Chapter 11 #2
“Skyler,” Maria says, her voice calm. “The lasagna is getting cold. And I think my stepdaughter is making a good point.”
He looks up, the blue light of the screen reflecting in his hazel eyes, making him look cold, distant. Like the portraits in the Thompson foyer.
“I have to go back. I’ll talk to Father in the morning, see if I can push it to one o’clock, but I have to be there.”
Though the lasagna looks delicious, I can’t imagine swallowing a single bite. Saying nothing, I simply pick up my “adequate” mug and head for the kitchen sink, the ceramic cold against my palm.
I feel Skyler’s gaze on my back, my parents’ heavy silence filling the room. I’m realizing that for Skyler, home is wherever the Thompson name carries the most weight. And currently, that weight is crushing the life out of us.
Skyler’s chair scrapes against the linoleum. He’s coming to use his “management” voice, I can feel it. Turning around, I note how Maria and my father are still at the table, a few feet away, watching their daughter’s life fray at the seams.
“Harley,” he says, stepping into the kitchen.
“No, don’t ‘Harley’ me. Don’t use your junior associate tone with me. I’m not a project to be managed, Skyler.”
“I’m not trying to manage you.” He’s standing by the kitchen island, his hands in his pockets.
“I’m trying to be a peacekeeper. To find the middle ground where everyone wins.
If I go to this brunch, it satisfies my father, it secures the Davis relationship, and we have all of Sunday here.
” We had left Friday and played on staying for a long weekend.
“A peacekeeper?” I let out a jagged laugh.
In this house, I don’t feel small. I feel like the daughter of Jake Matthews, a man who builds things to last. “You’re not a peacekeeper, Skyler; you’re a puppet.
You’re a well-tailored, highly educated puppet, and your mother has her hands so far up your back she’s practically moving your jaw for you. ”
Skyler’s face goes ashen. He looks at my parents, clearly horrified. “Harley, please. That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t enough. Lily told me weeks ago that you were a pushover for them, and Steven told me the same thing tonight. He called you a robot. A strategic retreater. And God, he was right.”
Skyler’s eyes narrow. “Steven?”
“Yes. I’m taking advice from the only person in your family who hasn’t lost his soul to a country club membership! At least Steven is honest.”
“It’s not the same. Steven doesn’t have the pressure I do. I’m protecting our future; I’m building a life for us. Do you think a career like mine just happens? One day we’ll be free of my parents’ expectations.”
“One day will never come, Sky,” I whisper.
“Look at your father. He’s sixty-two, and he’s still playing the game.
That’s your future. And you’re inviting me to bend, too.
Because Steven is literally with them right now so we could have this time.
He’s taking the heat for us, and you’re just going to walk out? ”
“Steven is Steven,” Skyler says, his voice sharpening with a flicker of genuine irritation. “He doesn’t have a career at the firm to protect. He doesn’t understand the nuances of these negotiations.”
“He’s your brother, Skyler. He’s trying to help you.”
“He’s an amateur trying to play at a professional’s table,” Skyler snaps.
As if on cue, his phone buzzes with a relentless, heavy vibration against the countertop. He swipes the screen. I watch the color drain from his face, replaced by that panicked, dutiful mask I’ve come to loathe.
“What?” I demand. “What is so urgent that you can’t even talk this out with me without your parents taking all your focus?”
Without a word, he turns the phone toward me.
Father: Steven is being intentionally difficult and obstructing the Davis conversation. He has no grasp of the east wing projections and is embarrassing the firm. I need a professional at this table, Skyler. Get back here tonight. Don’t make me ask again.
“See?” Skyler says, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper. “He’s blowing it. If Steven stays in that room alone with Davis, he’ll tank the Henderson deal just to spite Father. I have to go back, Harley. It’s not a choice anymore. If I don’t fix this, there won’t be a firm for me to inherit.”
It’s so clear to me. His father is purposely drawing Skyler away.
“There’s always a choice, Sky,” I say, my voice sounding hollow. “You’re choosing a spreadsheet over a person. You’re choosing your father’s approval over my father’s house.”
“I’m choosing our future!” He shoves the phone back into his pocket, the movement frantic.
“Steven’s not incompetent, Skyler,” I say, my voice dropping to a level that I hope cuts through his panic. “He’s just not moldable—and that’s your parents’ real issue with him. It has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the fact that they can’t pull his strings.”
I step closer, forcing him to look at me instead of the screen. “They don’t need a ‘professional.’ They need their favorite tool back in the box. And you’re handing yourself right over to them.”
“You don’t understand,” he says, already reaching for his keys. “I’m the only one who can handle him. Steven is a liability, and Father knows it. I’m the only one who can keep the peace.”
Dad clears his throat. “Normally, I’d continue giving you two space, but perhaps we cool down, yeah?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He turns to me. “I don’t want to fight. You never accepted your present yesterday.”
Oh, my God. If he brings out that bag and gift card, I’m going to scream.
Sure enough, he reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out a small, elegant shopping bag. He sets it on the counter, right next to the apple pie.
“Because I know it’s been hard, and the house is a lot. It’s a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Coach. I thought you could get that purse you liked. I care about your happiness, Harley. Why else would I try so hard to keep the peace?”
“Five hundred dollars… Is that what I’m worth to you? Is that the price for me to shut up and play along while your mother plans my wedding and your father insults my career? Or is this just a bribe for the Davis brunch?”
“It’s a gift, Harley! Not a bribe!”
“It’s payment,” I counter, my voice rising again. “It’s how Thompson men handle emotional problems. You don’t have the courage to stand up to your mother, so you try to buy my silence with leather goods. You don’t have the guts to tell Amanda to stop texting you, so you buy me a designer apology.”
I toss the bag back onto the table. It slides across the wood and hits my “adequate” mug with a dull thud.
“I never wanted the card, Skyler; I wanted a partner. I wanted the man who told me he loved my independence. But it turns out you only love my independence when it doesn’t inconvenience your parents.”
Dad’s gaze shifts to Skyler, his gentle eyes now ice cold. “Skyler,” my dad says, his voice low and gravelly. “I think you should listen to what she’s saying.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Matthews,” Skyler says, pivoting to face my father, his chin lifting in that Thompson way, “you don’t understand the pressure of a position like mine. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
“While I may not understand a fancy position like yours, I do understand a man who treats his woman like a line item in a budget. And I understand a man who lies,” my dad says, standing. “We don’t do that in this house.”
Skyler’s brows crease. He turns back to me, searching for an out. “Harley, come on. We can figure out a compromise.”
“No more compromises.” I feel like Harley Matthews again—the girl who worked two jobs to get through grad school, the woman who fights for kids who have no one. “I’m done navigating your family’s neuroses. I’m done being the guest they tolerate.”
I stare straight into his eyes.
“You want to go to that brunch? You want to be the perfect Thompson son? Then go. You can talk about atriums and Valentino red with Amanda until your heart’s content.
But I’m staying here. I’m staying here to be a Matthews.
Being a Matthews means being someone who actually cares about the people at the table more than the names on a guest list. I’m not going back to Lake Forest with you tomorrow, Skyler.
And honestly? I don’t know if I’m going back at all. ”
The room falls silent. Even the clock on the wall seems to stop.
Skyler stares at me, his mouth agape. He seems disoriented. For the first time, the Thompson mask has slipped, revealing the man underneath who realized he’s just lost the only thing that made him real.
“Harley, please,” he whispers, a final plea for understanding. “We’re out in a month and a half.”
It’s so close but feels infinitely far. Because I’m not sure if I’m losing Skyler or have already lost him.
But then I have an epiphany. With Skyler skipping out on the menu tasting and flower arrangements, I get to decide. He won’t even be present for interference.
If Skyler isn’t here, he can’t “appease” his mother during the menu tasting. He won’t be there to “compromise” on the flowers until they’re nothing but Thompson silver and navy. He’s handed me the one thing he’s been too afraid to give me for months: total control.
He thinks he’s leaving me in isolation, but he’s actually leaving me in my seat of power.
And if I’m in power, then that means I can make decisions the old Skyler wanted—and I know that old Skyler is in there.
I’ll get my flowers, my colors, and once we move out and walk down the aisle, we can return to our old lives.
Skyler’s right, but he’s been right for the wrong reasons.
“Fine,” I say.
His head bobs in a double take. “Fine?”
“Mm-hmm.”