text. Maybe I’m only some overbearing asshole father figure, but he doesn’t treat me like one.
Right now, I need that connection.
Right now, I need him .