“So, both daughters get his money.”
Yes, we do.
“Yep, and get this, Yvonne’s daughter is four years younger. Can you imagine being his first wife but getting the second child.”
What difference does it make? A child is a child.
“Do you think he cheated on both of them with each other?”
“Absolutely. I’m sure there are more kids out there, too, somewhere. Rich guys are all like that.”
I would love to get a look at your families. What are your fathers like?
“Wow, men are trash.”
My father wasn’t trash. They never knew him and probably never even heard him speak but felt so free to judge him.
“Right, but he was worth almost fifty billion dollars. I’m sure that’s how he made up for everything. All he had to do was say, “Honey, I’m so sorry. Here’s a diamond ring.’”
“Our dad apologized with real estate, not jewelry. Diamond rings are millionaire-level shit.” I knew that voice. “Odette, are you hiding?”
I stepped out to see two women hunched over the sink, eyes wide and terrified. “No, I was eavesdropping actually, waiting for the perfect time to strike, but you ruined it. What took you so long?”
“My mom was being difficult! Are you two just going to keep staring or what?” She directed the last part of her comments to the women beside us.
I waited for them to leave before moving to the sink. “We’re the talk of Seattle all over again.”
“We always have been. They love us. We’re like modern-day princesses,” she said, stepping up beside me, twirling her light-brown hair with her finger.
We were sisters, but that half really made a difference. While my skin was a warmer brown, hers was a light-brown, almost white. It was the same with our hair color—both were curly, though she straightened hers, and mine was dark brown and curly. Her eyes were like her mother’s, and mine were brown. She was petite while I was tall.
“Different, beautiful, opposite, perfect—”
“No better or worse than each other,” she finished and looked to me. “Dad always said he wasn’t good with words, but he sure knew exactly what to do to make us both feel good about ourselves.”
“Yep.” I sighed. “He never wanted us to be jealous of each other.”
“Never worked,” she admitted. “I mean, it could have if someone didn’t have to go and become some famous singer, too. Now I’m just the beautiful, amazing, smart, and fashionable girl living off Daddy’s money. Meanwhile, you have your whole career.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know, if you want to make me feel bad, don’t throw in so many compliments for yourself.”
She winked before spinning her whole body to me. “I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m just kidding—well, a little. How is the music coming along?”
“It would be a lot easier if our mothers weren’t at war.”
She sighed dramatically. “I know! When will they let it go?”
“Apparently, they plan to take this right to the grave.”
She laughed. “Can you imagine Dad having to sit there for the rest of eternity with both our moms on either side?”
I thought about it and broke out laughing with her. “Oh God, I can see him just sitting there with his hands on his face, begging for mercy.”
“With our moms just yelling into his ears,” she added, bending over with laughter. “He’d be so miserable.”
“Actually,” I managed to say as I wiped the corner of my eye. “I think deep down, some part of him would have enjoyed it in a way.”
“He wasn’t that twisted.”
“And yet, he somehow fell for both of our mothers?”
She thought about it. “Okay, maybe he was a little twisted. But you know what they say—there is a thin line between genius and madness.”
“I miss him.” I couldn’t believe it had been a year already.
“Me, too. He’d be pissed if he knew what was happening now. He never wanted us to fight with each other.”
“We aren’t fighting. Our moms are.”
“On our behalf,” she said. “I’ve been trying to stop her, but she just doesn’t listen. There is more than enough money for all of us.”
“We could threaten to both give it all up.” I smiled, and she stared at me in horror.
“I think you’re twisted, too! I want to be a good person, but not that good.”
“It’s not about being a good person. It’s about ending the drama.”
“Odette.” She hooked onto me. “Nothing ends the drama. Even if we gave it all away, they would still be at each other’s throats. All we have to do is remember we are sisters. We aren’t going to end up like some Lifetime movie.”
“Now that you’ve said it, that might be exactly how we end up.” I snickered, washing my hands.
“Don’t jinx us!”
“Ms. Wyntor.”
“Yes?” Both Augusta and I turned to look at the bathroom door as a woman rushed in.
“Umm...your mothers.”
Augusta and I shared a look before running out of the bathroom. We’d only gotten a few feet before we heard them loud and clear.
“You would think you’d have a little bit of shame! But you still call yourself Mrs. Wyntor!”
“Shame? What can I do with shame? Can I eat it? Can I wear it? Does it keep me warm at night? No. Then why the hell do I need it?” my mother yelled. “But since we are on the subject of shame, how much Botox do you plan to use in that face. Sweetie, let go and let gravity!”
“You insufferable, uneducated—”
“Mom, let’s go!” Augusta grabbed her.
“I’m insufferable? You’re a gold-digging—”
“Mom!” I rushed into the conference room, squeezing myself through to get to her side and calm her down.
“You know what Marvin did before he died?” Yvonne called from almost halfway out the door. “He apologized for ever marrying you! He said it was the biggest mistake of his life!”
My mother went quiet and suddenly became still.
Oh, shit. The only thing worse than my mom when she was arguing was my mom when she went calm.
“You’re lying, Yvonne, and it’s so sad. But I guess it doesn’t matter now. At least I’m not the mistake that killed him.”
The winner was my mother. Of course.
Yvonne stood there frozen, her jaw tight—most likely from that verbal slap across the face. It took her a second, but she just grabbed her clutch.
“We’re done here,” was all she said before marching out of the conference room with Augusta, as well as their lawyers, right behind her.
My mom took a deep breath, finally, and then sat down, leaning back into her chair.
“You crossed a line.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Odette? There are no lines in a ring. She punched, and I punched back. It’s not my fault she couldn’t take it,” she uttered gently, crossing her arms over her chest.
I looked away because, apparently, she needed a minute to get off her high horse. So, I faced Mr. Greensboro, who sat calmly, looking over the documents in front of him. He had handled her divorce, so I was sure he was used to her by now.