Chapter 19 - Perry
PERRY
Faith’s building has a doorman.
He smiles when I give her name and buzzes me in like I belong here, like I’ve always belonged here. The lobby smells faintly of eucalyptus and money. Everything is white marble and brushed gold and tasteful abstract art that probably cost more than my car.
I adjust Nicholas on my hip and balance the diaper bag on my shoulder.
Walker sleeps peacefully in the stroller.
They aren’t doing anything, but I have this incessant fear that they’ll somehow destroy something, and I’ll be indebted to whoever owns the building for the rest of my life.
In my mind, I can clearly see myself wearing a kerchief in my hair, scrubbing the gold toilets I assume are in everyone’s apartments.
Even the elevator is quiet. Smooth and silent, sliding upward with no resistance. Perfectly clean too, which only heightens my concerns about my boys.
Faith’s apartment door opens before I knock. She looks…radiant. Soft sweater in some shade of cream that probably has a French name. Hair in a loose low bun that somehow never frizzes. Her voice is bright, but not loud. “Perry, welcome. Please come in.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows that frame a skyline view hit first, followed by the scale of the place.
It’s enormous and glorious and far too much home for two people.
We pass through a grand hallway, and I glance around through open passages.
Her ridiculous kitchen island is big enough to host a cooking show.
This place is exactly what Jason once promised me.
It was part of the deal of being with him—all those hollow promises.
A stately apartment. Brand new cars every year.
Six annual vacations, spread out every other month.
I can still hear him cheekily say, “We’d do every month, but I do have to work.
” It was a joke, because we both knew he didn’t really have to.
For Baylocks, working is a choice some of them make.
The living room is where the panic about my boys skyrockets.
The couch is cream, and not a single mark stains it. The throw pillows are arranged in precise asymmetry, each the same cream as the couch, but with various patterns woven into the fabric. A giant abstract painting hangs over the fireplace, neutral tones and subtle texture.
It’s beautiful. Expensive. Easy to ruin.
I glance down at Nicholas drooling on my sweater. My apartment smells like formula and sleep deprivation. There are burp cloths draped over chairs. Bottles are drying on the counter. Laundry is perpetually in some stage of being folded or unfolded.
Here? There’s not a single stray sock or stuffed zebra in sight.
“Come in, come in,” Faith says, ushering me into the living room. “I had them bring pastries.” She doesn’t say who bright pastries. That would be gauche. We both know it was servants of some kind. They don’t get names. They get “them” because servants’ names never matter to people at this echelon.
I used to picture myself here. Barefoot on this hardwood floor. Hosting brunches. Wearing cream sweaters and not thinking about milk stains. Not learning servants’ names.
The fact that he bought it for her instead is cruel. Even for Jason.
But the feeling is fleeting, because when Walker squirms and lets out a tiny impatient cry, the sound fills this pristine room with something that means more. Abruptly, I realize I wouldn’t trade my messy apartment for this sterile perfection. Not anymore.
Faith leads us out onto the balcony with a tray of tea that had been waiting on a rolling cart by the outer French door. I’m relieved she doesn’t expect us to sit on that fragile cream couch in the living room.
A breeze is warmed by restaurant-grade outdoor heaters along the edges of the space.
The balcony overlooks the river and the stretch of downtown Snow Valley that everyone pretends is charming instead of small.
The railing is black iron. There are matching outdoor chairs with cream cushions that have never known a spill.
Until today, I’m sure.
“I love it out here. You can see the leaves turning,” Faith says, glancing toward the trees.
The leaves are just starting to burn orange at the edges. The air has that crisp bite I’ve always loved. Not cold yet. Just sharp enough to wake you up unless you have specialized heaters. Fall has always been my season. Sweaters. Bonfires. Pumpkin spice everything. The smell of leaves.
Faith pours tea into delicate cups that look like they belong in a period drama. I set Nicholas down in the twin stroller and brace myself for judgment about…well, anything.
The balcony is staged perfection. A small lantern centerpiece. A neatly folded throw draped over one chair. Potted plants to liven the space. Everything curated, nothing accidental.
My place is the opposite. There are baby swings wedged into corners. Diaper boxes stacked beside the couch because I forgot to break them down. A pacifier that lives permanently between the cushions.
Faith hands me a cup. “You look good.”
“So do you.”
She smiles softly.
We sit in silence for a moment, the breeze moving gently around us. The river below catches the light in clean silver streaks.
“Do you remember,” she says suddenly, “when Mom made us be matching witches for Halloween?”
I groan. “With the stupid velvet hats.”
“And the tights that itched.”
“And you cried because mine were a darker shade of purple.”
“You cried because mine were shinier.”
We laugh. For a moment, it’s just us. Not brides and exes and babies and reputations. Just two sisters on a shared balcony, remembering childhood.
The tea warms my hands, and I wonder about so much.
Why we stopped getting along. Why we ever hated each other in our teen years.
I know why—I hated my father for what he did to our mother, and she couldn’t muster the same outrage.
She kept a relationship with him until he stopped responding to her.
I look back inside at the pristine living room. The untouched surfaces. The silence. This is the life I used to want. Now, it rings as hollow as Jason’s promises about having this life.
Faith waits until the tea has cooled slightly before she drops it. Not the cup. The bomb. Her lips go tight before she smooths them. She’s nervous—it’s her tell. “Temperance, I want you to be my maid of honor.”
I blink at her. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” There’s no smile. No teasing tilt of the head. She means it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Faith.” I laugh once, sharp and disbelieving. “Jason is my ex-boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“He broke my heart.”
“Yes.”
“And now, he’s marrying you.”
“Yes.” She holds my gaze like none of this matters.
“How,” I ask slowly, “am I supposed to stand next to you while you marry the man who used to be mine?”
She folds her hands in her lap, composed. “Because you owe me.”
The air changes.
“What?”
“You owe me,” she repeats.
My chest tightens. “For what?”
She doesn’t look away. “For New Year’s Eve.”
The words feel like a hand slipping under my ribs. Oh hell.
“What are you talking about?” I ask carefully.
“I know what you did last winter.”
I freeze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Faith doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t accuse. She just watches me. “His sheets smelled like your cheap perfume.”
The one I stopped wearing because it reminded me of that night. It’s not cheap, but I’m not surprised by the insult, considering what she’s asking of me. I swallow. “You thought he cheated. With me.”
“I did.” She nods once. “And I almost left him.”
Heat crawls up my neck. That was the whole point of that night. Make her doubt Jason, while not actually sleeping with him. Picking his dad instead to irritate him. Double revenge for them cheating on me with each other.
“But he didn’t sleep with you,” she continues evenly. “He had an alibi.”
My stomach drops, and I swallow a sip of tea. It doesn’t help my dry throat. “Oh?”
“Mrs. Clancy corroborated it,” she adds. “Jason was helping Mr. Clancy home. He’d gotten too drunk to drive.”
“Jason is a good Samaritan?” I let out a cough of a laugh.
Faith leans back slightly. “I didn’t believe him at first either. I thought he was lying. I thought you two…” She doesn’t finish it.
I stare at the balcony railing. I’m perfectly still, but everything inside of me is squirming. This is excruciating.
She says, “I almost lost him because of you.”
“How’s that for irony?” I try for a weak smile.
“So, you owe me.”
The guilt I’ve been carrying since that night shifts shape.
Back then, I wanted them to break up. I wanted Faith to suffer the same pain she put me through.
It felt like justice. But the whole time, there was a voice in the back of my mind that argued against it.
Said that I shouldn’t put her through such pain, because I knew how badly it hurt, and I should never want that for my sister.
I shoved that voice down and drowned it with vodka.
But that’s not the only guilt I have about that night. There’s Damian. Using him. Not telling him why. Keeping his resulting sons from him.
There has to be a bigger word than guilt for what I’m feeling right now.
Faith doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t accuse me, like I half expect her to. She just watches, patient in a way that feels rehearsed. “You went to his childhood bedroom. You left something there.”
I swallow. The balcony suddenly feels smaller. “I was angry, Faith.”
“Clearly.”
It’s not a question. The truth sits between us like another place setting at the table. Apparently, we’ve come to the no-longer-pretending portion of our tea time.
“I was humiliated,” she says softly. “Not because I thought he cheated. But because I thought you wanted to take him back.”
The words sting more than the accusation.
“I don’t want Jason,” I say immediately.
“You used to.”
“Not for a very long time. Almost a year now.”
She studies my face like she’s trying to see through it.
“I’ve moved on,” I insist.
“With who?” she asks.
I look away toward the river. “That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
I don’t answer.
Faith leans forward slightly. “You almost broke us. The love of my life. The man I will marry.” She folds her hands again. “So yes. You owe me.”
“And being your maid of honor is…what? Punishment?”
“Penance,” she corrects gently. The word is somehow heavier than punishment. “I want you standing next to me. I want you seeing it. Seeing what I have and what you will never have again. Seeing that I chose him and he chose me.”
“You hate me this much?”
“No, Temperance. I want you to make peace with it. As I said, penance, not punishment.”
The balcony goes quiet again. The breeze shifts cooler. I look inside again at her pristine living room. At the version of life I used to think I wanted.
I don’t want Tuscany or curated perfection. Not anymore. I want sticky fingers and mismatched blankets and a man who feeds stray dogs soup. I want a real life. Not a magazine.
Faith’s request is the last vestige of someone who’s about to embark on an imitation of life and call it a future. I almost feel sorry for her.
“I won’t try to hurt you again,” I tell her. “Your life with Jason is yours. It has nothing to do with me, and I wouldn’t want it to. I cannot imagine he wants me to be your maid of honor.”
Her lips smooth again after a tight expression. “Will you do it?”
A dodge, followed by a telling question. He does not want me in his wedding, but he’s willing to allow it to make her feel better.
So, she wants me to smile in pictures with the man who once promised me this view. The man who started porking my sister behind my back. The man who cheated on dozens of girlfriends before her—a fact she well knows.
If that’s the sad excuse of a life she wants for herself, so be it. And if I can eliminate some of my guilt for trying to break them up by showing up for the spectacle, all the better. “I’ll do it.”
She exhales slowly. “Thank you.”
I nod once. Part of me feels like being her maid of honor is going to suck and actually be penance, but another part of me is petty and happy to watch the shitshow firsthand. Because there’s no way this won’t be a shitshow.
Jason actually making it down the aisle? Absolutely no chance of that. The man cannot keep his dick in his pants. In fact, I’d be shocked if he hasn’t already cheated on Faith.
Wait. She forgave our father. Has she already forgiven Jason?
I gulp more tea down, afraid to ask the question, and afraid not to. Faith is a big girl, and she can make her own choices, but I’m not sure I can stand next to her through the wedding process if he’s already cheated.
“Faith, has Jason cheated on you?”
Her cheeks flush. “No! I can’t believe you’d ask such a thing.”
“Given his history, how can I not ask it?”
“He has not,” she says sharply. “And I’ll thank you to keep such speculation to yourself.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I could watch you marry him if he had. That’s the only reason I ask. Everything else aside, I have more respect for you than that.”
The look of surprise on her face is marred only by the Botox in her forehead.
Nicholas starts fussing, the small sound slicing cleanly through the polished quiet of the balcony. I reach down and scoop him up automatically, pressing him against my chest. Walker stirs in the stroller, face scrunching in that pre-cry warning way.
Faith watches me. Not critically. Curiously. “You make it look…natural.”
“It’s not,” I reply. “It’s chaos. I’m just good at multitasking.”
She smiles faintly. “I don’t think I could do that.”
The admission surprises me. “You don’t want to?”
She hesitates. “I want a life that’s structured,” she says carefully. “Predictable.”
I glance back inside at the pristine living room. The spotless surfaces. The curated stillness. “Well, you certainly have that.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “I do.”
And suddenly I feel something I didn’t expect. Not envy. Pity. She needs this empty version of life to be happy. The clean lines. The perfect view.
I used to need that too. I used to think happiness meant the right apartment, the right man, the right social orbit. I thought if I could just land the correct man to give it to me, everything else would align.
Faith reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “We’re going to be okay. You and me. I just need this. I hope you don’t think less of me for it.”
“No. I think I get it, actually.” Because if she gets me as her maid of honor, then her fear that I want Jason will be over. Or so she thinks.
But insecurities like that don’t just go away with some grand gesture. If you need a grand gesture to get over them, they’ve already taken root and started to grow.
I sigh. Faith will never stop thinking I’m after Jason. Not really. It’ll always be in the back of her mind, gnawing at her. And there’s nothing I can do to fix that, but if I do this for her, at least I can say that I tried.