Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
WHITNEY
“Oh, god.” I eye the large man leaning against my kitchen counter. “Who gave Haden a clipboard?”
“Wesley,” Blake grumbles, taking a sip of her wine. “After the last family dinner, he decided teams would be written out on paper before the festivities start.”
Vivienne huffs a laugh, “Probably not a bad idea.”
My sister seems off today, but I haven’t had the chance to pull her aside and ask her what’s up.
Currently, we’re standing around while the boys chat in the corner, and Ana, Elise, and Elain are placing their finishing touches on our Thanksgiving dinner.
It smells amazing in the house—roasted and fried turkey, gravy and mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and fresh-baked pies.
My mouth is watering at the smell alone.
Brinley’s down for a nap before we eat. The atmosphere is light, everyone in a bright mood and ready to celebrate.
The doorbell rings just as I finish pulling the last pie out of the oven.
“I’ll get it,” I sing-song, walking towards the front door.
It must be Harper–she mentioned she would be running late tonight.
But when I swing open the door, my entire body plummets into fight-or-flight mode.
I blanch, nausea and unease curdling my stomach. My lips part, “Mom?”
“What the hell were you thinking?” I bark, grabbing my sister’s shoulder and whirling her around. We’re on the back deck, Haden and Wyatt having followed us out here.
Vivienne blinks, straightening her shoulders and stepping out of my hold.
I’ve never been this angry with my sister, and I don’t think I’m above clawing her face off and pulling her hair right about now.
“I was thinking it’s the holidays,” Vivienne snaps back, “I was thinking it’s time you two get over your shit, and I was thinking she deserved to meet Brinley. ”
“That is not a decision you get to make,” I hiss, taking a step towards her.
She doesn’t back away. The audacity she has to be upset with me doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Girls, maybe-” Haden starts, Wyatt mutters something too, but Vivienne and I whip our heads in their direction, snapping, “Stay out of it.”
“Why is it such a big deal?” Vivienne protests, crossing her arms. My vision turns red, and finally my voice reaches an octave far too high and way too uncontrolled. “Because I don’t want her here!”
Vivienne stills, Wyatt and Haden, too, and I glance over my shoulder, noticing the quiet atmosphere that’s on the other side of the door.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This cannot be happening right now.
“Please, Whitney.” Vivienne’s pleading tone slams against my walls, and I peel my eyes open. “Just please give her a chance.”
I stare at her for a few moments, shaking my head.
But I think, really think. This is my sister.
This is Brinley’s aunt. And I know, beneath all that rage I feel right now, she means well.
Vivienne pushed a boundary, shattered it really, but it was out of the goodness of her heart.
That alone causes those walls I’ve built to crumble a fraction, and I’m sighing.
“Fine. Fine.” I hold up one finger. “She gets the night. That’s it.
But don’t think we won’t be talking about this later. ”
I don’t wait for her to respond before I’m stomping back inside, eager to get the day over with.
“You, okay?” Wyatt’s gentle voice reaches my ears, and I turn to look at him. I hope the sight of him will calm my nerves–it doesn’t.
Earlier, when Brinley woke up from her nap, my mother tried to scoop her up for a hug. She bolted in the opposite direction. Wyatt had picked her up, muttering, “Yeah, not happening. Even if she does like you, I don’t.”
The gape on my mother’s face will forever be engraved in my brain, but I’m glad Wyatt didn’t let it happen–or try to force Brinley into saying hi.
I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle it.
Unfortunately, I know she’ll get him back for that little dig, and I’m just on the edge of my seat waiting for it.
“No,” I mutter back honestly. My anxiety is at an all-time high.
I feel hot, and shaky, and completely unsure what to do with my body.
The clank of forks and chatter from everyone wraps around me.
Every move I make, every bite of food brought to my mouth feels mechanical.
I’m already down three glasses of wine and considering another.
Wyatt and I sit at the head of the table, with Brinley on the corner in her highchair.
My mother sits across from me, right next to Ana.
Blake and Wesley are on the other end, with Vivienne and Haden across from them.
Elise and Elain are side-by-side, giggling about something I can’t quite hear.
But I don’t focus on anyone else in the room. Only her.
Years. It’s been years.
My mom smiles and talks with Ana like she hasn’t been gone and out of my life for over a decade. The sight twists my stomach. Wyatt’s hand brushes mine under the table, like he can sense my shift in mood. It steadies me for a moment, before it all takes a turn for the worst.
Brinley starts fussing, Wyatt immediately pushing back and turning in his chair towards her.
He’s already on top of it—before anyone else can move an inch.
He murmurs something low and gentle as he picks up the spoon she dropped.
Her cries quiet down, and he presses a quick kiss to her forehead like it’s instinct.
My mom’s syrupy-sweet voice flitters across the table.
“It’s sweet. The way he treats her like his own. ”
“Excuse me?” I ask calmly, setting down my fork. Do not cause a scene. Do. Not. Cause. A. Scene. My manifestation doesn’t work, because the entire table falls silent. Even the scrape of forks against plates halt. Blake shoots a nervous glance across the table to Vivienne.
“Some men just have a knack for pretending,” my mother continues, taking a delicate sip from her wine glass. “Whatever happened to Andrew? Such a pity you didn’t marry him instead.” A distasteful glance at my ring, then Wyatt. I feel his body stiffen next to mine.
All the calm I had mere seconds ago is gone. Bitterness, mixed with memories of my childhood rushing to the surface. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. You weren’t around—you were never around.”
My mother’s eyes widen, and she leans back, scoffing, “Don’t be ridiculous-”
“Do you even know what that’s like?” I snap, slamming my hands on the table. She jumps, and Wyatt’s hand shoots out to grip my knee. I ignore it. “Could you even imagine?”
“I thought we were over this.” She glances at Vivienne as if looking for answers. “That you had enough time to get over it and stop punishing me.”
Anger is bubbling now, and I’m sure it’s going to boil over. That I’ll take the wine glass from her manicured fingers and smash it over her head. “Alright,” Ana claps, standing. I blink, violent thoughts ebbing when she says, “Everyone out. I need help with the dishes.”
I wish I could thank her for the hand she just lended me.
One by one, they file out. Blake, Wesley, Haden, and even Brinley, who’s now clutched in Ana’s arms. I don’t miss the annoyed look my mother shoots Ana’s way.
Wyatt doesn’t move. Instead, he comes to stand by my side when I get up and move to the living room.
Vivienne stays, too, standing behind our mom and nervously biting her nails.
When we’re alone, just the four of us, I rip into her.
Years, and years, and years of suppressed rage and sadness breaking free.
“How dare you? How dare you come into my home and act this way?”
My mom throws a hand over her heart, scandalized. “I have not-”
“Don’t!” I shout, stopping her with a violent hand in the air. “I’m speaking.”
“You do not get to come in here, and pretend you’ve done nothing wrong.
I do not know you; my daughter does not know you; my husband does not know you.
So, let me make this crystal fucking clear–” I enunciate each word with clenched teeth and wild hand gestures, “If you think you can waltz in here and criticize the people I love, you’ve seriously misjudged your place.
You are not family; you are merely a guest of Vivienne’s.
” I punctuate the words with a sharp glance in my sisters’ direction.
Her eyes have begun to water, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Not tonight, and definitely not after this.
She opens her mouth like she might respond, but I cut her off before she can try to paint a pretty picture that doesn’t belong here.
I jab a finger in her direction. “You are the one who chose not to stay.” And then one in my direction.
"I'm the one who had to work two jobs to be able to feed myself when your ex-husband jetted off to another country on a whim.” I shake my head, a shaky laugh escaping. From nerves, or fury, I don’t know.
“You didn’t watch me graduate high school.
You weren’t around when I went through my first heartbreak.
You weren’t there when I opened my shop.
You only knew I was pregnant because of Vivienne.
The only way you could have known I was married?
Vivienne. You didn’t try to call, or text, or be a part of her birth.
You’re only here now because it’s convenient for you. ”
“You can’t talk to me that way!” she finally snaps, gentle facade dropping as her voice fills with venom. She points an accusatory finger in my face, “I am your mother. Say what you want Whitney, but you are who you are because of me.”
She says it like she raised me. Like she had a hand in the life I’ve built for myself.
“Everything I am–everything I’ve had to fight to become—is in spite of you!
” I scream. I scream so loudly Vivienne gasps, and Wyatt moves, stepping between my mother and me.
But despite what it may look like, my anger is dwindling, and that familiar burn is too close to cutting loose.
No apology in the world could make up for the time that she missed.
For the scars she etched into my skin. For the trauma she made me endure.
My mother lived a double life. When she got pregnant with Vivienne, she left my dad and I.
After he found out my mom had been cheating, it all went downhill from there.
Vivienne and I grew up very, very differently.
She had the mom I never did. The mom who showed up.
Who attended her sport events and put her through college.
Who held her when she cried. Who loved her when she needed her most. I never had any of that.
I only had a broken father, which turned into a supply of money I never wanted in the first place, which turned into a lonely apartment in the middle of town.
Before I found Vivienne, I had nothing. And it’s all because of the woman we share blood with.
“You ungrateful little-”
“That’s enough,” Wyatt booms, stepping in front of me. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
I think I hear Wyatt speaking, maybe even calling my mom a few choice words, and the sound of a door slam on her way out.
But it sounds and feels like I’m drowning.
Maybe I’m still mad? Still envious of what Vivienne had and I didn’t.
But that isn’t fair, is it? We were kids.
It was our parents who failed us. And despite that, we found each other.
The first day I visited Vivienne in the city, the first time I ever met her—it was life altering. It didn’t matter that our mom tried to keep us apart or that we didn’t share the same father. She is my little sister. The one person I can call my own.
But right now? Right now, I don't recognize her. She looks a little too much like our mother, and a lot less like my sister. “I-I didn’t know all of that.” Vivienne chokes out, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”
“Get out,” I whisper.
“Whitney, please-” Vivienne begs, taking a step towards me.
“Get out!” My shout is firm, and it makes her flinch.
The sight of tears streaming down her face is what makes me turn around.
If I watch her cry, I’ll fold. And I need a minute—just one minute to process everything that’s just happened.
I need to be alone. I’m horrified. Embarrassed at the scene that just unfolded.
I’ve been so busy pretending to be someone I’m not, that I didn’t even stop to think about how different mine and Wyatt’s families are.
I should’ve sent my mother off, should have found a way to avoid this long-awaited feud exploding in the middle of Wyatt’s family’s Thanksgiving.
Because how will they look at me, now? Will they see a shitty mom for denying her daughter a relationship with her grandmother?
A bad sister for kicking Vivienne out? A woman with little patience and too many grudges?
The Conways are the few people in my life that I don’t want to judge me, the ones I can’t handle judging me.
I book it towards the guest room, not waiting to see Vivienne leave.
The same guest room I haven’t slept in in weeks.
Wyatt’s steps thunder after me, but I’m quicker.
I can’t look at him, can’t see those eyes full of pity and sadness at everything I’ve just exposed.
Can’t look and find the disappointment he has from the kind of woman I really am.
So, when I get inside and grip the door handle, I land my last blow for the night,“I’m not another problem you can fix, Wyatt. I’m not even really your wife, remember? So, stop pretending that you give a damn.” And I slam the door in his face.