Chapter 2
Piper
I barely make it into my off-campus apartment before my phone rings again. As soon as I accept the video call, my uncle’s face comes into view.
“Happy birthday to you , happy birthday to you,” he sings, badly. “Happy birthday dear Pipeeerrrr. Happy birthday to you.”
I laugh, even though it comes out tired. “You’re still tone deaf.”
“Untrue and offensive,” he replies with mock gravity. “And here I was just about to ask if my favorite niece needed anything topped up in her trust this month.”
“I’m your only niece.”
“Exactly. The competition is fierce.”
I drop my bag on the floor and collapse onto the charcoal-gray colored couch that sits against the far wall.
Uncle Teddy is calling from his kitchen. I spot the old shelves behind him, cluttered with mismatched mugs and too many condiments. There’s a bottle of whiskey just off-camera. Of course there is.
He’s still in his wrinkled Henley and reading glasses, salt-and-pepper hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Unshaven, warm-eyed, and always two seconds from making a wildly inappropriate joke—he looks exactly the same as always. Like home, in human form.
“You good, kid?” he asks. “Is the political hellscape still intact?”
“I’m fine.” I pull my legs up beneath me. “Classes started today. I need to get myself an internship, but I’m working on it.”
He raises his glass in a toast I can’t fully see. “Just don’t kill yourself trying to impress people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
I snort. “Inspirational, as alw ays.”
“What can I say? I give TED Talks in parking lots.”
There’s a beat of quiet—not awkward, just familiar. Then he asks what I knew was coming. “Did they call?”
I don’t answer right away. I look around the room instead, anywhere but at the screen.
“Nope.”
“Not even a text?”
“They don’t do birthdays,” I say, knowing it’s not the whole truth. “Not for me. You know I only see them at Christmas.”
His mouth pulls into a flat line. I know he wants to say something, maybe even offer a soft I’m sorry, but he’s always known better. There’s no point in apologizing for people who’ve chosen to turn their backs.
“They still think working is beneath me,” I say, voice low. “That studying politics is just me being difficult. Mom told me once, ‘You weren’t raised to beg for a salary, Piper. Working is for people who have no legacy to protect.’”
He exhales sharply, like the words physically piss him off. “Jesus Christ.”
“I guess when you live in a Connecticut estate with your name on half the hospitals and three centuries of old money at your back, it’s easy to forget the rest of the world actually runs on effort.” I pause. “They’ve got staff for everything, even feelings.”
“They’re relics,” he mutters. “Dust in tailored suits.”
I lean back into the cushions, my throat tightening more than I want it to. “You’re the only reason I’m even here. You know that, right?”
He waves me off with a flick of his hand. “Bullshit. I signed some paperwork and pissed off your dad. You’re the one keeping your head above water.”
“You paid for this apartment.”
“I own the building. You’re doing me a favor, really.”
“You set up the trust.”
“So you wouldn’t be beholden to people who think ambition is tacky. Which it isn’t.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. It’s a little embarrassing how easily he always disarms me. Like he’s immune to the shame I’ve carried since the moment I said I wanted to be more than a wife on a charity board.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Even if your parents are too busy sipping dry martinis and basking in their moral superiority to say it.”
“Thank you,” I sniffle softly.
He lifts his glass one more time. “Happy birthday, kid. Go eat something with frosting. And stop pretending you don’t deserve the life you’re building just because it doesn’t look like theirs.”
The call ends, and I stare at the blank screen for a moment, letting the si lence settle over me like a weighted blanket.
I only allow myself a few minutes of pity-partying before I get my ass off the couch and go change, swapping my black, figure-hugging dress for a pair of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt.
Since I don’t have any plans of going out tonight, despite my earlier conversation with Lena, I remove my makeup and throw my dark brown hair up in a messy bun. There, now I look exactly like one of those women my mom compares me to. Talk about a self-fulfilled prophecy.
Even though I know there’s no point in mourning the distance between me and my parents, I can’t help it. Especially not on my birthday.
Growing up, I had everything I could ever want.
When I said I liked horses, Dad bought me three ponies because I couldn’t decide what color I wanted.
When I watched a Disney princess belt out a song and I wanted to sing just like her, he hired one of the best instructors and flew them across America.
In short, when it comes to materialistic goods, things with a price tag attached, I had it all in spades. But when I was scared of the dark, no one checked for the boogeyman under my bed. The nanny was the one who comforted me when I needed stitches after falling off my bike and scraping my knee.
Everything changed when I announced my plans of continuing my studies after high school. That’s when I learned the true meaning of being raised in a Greenwich estate where ambition was fine for men, but vulgar for women.
Mom announced that no Harrington woman should ever work, and Dad backed her up. If it wasn’t for Uncle Teddy, I would have never been able to complete my undergrad at American University right here in Washington, D.C., and definitely couldn’t afford studying at Georgetown.
But when I broke down and confessed my dreams to him at my elaborate eighteenth birthday party, he… well, he saved me. He set up a trust for me, and bought not just an apartment, but the entire building near American University. Then again, when I got into Georgetown.
He said it was for peace of mind so he knew I was safe when I moved from Connecticut to D.C. Regardless of his reasons, even if it’s just to stick it to his brother, my dad, he made my life possible.
Just as I’m about to throw myself into the kind of spiral that ends in Googling government job placement stats and crying into leftover takeout, the door bursts open.
“Presenting: your favorite bitch with baked goods,” Lena announces, kicking it shut behind her.
I blink. “Did you just break into my apartment?”
She shrugs, holding up the spare key like it’s a trophy. “I didn’t break in. I used my God-given right as your best friend. And you weren ’t answering texts.”
Rather than focusing on the fact that I never gave her that key, I reply, “I was wallowing.”
“Yeah, I figured. That’s why I brought sugar and violence.” She tosses her oversized tote on the floor and crosses the room, pulling a small white box from under her arm like she’s smuggling something classified.
“Are those—”
“Chocolate with raspberry filling. Obviously. And look.” She opens the lid to reveal one perfect cupcake, pink candle already stabbed into the frosting at a slight angle. “Tradition, bitch.”
My chest tightens in a way I wasn’t ready for. “You really didn’t have to—”
She levels me with a stare. “You’re damn right I didn’t have to. But you only turn twenty-six once, and I’m not letting you do it in yoga pants with red eyes and existential dread breath.”
I laugh. It’s small, a little cracked, but real.
She lights the candle with the lighter she keeps in her purse for emergencies and chaotic energy.
“Make a wish,” she says softly.
I close my eyes. For one second, I consider wishing for an internship. For clarity. For a family that doesn’t treat ambition like a betrayal. But instead, I wish for something simpler; I want to be wanted. To feel fulfilled.
Huh, maybe that’s two wishes. No matter, it’s what I want, so even if I have to find a shooting star as well, I wish it.
Lena watches me for a beat while I blow out the candle. I don’t make a big thing of it—no clapping, no cheesy encore. I just exhale, soft and steady, and the little flame disappears.
She sets the box aside on the coffee table. Then flops onto the couch, dragging me with her. “Okay. Out with it,” she demands, pulling one leg under her like she owns the place.
I glance over. “Out with what?”
“Don’t play dumb, bitch. You bailed on class, ignored my texts, and I caught you mid-spiral when I came in. Something’s up, and I want details.”
I sigh, peeling the wrapper from the cupcake and staring at it like it might hold the answers. “It’s just… everything.”
Lena waits, no judgment. Just space.
I lean back against the cushion. “Mrs. Ellis gave me the full reality check this morning. Everyone already has their internships lined up, and I’m still hoping for callbacks. If I don’t get one soon, I won’t graduate on time.”
Her face falls. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” I take a bite of the cupcake. It’s rich and perfect and makes me feel exactly nothing. “I’ve always had a plan,” I continue. “Every semest er, every summer, every goddamn volunteer campaign. And now it’s the most important year of my life, and I’m stalled out in the first week.”
Lena doesn’t offer me fake platitudes or empty encouragement, which is why I trust her with the messy stuff. “You’re not behind, Pipes. You’re just not ahead, and that’s freaking you out.”
I blink. That lands a little too hard.
She softens. “You’ve been ahead your whole life. Over-prepared. Over-achieving. But this is just timing. Not failure.”
“You say that as if the job market gives a shit about nuance,” I grumble.
Rolling her eyes, she throws her middle fingers up. “Fuck the job market. You’re brilliant, and driven, and frankly terrifying in heels. You’ll land something. You always do.”
I want to believe her. I do. But the fear’s already lodged deep, like a splinter beneath the skin. Not bleeding yet. Just… festering.
“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone,” I whisper.
She reaches over and tugs the cupcake from my hand. “Then stop disappointing yourself.”
Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I bite it none-too-gently. I don’t say what we both know; I need to graduate. If I don’t, I’ll have to go back to the place where dreams die, and wearing last season’s clothing is worse than a sex scandal in D.C.
“Tell you what, Pipes.” Lena swipes a finger through the frosting and licks it off her finger. “We need a proper night out soon since you’re clearly determined to stay in tonight. This weekend. I don’t care what you think you have to do. If you don’t live once in a while you’ll regret it.”
“But I—”
She shakes her head. “If you try to refuse one more time, I’ll make us watch The Shining again. All work and no play…” Trailing off, she swirls her hand in the air.
Laughing, I pick up a pillow and throw it toward her face. “Fine. You win. We can go out this weekend—”
“Yes!” she whoops excitedly.
“Providing I’ve found an internship,” I finish, ignoring her excitement.
Frowning, she tuts. “You really don’t know how to have fun, do you? Thank God you’re hot. Otherwise I’m not sure I’d be your friend.”
“Please,” I mutter. “You’ve been stuck with me since Intro to Comparative Politics.”
“Don’t remind me,” she grins. “I still haven’t forgiven you for bringing five shades of pink highlighter to our first lecture like a damn psychopath.”
She says it like a joke, but it’s a memory—the day we sat next to each o ther at American University and never stopped.
We spend the rest of the night just chilling—ordering takeout, and eventually streaming some political thriller that Lena pretends to hate but secretly enjoys. I love that genre, especially when there’s scandal and backroom deals. The dirtier the politics, the better.
When the credits roll, she yawns dramatically. “I hope you’ve put clean sheets on, because I have to sleep over.” Waggling her eyebrows, she adds, “Ah, never mind. I forgot who I was speaking to. Your bed hasn’t seen any action in months.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I have a very healthy relationship with my vibrator.”
“Like that’s the same as a good dicking,” she mock-grumbles. “Seriously, when was the last time you got laid?”
“June twentieth,” I lie.
Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I got it on with anyone. It’s not that I’m not into sex, but right now, my education has to come first.
“Whatever,” she sighs. “I still have to stay over.”
“Have to?” I laugh.
She nods eagerly. “Yep. I’ve had way too many carbohydrates to drive.”
“God, yes,” I say, mock concern lacing my tone. “Don’t ever eat pasta and drive.”
After finding her a top to sleep in, she disappears into the bathroom.
While she gets ready for bed, I begin my evening ritual.
First, I lock the front door. Then I check every window is shut and locked before drawing the curtains.
I move silently from room to room until I reach the one in my bedroom and freeze.
There’s a shadow outside. Just for a second—tall, unmoving—but by the time I flip the light on, it’s gone. I stare into the dark for a beat longer, heart thudding a little too fast.
Fucking hell, I don’t even know why I’m overreacting like this. On the ground floor, I’m used to seeing people walking by. So why did this particular shadow startle me?
I should’ve taken the penthouse when Teddy offered it, but no. I had to be the idiot afraid of heights, insisting on the ground floor instead. Because of course I did.