Chapter 2

• "No," I groaned, rubbing my eye sockets with the heels of my palms. "All I have left is my pride."
• "You sure you still got that?" Pete drawled scornfully.
• "Ha-ha. Fuck you."
• No thanks, Klaus. And as a side note, your standards have really slipped the last few years. Incest is not cute kink."
• "Shuddup, shuddup, shuddup." I mashed my gas pedal, wishing someone dead.
• "We're going to need someone to remain in our New York apartment," Timothy steamrolled on, oblivious to our shenanigans. "Why don't you do it? You've always wanted to live in New York."
• Yes, but before.
• Before I knew I'd never go to college.
• Before I got pregnant and had a child at twenty-three.
• Before the baby daddy dumped me in public for the crooked town mayor, with whom he'd been carrying on an affair.
• "Dude, what are you talking about? I can't afford life in New York." I laughed cruelly.
• Suppose there is something to pay for?" Pete cut in, his voice black, gruff, and forever sneering. "We will employ someone regardless. You'll not pay rent, because you'll live with us in our flat. For food, they'll bring that to your front door twice weekly. You only need to clean the fridge and the pantry. Utilities are free too. I'll add in some admin to do and have you on company payroll—
• "No." A frightened squeak fought its way past my larynx. "I don't want to be one of your nepo hires." Ambrose "Pete" Mikasa disliked nearly everyone, so when he found someone he didn't quite hate, he would hire them in a heartbeat. That had been the case with how he'd worked with his childhood friend, Flinn, for five years before they went their separate ways. It was why he got along with his business partner, Shane.
• Why he employed Mama to work as a "social media influencer" for the bonkers figure of $250K a year, without even having Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, or X accounts.
• "I don't know how to say this, Klaus, but your life circumstances mean you can't have this kind of ego," Pete said sardonically. "Take the job."
• Timothy gasped, and I heard her slap him. "Pete, what an asshole."
• "Promise that I'll be able to say that tonight, later, and that I'll get her a new car to go along with the apartment," Pete whispered.
• Yup. I am never getting over this conversation.
• "I don't want your apartment in New York," I gritted out. "I couldn't afford childcare, and I'm not working a fake job and living a kept woman's life at twenty-six." I was not a sugar baby. I was making my own way in the world, even though I was doing a bad job at it.
• "You're being unreasonable and obstinate," Pete accused.
• "You're being rude and arrogant."
• Pete snorted. "That can't be news."
• "Your love is strangling me," I told him.
• "Your attitude is driving us all crazy," he shot back. "Please," Timothy jumped in. "Just…think about it, okay? You can look for work there. Maybe something in marketing?" she suggested cheerfully, and I felt my brother kissing his way down her skin once more, and my stomach rolled with a combination of anger, irritation, and frustration. "We'll figure something out with childcare for Grav. There are plenty of options. You need to get out of there, Klaus," Timothy whispered. "Your mission there is complete. Your mom no longer needs you.
• She's engaged, for crying out loud.
• It's time to take care of yourself."
• Fussier said than done. I had no idea how to do that. I'd never ever taken care of myself alone. I'd always given my life to someone else, either it was Mama or Gravity.
• No. I clenched my lower lip, calculating in my mind how much it was going to cost to fix Sam's bloodied door. "Now, if you don't mind, it's over ten minutes. They should have done by now. I need to go retire on my fainting couch."
• "If you mean the sofa in the conservatory…don't. Pete and I christened it the last time we slept over."
• "Timothy," I bellowed.
• "Also, the entire kitchen, guest bedroom, and all showers in the house," Pete said slowly. "Seriously, stay away from the entire fucking house if the idea of humans porking on its surfaces bothers you." I slammed the phone on the counter and screamed into the emptiness for two straight minutes. By the time I got home, Mama and Dean were no longer staging Fifty Shades of Grey Hair in the living room. Thank God for small blessings. The house was dark and quiet, aside from the buzzing of the fridge. I refilled my water glass, did the dishes in the sink, and went upstairs to Gravity's room. It was loved, with pink flowered pastel wallpaper, a toddler bed Dean had made himself and painted purple, her favorite color, and white bookshelves crammed with Grav's beloved books. It was messy, with science kits and LEGO spread out all over the shaggy carpet and her little desk, coloring books and traceable letters on every surface.
• I gave everything to Gravity.
• I wanted her to realize that she could be whatever she wanted.
• I went over to her bedside, my heart constricting my throat. Every shift I worked, every tip I brought home, I always thought of her. She added zest to my boring, uneventful, gray life.
• Gravity was the force that kept me down. The hard earth beneath my feet. Scooting down to peer at my beautiful girl, I push a rigid hickory curl behind her ear. Even her ear shells were flawless. A laugh bubbled in the depths of my stomach, twisting up before I swallowed it back. When Gravity was born, she looked like an angry old man. Now, she was beautiful—and the spitting image of her escape artist dad. The same smeared, curled eyelashes framed the most dramatic of eyes: green-yellow irises surrounded by dark blue rims. I followed the tip of my finger around the curve of her dignified, tipped nose, watching as her cherry-red lips curled into a small smile. What was she dreaming about?
• What would she be when she grew up?
• In my fantasies—the ones I allowed myself to have of late—I dreamed of kicking doors down one by one for her, helping her to reach these heights and goals her heart ever desired.
• Could I really provide her with all that here, in the small town of Staindrop, Maine? The same Staindrop that boasted one school, one daycare, no opportunities, and barely more than a handful of people? Even the new mall and sparkling hotel they built a few years ago hadn't made the quaint beach town more habitable than it was.
• What if Grav were to become like me, stuck in a situation she wasn't happy in, settling for what was present over what was possible?
• Bending down, I left a gentle kiss on her cheek, my breath caught so I wouldn't wake her. Sleep tight, my sweet baby, my heart sang. Mommy loves you. It was ridiculous, but the final straw that finished me off was when I bunched up my panties after twenty minutes to finally pee after eight hours. I was sitting on the toilet staring down at my frumpy beige cotton panties and I thought, "I don't even own panties in any other color than beige." And that I really didn't have lingerie. No fun clothes anymore.
• No heels I could wear out.
• No friends to go out with.
• My crumpled, cheap underwear was a perfect metaphor for my whole life. Pale, unimportant, an afterthought—something dull and miserable and practical. With a pang, I knew I wanted…well, more.undefinedLife wasn't black and white. Either glamorous Cannes fantasy adventures or drab, never-ending diner shifts and household tasks. I didn't have to live the life my luck conspired against me.