Chapter 7 #2
But I defended myself. “At least mine loved me enough to let me make my own choices.”
Vivian scoffed, glancing to the side as if she’d grown bored.
“Did they, though? Because you still ended up here, playing by rules you don’t agree with, instead of…
” She scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t care what else you could be doing.
Point is: If they’d really wanted to let you make your own choices, they would’ve given you the means to do that.
Maybe then you wouldn’t be here causing more trouble than you’re worth. ”
Words died on the tip of my tongue as hers cut me.
But she wasn’t done. “My parents made sure I’d be taken care of—set for life—if anything ever happened to them. I’m sorry you can’t say the same, but don’t put that on us.”
“Hm.” I clenched my jaw, reining in the emotions building in my chest before I revealed how hard that hit had landed. “Guess you don’t know everything, V. You only think you do.”
I stood up and walked off, angry that I’d let her get under my skin. Furious her dig at my parents struck a nerve. And pissed at my lame comeback because I’d had nothing else to say.
Storming off and stomping out onto the back patio didn’t make me feel better, either. I got angrier as I reached the lake.
It wasn’t my parents’ fault that I’d had nothing since they died. Vivian’s statement reeked of privilege. Her family came from a long line of money, so of course, she equated inherited wealth with love. She never saw anything different.
My parents hadn’t had wealth, but they’d had love. Maybe that was it, but I’d seen the value in it.
They’d had each other and me.
Neither of them had come from a world like Vivian’s. My dad had lost his parents when he was young, and my mom…
I racked my brain trying to remember her family, but I’d never met them. She talked about them all the time, though. Especially when she was cooking. That I remembered. Mostly because her culinary gifts had not passed down to me.
She’d shared countless recipes her grandma, Abuela, had taught her. While I later learned that was just my mom saying grandma in Spanish, not her name, I’d always called her that.
Because I didn’t know her grandmother’s real name.
The only time my mom talked about her family was in the kitchen, sharing old recipes.
It was the only time she shared that part of her heritage, and mine.
I’d been born here, like her, and while I’d inherited half of her Hispanic blood, she hadn’t passed down the culture she’d grown up with.
She’d guarded that part of herself from everyone—even me.
And yes, in hindsight, I’d picked up on how weird that was.
But after she died, it joined the long list of questions I tried not to think about at all.
My dad would’ve shared with me, but I never asked.
I never wanted answers. I’d just wanted her.
And I’d been hellbent on not thinking about that.
Not thinking about all the things I’d never get to learn from and about her.
All the moments we’d shared that I’d never get to have with her again.
And all the things we’d both miss out on as I grew up.
Because life wasn’t a fairytale, and good things didn’t happen to good people.
Then, life took my dad from me, too.
Now, in my new era of thinking about shit that made me terribly sad, there it was.
I had her skin tone and dark features, her hips, and her love of dancing. But I’d always been my father’s daughter—his mini me—especially in her eyes. That was what she’d always called me, and while I lost her when I was twelve, he’d been there my whole life.
After he died, I couldn’t touch the thought of her guarded past with a ten-foot pole. Not without thinking about him. Not without thinking of everything I’d lost and would miss out on because he was gone.
So, I blocked it all out.
What good would thinking about it do, anyway?
The chance to change my mind, to get those answers about her past, was taken from me as swiftly as he was.
Vivian’s comment brought it all up, and for the first time, I wondered if that tendency I always had to push away hard truths had been something else I’d gotten from her.
I’d never wondered that as a kid because they’d protected me. I’d never lost anything, or if I had, I hadn’t felt it. When she’d died, I dealt with my first experience of grief. Poorly.
By shutting it out completely.
The same way I had with my second.
Now, I couldn’t help but wonder…Maybe she never talked about them because we never saw them. Or maybe it was because they were gone.
Because it hurt too much to think about it.
And I’d never noticed.
I’d never felt my mom’s grief, if she had any, in a lasting way. I only remembered her as loving and supportive.
Vivian could choke on her inheritance for all I cared. My parents hadn’t given me that, but they’d given me more—love so great I almost hadn’t survived losing it.
I only did because I developed a string of really unhealthy coping mechanisms in their absence.
Coping mechanisms I kept getting smacked in the face with, as they created bigger problems in my life.
Like letting my fear of losing Max keep me from fighting for the truth in that room.
I hadn’t had faith in him to do the right thing.
Given up when I should’ve pushed harder.
Reacted to that old wound instead of remembering what he’d shown me. And I was still doing it.
Even now, I stood alone in a dark area, after everything that had happened, because I reacted to Vivian’s bait. I wanted to fight with her because of what she’d done to me, because of Max, and just because of her stupid, smug face.
Something about her made me see red, and I reacted instead of using my head. Getting myself nowhere but out in the open, like a sitting duck, by doing it.
Growling at my actions, I turned to head back to the courtyard, only to find my path blocked.
Izzy smiled. “Hey, it’s almost time to go to the parlor, so I wanted to come find you.”
“Thanks.” I released a breath, slowing my heartbeat. “I just needed to get away after…”
“I get it.” She reached out carefully, touching my arm when I didn’t flinch. “Hey. You got a few of them to think about what they wanted for a minute. They were still talking about things when I came to get you. Looking past what their parents wanted.”
“You sure that was me or just the impending threat of being kicked out of The Quest?” I grumbled, aware I was in a mood.
But Izzy tilted her head. “Aren’t they both because of you?”
My brow furrowed.
“Elaine, whether or not she realizes it, listened to what you said that day at the Maiden Appeal. None of us knew about the statute. At least, not that I know of.”
I frowned. “She’ll never admit it, and according to Vivian, I haven’t done anything useful.”
She shrugged. “Ignore Vivian, if you can. She might not stand up and fight for what’s right, but that doesn’t mean everyone feels that way. It’s brave—what you did and what you said. If more of them see it doesn’t have to be like this, see you keep going, they might find a reason to fight, too.”
I smiled at her, her words brightening my sullen outlook. At least, a little bit.
Maybe the way I responded to things wasn’t just a string of unhealthy coping mechanisms. Or, even if it was, maybe there was good in that, too.
Take that, grief counselor.
“I didn’t think about it like that. Thanks, Izzy.”
“Of course.” Her genuine smile eased the lingering tension in my shoulders. “Want to head back inside?”
“I’ll be right behind you. I just…need another minute.”
With a nod, she returned to Camelot Courtyard.
I stepped onto the grass, pulled toward the lake at the end of the lawn. The moon shimmered over the dark surface of the water, and I stared at it for longer than I should’ve.
But eventually, I turned to go back inside.
Only to have my moment of solitude interrupted, again, by the last person I expected to find on the patio.
Max Dread.