Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Vivian
The living room is full of pink and purple balloons. Maisy runs past me, holding a streamer that flies behind her. “Vivie, look at me!”
“Are you a butterfly?”
“No!” She giggles as she spins in the air.
Hmm. I cup my chin. “A phoenix?”
“Noooo. I’m a dragon!”
I slap my hands on my cheeks in mock surprise. As if the Dragon Princess-themed decorations hadn’t clued me in. “A scary dragon, oh no!” I pretend to run away and she darts after me, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Mom rushes into the room. “What’s going on?”
I point to Maisy. “We have a wild dragon on the loose. A fire-breathing dragon.”
Mom’s shoulders relax. She looks tired. As if all her energy has been siphoned away. “Is the dragon princess ready for her snack?”
Apparently, dragon princesses munch on apples and peanut butter when they’re not ridding the world of evil flying monkeys.
As Maisy happily eats an apple, I gather the steamers she has spread around the room. “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Just tired. I want this party to be perfect.” She smiles fondly at Maisy. “She barely remembers her other birthdays. Turning four is a big deal.”
“It’ll be fine, Mom.” This is where Jonah would probably give Mom a hug, but that’s not me. And it might freak her out if I even tried.
After two months of saving, I’m no closer to getting out of Nebraska. But at least now I have a possibility. Frankie called me last night, squealing so loud my ears are still ringing.
“Hold on to your curls, baby. I’ve got news!”
I pull the phone away for a second to regain my hearing. “Frankie, it’s late. I’m tired. Just”—I gesture for her to hurry up, even though she can’t see me—“tell me.”
“I’m about to make your dreams come true, and you’re getting snippy with me? Rude, Vivie.”
“I’m sorry.” I rub my temple.
“We’re good,” she says in a happy voice. Frankie is always full of absolute joy and snark. I’m the opposite. Full of doom and snark, but it somehow works. “Okay, so get this. Our company is sponsoring the talent show this year at San Diego Pridefest.” And then she squeals again.
Frankie works at Reign and Shine Fashion Consultants. Frankie’s living our dream while I’m stuck in The Cornhusker State. “My boss was going to be the emcee, but then they got Roz.” She pauses for effect. “Roz, Vivie.”
“That’s amazing, sweetie.”
She huffs when she doesn’t get the reaction she’s looking for. “This is your chance.”
“Frankie, sweetheart. You know I love you, but I’ve been on my feet all day and Cassandra was being a real B today, so could we move this along?”
The silence coming from my bestie isn’t good.
Shit. “I’m giving you a pass, Vivie, because I know how hard this is for you.
And because I’m too excited to give you the full silent treatment you deserve.
” This pause is shorter. “Mr. Rainey is looking for new blood. And honestly, babe, no one here can put together a look like you can. And you have an amazing singing voice. Once he sees you perform, you’re in. You just have to get here.”
Frankie’s call last night gave me hope. But today, I’m not sure. Hope can be a cruel motherfucker sometimes. I’m ready and willing to make my dreams come true, but my ability to actually do that is limited.
For a moment, I consider telling Mom my dream of being a fashion consultant. But then I’d have to admit that I want to leave.
How can I do that when she looks ready to fall apart?
I can’t even tell her I want to enter the talent show.
My track record for performing in front of crowds isn’t great.
There’s a reason I struggled with speech class in my New York high school.
And then there was the senior recital. I was standing with the rest of the seniors in the Hopeview High School gym.
Everyone had their phones out, ready to capture the moment.
Instead, they witnessed my failure as I bailed.
My mother had been disappointed, but it was the look of disgust on Jonah’s face that stayed with me. He thinks I’m a coward. That I can’t perform in front of people. But he’s wrong.
I honestly don’t care what Jonah thinks. But I refuse to pretend we have some brotherly bond.
Jonah and I are complete opposites. He was the star quarterback in high school. Sports is just another type of performance, and Jonah charmed everyone with his aw-shucks attitude and boy-next-door good looks.
You’re so lucky to have Jonah as your brother. I’ve heard that over and over, but I’ve never felt lucky. It’s more like a curse.
I push back the nerves dancing in my stomach. I can’t give up now. “Mom, I was thinking—”
“Jooojoooo!”
My head jerks up at Maisy’s squeal. She throws herself into Jonah’s arms and he swings her around. She laughs throughout, and the joy on both their faces gives me this weird empty feeling. Like I’m missing something.
I’m not the touchy-feely type. My parents were never into hugging or displaying any affection at all.
Jonah is the opposite. He’s always touching people.
When my mom gives him a warm smile and touches his arm, his face lights up. “So glad you could make it home, Jonah dear.”
“Thanks, Carolynda.”
I’m not averse to touching or being touched. It’s more like a foreign language I never learned. While it looks interesting, and there are times when I think it might be fun to learn, I don’t understand the rules or how to even start.
Jonah is the last person I would ever ask. Or want to touch.
He grins at Maisy. “I wouldn’t miss Squirt’s birthday.”
Maisy stomps her foot. “Not a squirt.”
“Is that so? Then why can I do this?” He lifts her up over his head, those muscles bulging. She giggles and thrusts out her arms like she’s flying.
I swallow my resentment. Maisy deserves all the love. And being jealous is stupid. Am I jealous that she likes Jonah better? Or that he obviously had a great childhood with loving parents and I…didn’t?
Or do I want to be lifted by those strong…? Absolutely not. Jonah is not my type. I like my men a little less clean cut and a little more alpha male taking control.
And Jonah’s my stepbrother. Even if it were possible, if I didn’t hate Jonah and he didn’t return the feeling just as strongly, I would never risk alienating everyone in this family.
“Don’t play too rough,” Mom says and then retreats to the kitchen.
Why is this so fucking hard? If I stay here wasting away, at least I have a roof over my head and my family tolerates me.
I could do as my father wants and return to New York.
Follow his plan. Go to college and get a practical degree in law or accounting instead of wasting my life.
Of course he’d make my life unbearable the entire time.
And there’s also the possibility—slim at best—that I could live up to his expectations. Make him proud.
Or I can follow my dreams to California.
As Jonah plays with Maisy, the joy in his laugh hits me square in the chest. I shake it off and follow my mother into the kitchen.
“Do you need a hand with Maisy’s cake?”
Mom is putting on her oven mitts. The ones with bluebirds flying happily. She has one on and the other is in her hand. She raises a brow. “Are you sick, dear?”
I huff out a breath and cross my arms. “What does that mean?”
“Have you ever cooked anything? In an actual oven, I mean?”
“Rude.” Ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks, I rush ahead. “I have a question.”
Her shoulders relax as if the universe is right once again. The heat from the oven spreads throughout the room as she pulls the cakes out and sets them on top of the stove. Taking off the oven mitts, she sets them on the counter and sticks a toothpick in the middle of each cake. “Almost done.”
Patience is something I lack. But I try not to fidget as she returns the cakes to the oven, removes the oven mitts once again, and turns to me. Nerves are a sign of weakness, according to my father. Or showing your nerves, I suppose. Has he ever been nervous? I can’t even picture it.
“What’s up, Viv?”
This is it. I wipe my hands on my pants—my Versace pants—and regret that decision immediately. My heart is galloping faster than the horses I could see if I looked out the kitchen window. I clear my throat and try to exude confidence. “Mom…”
Her brows furrow. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
She nods, accepting my statement as true, and pushes her dark hair behind her ear. We look remarkably alike. We both have unruly dark hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones.
When she sighs, I’m reminded of earlier. Why does she look so tired? She sits down at the table with a sigh of relief, as if standing is a burden.
“Are you okay?” Maybe now is not the best time to discuss my plans.
She beckons me over, and I take a seat across from her. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. What do you need, Vivian?”
“I need…money.”
She straightens from her slumped position, her eyes wide. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
What the fuck?
Why is that her first reaction? I didn’t start that fire at the library the summer after we graduated.
Another reason to hate Jonah. “No. Mom. No trouble. I haven’t seen Frankie in a while.
She wants me to go to San Diego Pridefest with her.
I’ve been saving my money, but…” Mom’s already shaking her head.
“I’m sorry. We’ve been saving money for a trip to Florida.” Her eyes implore me to understand.
I paste on a smile. “That’s cool. What’s in Florida?”
“Disney World. Maisy would love it.”
Of course. Maisy. I nod, pulling out my fake smile that fools almost everyone. “She absolutely would.”
“Viv, I want to help. But with everything going on—” She stops and presses her lips together. And then, to my horror, my mother starts to cry.
I pat her hand awkwardly. “It’s fine, Mom. Really.”