Chapter 3
THREE
ANNIE
I was born to lie beneath a woman.
Annie grinned, staring up at her bedroom ceiling, examining the intricate collage of magazine cut-outs—a relic of her high school self, preserved in time.
No wonder her parents weren’t that surprised when she, at fifteen, had confidently announced to the family over dinner that she was a lesbian and had kissed Kayla Jacobs to make sure.
Every single photo in this collage was a testament to that truth.
Movie stars, pop singers, athletes, and models. Not a single man in sight.
Her mother’s voice cut through the morning silence. “Anne Elizabeth, you better be awake. We are leaving for church in ten minutes.”
“I’m almost ready,” Annie lied, throwing back the covers, scrambling across the room to the closet, beginning the haphazard search for something to wear.
“It sounds like you just got up. You promised me you would be ready on time.”
“I’ve been up, and I will be ready,” Annie called, sliding on a pair of nice jeans one leg at a time while reaching for an olive green knit turtleneck from the shelf in her closet.
“Nine minutes. I will leave without you if you are not ready.”
Annie rolled her eyes, running her fingers through her fine strands of hair, expertly slicking them back into an elegant twist held in place with pearl adorned hair pins Caroline had given her their last Christmas together.
She fucking hated Caroline—even that felt like an understatement—but the pins she would always love.
She reached for a serum bottle, dabbing her cheeks with the required amount.
A quick time check told her she still had six minutes.
Lipstick next. She swiped the tube over her lips before touching the tiniest amount to the rounds of her cheeks, distributing it with the pads of her fingers.
Eyebrow gel to keep the girls in place—they unfortunately had a habit of doing what they wanted— and the tiniest bit of tinted mascara.
Annie examined her reflection in the mirror, deciding her outfit needed a belt.
She rummaged through the stack of precariously placed cardboard boxes, the ones that should have been unpacked already in the Washington, D.C.
townhouse with Caroline, searching for the Prada belt she had managed to snag in an eBay auction.
One last look in the mirror before it was down the back stairs, hopping the final two as she and her siblings had always done as kids.
“Look at that,” Annie huffed with a smile, moving towards the mudroom to grab her brown-heeled boots to finish off her outfit. “Three minutes to spare. Enough time for us to get coffee on the way.”
Her mother, Colleen Dillenger, tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the counter, glaring at her with piercing blue eyes and the same look Annie had been on the receiving end of for most of her childhood. “You are a piece of work, you know that?” she said fondly.
“I do,” Annie said, her cheeky smile still in place. “You’ve told me enough times.” She straightened, running her hands over the front of her jeans, smoothing away any hint of a wrinkle.
Her mother’s gaze traced up the length of her body. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked, her question dripping with judgment.
“It’s on my body, is it not?” Annie retorted, a certain sharpness to her tone as she tried to ignore the small twinge of hurt that accompanied her mother’s words.
“You can’t wear jeans to church, Annie,” her mother said as if that was final.
A small heat flared in Annie’s chest. She was a grown-ass woman; she could very well decide what she was wearing.
“Sure I can. I’m wearing them, and we’re going to church.
Thus, I am wearing jeans to church. Besides, these are designer, so I think God will forgive me.
” She twirled her hips as she reached for the green plaid peacoat hanging on the hook beside her.
Her mother tapped her nails once more, deciding not to push the issue, instead moving through the doorway past Annie. Her long plaid skirt rustled with her movements, pointed heels clicking against the dark wooden floors.
“Fine. I’m driving,” her mother huffed as the two of them left the house.
Annie half-listened to her mom as she rattled off a running list of town gossip, pointing out different houses zooming past the window.
Not only was Colleen Dillinger the number one real estate agent in town, but she also served on a number of local nonprofit boards.
If something was going on in Wellington Point, she knew about it.
Annie was pretty sure that if a doctor ever took a closer look, they would find that it was actually gossip that coursed through her mother’s veins, not blood.
“Do you remember the Johnsons? You used to be friendly with their daughter Veronica, and your brother Austin used to play basketball with the brother… What was his name…” her mom mused.
Annie scrunched her face in confusion. Veronica hadn’t really been her friend. They had been assigned to a school project together in their freshman year of high school. She was also an only child. “Do you mean the Jeffersons?” she asked, thinking of Victoria and her brother Sam.
“Exactly,” her mother said, making a right-hand turn onto the lone road leading to the church. “They’re getting a divorce. And that son of theirs, he got a girl pregnant—they didn’t get married—but they are raising the baby together. Can you believe that?”
Annie blinked, taken aback by her mother’s uncanny way of delivering news that was somehow equal parts judgmental and juicy.
“Oh, I didn’t realize Tori’s parents were getting divorced.
That’s incredibly sad for their family,” she added, trying to subtly drive the point home to her mom that it really was none of their business to comment on the low points of other people’s lives.
“Well, clearly, there is something going on in that house. First, the son; now, the parents are divorcing. It’s a shame because Veronica was so smart. She was really going places.”
“Victoria,” Annie corrected as they pulled into the church parking lot sitting off to the side of a large white weathered steepled building—the historic sanctuary of the church Annie had grown up attending.
“Who’s Victoria?” her mom asked as she navigated the SUV into a tight parking spot designed for much narrower cars.
“Victoria Jefferson. You keep calling her Veronica. That’s not her name,” Annie replied, her annoyance growing. If you’re going to gossip about her family, you could at least have the decency to learn their names, she added in her head.
“Same thing.” Her mom waved an impatient hand while throwing the car into park. “Oh, good, your sister is already here,” she commented, spotting her car.
Annie inhaled deeply, mentally preparing herself for all the socializing she was about to walk into—socializing that came with unspoken rules and expectations.
She followed her mom across the parking lot filled with expensive SUVs and flashy sedans to the double doors flanking the much newer, much more modern addition to the original church sanctuary.
Inside, congregation members milled about in the pre-service ritual of squeezing in as many bragging points as possible before entering the sanctuary to pretend to humble themselves before the Lord.
The level of hypocrisy was truly astounding.
A breathy voice called their names almost immediately as Annie’s sister Avery stepped into view, her auburn hair a direct contrast to the three tiny blond humans in tow.
“Mom, Annie, good. You’re here. Can you take him?
Isla had a blowout, and someone is being a little C-L-I-N-G-Y,” Avery said, already thrusting her squirming son towards Annie, glancing down at her daughter, Charlotte.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Annie said, as if she had a choice in the matter.
She reached out to take Theo from her sister, resting the two-year-old on her hip.
“Hello, sir.” She took her nephew’s hand in hers—big mistake—fingers meeting a stickiness synonymous with toddlers.
“Why are your hands sticky?” she asked playfully as Theo crinkled his nose, smiling shyly, nuzzling against her shoulder.
She caught the glint of light in Avery’s gaze as they flashed over her. “Why are you in jeans?” she asked with the same tone her mother had carried earlier.
“That’s what I said,” her mom added with an exasperated sigh.
“What’s everybody got against jeans all of a sudden?” Annie shrugged. “That’s right, Theo, it doesn’t matter what you wear as long as you feel good.”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Brett has a pew saved for us,” she said, continuing towards the bathroom.
“How about you and I go find your daddy?” Annie cooed to Theo.
“I’ll be there in a minute. I need to say hello to a few ladies from the club,” her mom said, a fake smile in place as she waved to a group of women across the hall.
Annie made her way through the sanctuary doors, the scent of the familiar building instantly hitting her, a feeling she could only describe as old.
She spotted Brett sitting halfway between the front and the exit. “Delivery of one small, sticky, prodigal son,” she said, dumping Theo into her brother-in-law’s lap.
“Gross. I’m sorry about that, Annie. I’ve got hand sanitizer and wipes somewhere,” Brett said, one hand holding Theo in place, the other rummaging in the diaper bag before producing a package of wipes that Annie gratefully took, stepping past him into the pew.
“How the heck are you? Haven’t seen you since you—uh—got back. ”
Annie froze, wondering where Brett was going with this.
He lowered his voice before continuing. “Avery told me you and Caroline were taking some space from each other, and I get it… We’ve all been there. Just know things get better.”
Annie stood there quietly stunned because, what!? Taking space? Her and Caroline? “You know we broke up, right? Like, done. Forever,” she bit back bitterly, perhaps a tad more than was necessary considering that this was Brett of all people.