His gives me a ragged look so raw that I know I hit the nerve I’m aiming for.
“Quit deflecting your own power issues onto me!” I continue. “You and Andrew compete because you feel like you don’t have as much power as you should—so go out and find it! Find your own damn power, Declan, but quit acting like I’m screwed up because I’m having a hard time adjusting to a life that I didn’t realize I was signing up for.”
My legs unstick, and I storm to the door, opening it.
“Where are you going?” His question is menacing, laden with a threat that says I don’t have the right to leave, with that golden authority I admire in him, until moments like this.
“Out. For coffee,” I add, turning around. “NEXT DOOR! I’m going to go find my self-worth one damn latte at a time!”
And with that, I slam the door.
With all the power I can muster.
* * *
“I don’t understand,” Mom says as I sob into a Grind It Fresh! triple breve with cinnamon and ground Madagascar vanilla beans sprinkled on the New Zealand whipped cream top. “You got into a fight because you don’t want goats to go to African villages?”
I texted Amanda in the elevator, and she came rushing over to Grind It Fresh! to commiserate. Sadly, Mom saw her as she walked past the poker table where Mom’s been butchering hands. She followed. Amanda was too worried to notice the tail.
My ability to process anything is hampered by the massive fight I just had with my almost-husband.
“I can’t!” I huff, looking at Amanda, who translates my words into Momspeak.
“They got into a fight because Declan is using Shannon as a pawn in his fight for dominance with Andrew.”
“Oh. Now I understand. Just say ‘it’s because they’re men,’ honey—that’s shorthand.” Mom takes a drink of her half-caf mocha and sighs. “This coffee is bliss.” She gives me an evaluative look. “Does this mean you and Declan broke up? Because if so, I might need to text someone at the networks.”
“You’re feeding information to the press?”
“James says Anterdec’s getting a ton of interest and new financial boosts from all the news about the runaway bride! I knew my plan was genius.”
“Your plan?” Amanda and I say in unison.
“Well,” she falters, going silent. I can only imagine what she’s been feeding the press. As long as it’s not Minion boobs, we’re good.
“He was really angry.”
“So were you,” Amanda points out. “And rightly so! I think the whole Andrew-Declan one-upmanship contest is getting out of hand. Did I tell you he’s taking me on a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon and afterwards we’re going to Mexico to see the solar panels he’s donating to schools on coffee farms?”
“Oh, come on!” I groan. “They’re competing to see who can be more philanthropic? As if that’s the measure of who is the better man? Giving to charity doesn’t count if you’re doing it to win a contest.”
“It’s better than the giant jewels they’ve been giving us.”
Mom’s eyes narrow to slits. “Giant jewels?”
“Right,” I say flatly, drinking more.
“That’s not a euphemism for their penises, right?”
“MOM!”
“MARIE!”
“You know,” I point out, “you weren’t originally invited for coffee with us.”
“I wasn’t invited to Vegas, either,” she says, forlorn, her lower lip starting to tremble. Dad’s story about Grandma Celeste feels like someone dropped a chunk of concrete on my heart from a Mass Pike overpass.
“Do you understand why Shannon and Declan escaped the wedding, Marie?” Amanda asks, her voice going low, her hand on Mom’s free hand on the table.
“Because I invited Jessica Coffin.”
“And why did you invite Jessica Coffin?”
“Because she controls the society pages and trends for Boston.”
“And why was it important to have the wedding in those—”
I brush my hand against Amanda’s knee and give her a look. “I can take it from here,” I say.
She blinks rapidly, but recedes. “You sure? You were ready to drown her in whale sperm the other day.”
The waitress happens to deliver a new round of lattes and French macarons at that exact moment and gives us a freaked-out look, hurrying off after emptying her tray.
“I’m sure.”
Amanda gives me a big hug and whispers, “It’ll be fine.”
“I know. I’ll call you if I need help moving the body.”
She looks at Marie and laughs. “No,” she says, turning back to me. “I mean with Declan. I’ve never met two people more perfect for each other, and he loves you like crazy. Andrew says so.”
“I think you and Andrew are pretty close in the ‘perfect for each other’ department.”
“We don’t have the history you and Dec have. Go talk to him. Work it out.”
“We will. I just—I need time. Space.”
“I’ve got this, Amanda,” Mom says. “Don’t worry. Shannon’s got her mommy now and everything’s going to be just fine.”
Don’t leave me, I mouth.
As Amanda gives me an apologetic look, her eyes dart over my shoulder and narrow suddenly, telescoping like a big game hunter spotting a target. Amanda’s head turns, her hair brushing against her jaw, those big, round brown eyes turning into evaluative slits.