23
Taina has been doing an almost good job the past week. I’ve stayed at her waterfront rental, overlooking a long, peaceful creek. It’s been home base while I spent time visiting Sora, joining Valerie for some wedding planning, and narrowly avoiding questions about Anders while dodging his calls.
Taina hasn’t brought up Anders again, but has given me lots of raised eyebrows, asked “Who keeps texting you?” when my phone vibrates, and when we’re watching a show with any kind of romantic element, her gaze is pinned on me for some sort of reaction.
The first day I left, that’s when Anders called the most. I only texted that I was staying with my sister after Taina mentioned how often the phone was ringing.
The next days the calls were fewer, but that’s because he knew Valerie and I were out picking the floral arrangements with Bethany and Olive in tow, or finalizing centerpieces, or having tea.
Today, nothing.
It’s already three, and Anders hasn’t messaged at all. Granted, I left, so of course, it would be entirely hypocritical and unreasonable to care at all about that. I’m the one ignoring his questions on why I left, why I’m being so cold. Me. I’m the cause of it.
Yet I feel a vibration in my shorts pocket for the twelfth time and check the screen only to find a picture Taina sent of the beach, glistening under the sun.
“Earth to Lucy.” Valerie holds up the barcode scanner to my face so the red light momentarily steals my vision. “Are you even paying attention here? You almost scanned the red plate set. I’d rather see my own red blood in the kitchen cabinets than red dishware.”
“Graphic”—I bring myself back to attention—“and noted.”
“Come on.” She nudges me. “Let’s look at some machines. Scan anything that does the work for me. Rice cookers, egg cookers, anything that cooks so I don’t have to.”
When Valerie called me painfully cheerful at six in the morning, telling me, not asking, to come join her shopping as she picks out gifts for her wedding registry, I thought we’d be finished by early afternoon. Instead, we’ve been at several stores, hours at each, and my stomach is gnawing.
We’ve been in this store for just fifteen minutes, and she’s already scanned an ungodly amount of overpriced goods.
All items are set on the thinnest glass shelves, and I keep my shoulders straight the way my mother would demand when walking down aisles. Don’t touch anything you can’t buy. Which in this store would be legitimately everything.
“You could have done this online,” I say, as she scans through a new aisle, “but I’m learning you’re more hands-on than you seem.”
“Meaning what? You think I would have paid some planner to pick out everything that will be in my house?”
“More like, you’d do this online, add things to a cart immediately instead of going to a bunch of stores.”
Valerie nods. “True, it would be easier. But I wanted to get out of the house a bit. Get my steps in.”
“Just a couple more months to the wedding,” I say, and hearing it aloud makes my nerves avalanche.
Though I’ve been asking calculated questions, pointed out very obvious differences between her and John, played up her desire for fun and expression, the progress isn’t where it should be—even with this tight deadline.
“Will people have time to buy everything?”
“They better.” Valerie scans some machine I can’t recognize, but mimics a tiny washing machine. A high-speed microwave? I have no clue. “I need this.”
The quick addition of desperation at the end of the sentence captures my interest. “You need what? Gifts?” When she stiffens, I know this is a good thread to pull.
“Valerie, respectfully, you’re rich. I didn’t think you’d even have a registry.
” I pause a moment, then add, “You didn’t, did you? This is a last-minute idea.”
“Don’t be nosy, Lucy, it’s gross.” I know she’s nervous because she scans a red blender instead of the stainless steel one beside it.
I match her quickened pace. “Is something wrong?” Why would Valerie, a proud nepo baby, be frantic to add a bunch of gifts to a last-minute registry?
Wouldn’t she be able to just buy anything and everything she wants?
Didn’t she offhandedly mention to me once that she had a family credit card with no limit?
She snorts. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“You’re being aggravating.”
I give her a moment to crack, scan a few more items, before we reach the end of the store. We return our scanners to the front desk, and the employee helps Valerie review her list of items on the monitor to ensure she got everything. (She deletes the red blender.)
We leave the store, and I point to a couple of benches on the sidewalk overlooking Queen Street, the long road filled with endless shops, restaurants, bars, and activities. The most active part of Charleston. Before she can disagree, I loop my arm through hers and drag her to sit.
After a few minutes of watching cars and people go by, the silence eats at us like I knew it would.
She snaps, “Are you going to make a big deal out of nothing?”
“Hm.” I hum. “Depends on what it is, but, Valerie, you can trust me,” I say, and my throat feels itchy as the words come out because she can, in the sense that I’m doing what’s best for her, but she can’t, in that whatever she says I’ll have to use to separate her from John.
“That’s why you asked me to be a bridesmaid.
I know I’m not the closest person to you, and I know you’re worried I’ll talk to Anders about whatever you say, but I can be a good friend to you if you let me. ”
She looks at me through unusually thin lashes—she forgot that step she has always remembered every other time I’ve seen her. She removes her arm from mine, then places her hands on her thighs below her pale miniskirt. A couple of her manicured gel nails are missing.
“You swear you won’t tell Anders?”
I hold out my pinkie so it feels less like a lie when I nod. She wraps her pinkie around mine, tightening her grip.
“I mean it,” Valerie says. “Anders cannot find out about this.”
I reach for her hand, keep it pressed between both of mine. “Valerie, I’m here for you.” The words slip out easily, because I mean them. Every syllable.
“Okay.” She takes a breath. “I got scammed out of a million dollars.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Calm down,” she says quickly. “And I know, my father is loaded, my brother even more. But as much as I can get away with spending thousands on my card without raising any flags, me taking over a million from our accounts is not going to go over well.”
“A million?” My eyes nearly bug out of my skull.
Valerie slaps a hand over my mouth and glances around like one of her relatives might spring out from behind a bush. “Calm down, you’re not the one down the money.”
“How in the world did this happen?” I ask. “What is going on?”
She rubs a hand over her face. “Ugh, it’s a mess. I should have paid more attention. Should’ve asked John to show me the paperwork.”
“Okay. Slow down. Explain it to me.”
“John found this house,” she starts. “This cute, boring thing overlooking a creek. Not my style at all, but it was his dream home, so I agreed. I figured I could decorate it, make it mine. That was the compromise. Even if it meant gutting the place—because I swear, the ’70s died in there.
It had orange shag carpet and lemon-yellow tile in the shower. Who does that?”
“Valerie,” I say. “Focus.”
“Right, right.” She nods. “So John’s credit score isn’t great, and we used my name for everything. But instead of going with the family’s tried-and-true realtor, he insisted on using his friend’s friend’s friend. Total stranger. No reputation. Said it would be quicker and cheaper.”
“Okay, that’s already a lot of red flags.”
“I know,” she mutters. “Anyway, this sketchy realtor tells us there’s another buyer. Supposedly offered an extra fifty grand, but was applying for a mortgage. He said if we went in all cash and added another fifty on top, the seller would go with us.”
“Oh no.”
“Right? So we wired the money. The full amount.” She exhales. “And then, poof. The guy disappears. Just had his license suspended for mortgage fraud, and we’re out a million.”
“And you haven’t told anyone?”
“How can I?” she asks. “Everyone already thinks I’m a bratty airhead with an attitude problem.
And they’re not wrong. But my dad already put me on a spending limit.
He says I’m wasteful and wouldn’t survive in any other family.
If he finds out I lost that much money? Game over. My cards go dead for a year, minimum.”
“You have to get help. Legal help. You have to try to recover it.”
“I know.” She waves her hand, like we’re talking about losing her keys. “I used to sleep with this guy who interned at my dad’s law firm. He’s got a new job now, but said he’ll help if I convince my dad to hire him full time. So I’m working on that.”
“Okay, but—” I hesitate, then push, “What about John? What’s he doing to fix this?”
She stiffens just slightly. “What can he do?”
“I don’t know. Something. He picked the realtor. He pushed for this house. Shouldn’t he be making calls? Talking to lawyers? Taking responsibility?”
Valerie crosses her arms. “He’s devastated, too, okay? He knows it’s bad. I don’t need him to fix it—I just need him not to spiral. He’s not great with stress.”
“That’s not the same as being helpful.”
Her gaze sharpens. “He’s trying. He’s calling around. He’s upset. But he doesn’t have connections like I do. He doesn’t have a rich dad with lawyers on call. It’s different for him.”
I hold back from pushing harder, but I can feel the words trying to claw their way out. Different doesn’t mean he gets to screw up and let you carry the fallout. If there’s already trouble like this before marriage, imagine what could happen after.
Instead, I say, “You made the registry to have other people buy what you need while you try to recover.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “And being poor sucks. No offense.”
“Hard to be offended if it’s true.” I pause. “But seriously. If John’s this bad with money, how are you two planning to handle joint finances?”
Valerie shrugs like it’s too heavy to think about.
“Anders warned me he was bad with money. Said every time someone asked for help back in college, John gave them whatever he had. That the rest he lost playing cards.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes.
“And now I’ve just proven to Anders that I’m just as irresponsible.
If he finds out, he’ll never let it go.”
If Anders finds out his suspicions were right—that John hasn’t changed, that he’s still reckless with money and now has direct access to Valerie’s—he’ll picture a future of joint accounts, shared debt, and the tears and stress of his sister, and walk into the wilderness never to be seen again.
“So,” Valerie says, like she’s trying to reset the tone, “tonight, when we’re out, you can’t act weird about this. Process it, then remove it from your memory.”
I open my mouth, shut it again. “We’re?” I ask. “Where are we going?”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Anders’s birthday party tonight.”
My eyes go wide for a second before I force myself to play it cool.
“Ah.” I slap her arm playfully. “I thought you meant earlier, before that. I’m taking Anders out for a little stroll before the party. Private time. You know, romantic prelude.” I’m rambling. “I thought you were inviting yourself to our pre-date.”
She snorts. “Yeah, right, I don’t need to third-wheel you and my brother.”
“Right.”
She checks her phone. “When’s your date? You should probably head out soon—the party’s in a couple hours.”
“Right, right,” I say, rising. “Let’s get moving, then.”
Valerie grabs my arm before I go. “And remember—this stays between us.”
“I gave you my pinkie,” I say, like that means anything.