“You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through.” The drooping eye twitched as Tiffany’s voice rose up another register. “I was beautiful. I was important. And you were nothing. A castoff. You got lucky, and they call you a hero. Why do you think people buy that crap you make?
“You’re sorry? You should be dead. I’ve waited twelve years to tell you exactly that.” “Now you have.” “It’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough.” As Tiffany stormed out, Simone thought: Her left shoulder’s just a fraction lower than her right. Then went into the stall and threw up the fancy salad and Kir Royale. When she got back to the table, her mother and sister had their heads together, laughing. “I’m sorry. I need to go.” “Oh, Simone, we just ordered dessert.” Natalie reached up for her hand. “I’m sorry.” How many times would she say that today? she wondered. “Just because we disagree doesn’t—” Tulip’s quiet tirade stopped in midstream. “Simone, you’re white as a sheet.” “I’m not feeling well. I—” Tulip got up quickly, rounded the table. “You sit. Sit a minute. I’ll get you some fresh water.” “This is fine.” Water, she thought. Yes, some water. But her hand trembled a little. “Honestly, I need to go. A little air.” “Yes. Some air. Natalie, stay here. I’m going to walk your sister outside.” She slid her arm around Simone’s waist. “We’ll get our coats. I have the check.” Smooth, efficient Tulip retrieved their coats, helped Simone into hers. “Take my beret. You should have worn a hat.” She steered Simone out to a patio festively decorated for the holidays. “Now tell me what happened.” “It’s nothing. Just a headache.” “Don’t lie to me. Give me some credit for knowing my own child. Give me some respect.” “I’m sorry.” There it was again. “You’re right. I need to walk. I need to breathe.” “We’ll walk. You’ll breathe. And you’ll tell me what happened.” “In the restroom. Tiffany Bryce.” “Do we know her?” “I went to school with her. She was in the theater that night.” “Of course. I know her stepmother a little. She—they—have had a very difficult time.” “Yes. She told me.” “I know it’s hard for you to be reminded, but—” “She blames me.” “What?” Absently, Tulip brushed at her hair as the wind disturbed it. “Of course she doesn’t.” “She does, and she made that clear. She got shot in the face. I didn’t. Nothing happened to me.” “It happened to all of us, whether or not we were physically injured. All of us.” Now she gripped Simone’s hand. “What did she say to you, sweetie?” “She gave me a recount of her injuries, harangued me for not having any. And told me I should’ve died. That she wished I had.” “I don’t care what happened to her, she had no right to say that. It’s very likely she would have died without what you did that night.” “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that. I don’t want to be thought of that way.” “You were brave and you were smart, and don’t you ever, ever forget it.” She took Simone by the shoulders. “That girl’s bitter and angry, and I can forgive that. But what she said to you is wrong and hateful. You said in there you wouldn’t disappoint or embarrass me. Don’t disappoint me now and take one single thing she said to heart.” “I hated her. That night, before, when she came in with Trent, so smug and dismissive of me. I hated her. And now…” “Now you’ve grown up, and she, obviously, hasn’t changed a bit. Not everyone changes, Simone. Not everyone can move through and beyond a tragedy.” Simone let her head drop to her mother’s shoulder. “Sometimes I’m still stuck there. In that bathroom stall.” “Then—God, I’m going to sound like my mother—open the door. You have, and you’ll keep opening it. Even if I don’t like where it takes you. I love you, Simone. Maybe that’s why you constantly exasperate me. I mean, honestly, why do you do that to your hair?” Simone managed a watery laugh. “You’re bringing up my hair to take my mind off the rest.” “That may be, but I still can’t understand why you’d chop it off and dye it hellfire red.” “I must’ve been in a hellfire mood when I did.” She drew back, then kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you. I’m better, but I don’t want to go back in. I couldn’t face dessert anyway.” “Are you well enough to drive?” “Yeah. Don’t worry.” “I will, so you’ll text me when you’re at your grandmother’s.” “Okay. Tell Nat—” “I intend to tell Natalie exactly what happened so we can gossip about that stupid, ugly woman over dessert and coffee.” This time the laugh came easier. “I love you, Mom. That must be why you constantly exasperate me.” “I’ll give you one touché. Your color’s better. Text me—and have CiCi make you one of her crazy teas.” “I will.” Rather than go through the club, she walked around the building to her car. She hadn’t wanted to come, she thought, and couldn’t claim she’d had a good time of it. But she could be glad she’d come. However strange and awful, the fences got mended, and they felt stronger for it now. Maybe they could keep them that way awhile.