15. Birdie

Confession: My real name is Beatrice.

I looked out the window of Mara's living room. "You have got to be kidding me."

"What?" She looked up from her computer as she sat in her big, cushy writing chair, her topknot bobbing as she did. Mara was on a deadline, and I was pretty sure she hadn't showered, or left that chair, since Wednesday night. It was Saturday afternoon.

I opened the curtain further so she could see the sleek black limo waiting in her driveway. "I just got a text from my mother insisting I go to their cocktail party for my sister-in-law's gender reveal party. Who does that anyway? Throws a cocktail party for someone who can't drink?"

Mara looked up thoughtfully. "Maybe they'll serve mocktails?"

"Mara, help me! The driver is walking to the door!"

"What?" she said. "It's not like he can come in here and drag you there."

I let the curtains fall back. "No, but he'll report back, and before you know it, my mother will be on your doorstep."

Mara frowned. "It's funny, because it's true."

We both knew it wasn't funny.

"May be best just to get it over with?" she said with a shrug. "The food's usually pretty good at those things anyway."

I sighed and walked to the door. The driver was midway down the sidewalk when I opened it and said, "I'll be out in ten."

I shut the door and went back to the guest room, digging through the suitcases I still hadn't unpacked. Friday night, Mara and I had cracked open two bottles of wine and finished packing up the townhouse. I was officially out of there, and Rob was thrilled he could get a new tenant on a longer lease and charge more than what I'd been paying.

Unfortunately, that meant all of my things were in boxes and bags—a visual reminder of my uprooted life. I found the dress that would make my mother complain the least and shrugged it on. My hair was still done from yesterday, so I just spritzed on some extra perfume and left.

When I made it back to the living room, Mara was already back in the flow and hardly noticed me walking out the door. I didn't recognize the driver waiting by the limo, but it had been years since I'd had to be "delivered" to my parents' house. After letting me in, he drove with the privacy window up, and I sat uncomfortably in the back.

Years away from rich living had changed me. My parents' entire lifestyle seemed so unnecessary now. I could have sat just as happily in the back seat of an Uber. Or, you know, driven my own vehicle if I actually wanted to go.

But I couldn't, so I sat back and looked at my phone. It was blank, free of any notifications that actually mattered. Dax hadn't reached out since he moved, and I was so mad and humiliated by it, I never wanted to hear from him again. I went ahead and deleted his number, the text thread between us. And while I was at it, I cleared out apps I didn't actually need or use anymore, wishing all the while I had given Cohen my number. Wondering what he was doing.

The longer I spent away from Dax, the more I realized how small my circle had become since moving back to Emerson and sharing a home with him. I used to go out with girlfriends in college. One friend worked as a waitress and gave the rest of us free fries. Another worked in the bowling alley and would let us play gratis when the manager wasn't around. We didn't have much, but we had each other.

Now we all lived in different areas and had drifted apart. I'd been fine, I thought, because I had Dax and Mara. But that was only a false sense of security. Mara was the closest person to a soulmate I actually had, but she probably felt the same way about her laptop. I needed to put myself out there, make new friends.

Maybe meeting the person my mother had lined up for me wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Maybe I'd feel less lonely than I did now. And who knew? Maybe he felt the same way about wealth that I did—that it was meant to be shared instead of exalted and hoarded.

Although I knew my students would go on to do great things and likely accumulate wealth, I always stressed the importance of using money to do the right thing, not always the fun thing.

The limo slowed, and I brought my face closer to the tinted window so I could see where we were. My parents' mansion appeared, so large, so intimidating. How had I called it home for eighteen years? How had I ever been just another prep school student at Brentwood Academy, the rival to the school I now served?

As the car came to a stop, I scooted over and went to the door, opening it before the driver could get to me. He seemed perturbed by that, but was sure to shut it behind me.

No one else was entering the party, so I assumed Mother really had waited to see if I'd show before dragging me here.

I used the knocker to announce my presence, and a maid I didn't recognize let me in.

"Where's Elsa?" I asked her. Elsa had worked for my parents for as long as I could remember and probably even longer than that.

"Retired," the maid answered simply, taking my coat. Maids were to be seen and not heard in my parents' world, but Elsa had been like family to me, and I was done living by their rules.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She seemed taken aback by the question and stuttered, "Elaine?" She said it like a question, like she wasn't even confident in her own name.

"Nice to meet you, Elaine," I said with a bright smile and extended my hand.

She shook it timidly.

"Are you from around here?"

Shaking her head, she said, "I'm actually from Nevada. My husband's family lives here."

My mother's tsking sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Elaine, how many times have I told you that you are to be seen and not heard?"

See? I'm not making this stuff up.

"Yes, ma'am," Elaine whispered and scurried away.

I glared at my mother. "We were having a conversation."

That seemed to disappoint her just as much as my career choice. She grabbed my arm and steered me toward the backyard, where guests were sure to be congregating around the pool and bar. "Honestly, I don't know why you insist on treating them like you're on the same level."

"Mother." I stopped, and she paused, glancing around like she worried someone would see us.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "You're already late."

"Why did you want me to come here? We obviously don't have the same ideals. And you clearly don't like who I am now."

"Regardless of what you think, or how you behave"—she frowned and continued walking forward—"we are still family. You can't just decide not to be a Melrose anymore. Especially since you won't be marrying that vagrant."

"Vagrant?" I said.

I hadn't meant to be defensive of him; he certainly didn't deserve my defense. Maybe I just didn't want to admit to my mom how bad of a mistake I had made by placing my trust, and my heart, in Dax's hands.

Instead of responding, she continued toward the backyard, whispering, "Now, when you see Anthea, don't act surprised. She's gotten so big, and she's self-conscious about it."

I followed her, knowing it was easier to do what Mara said—get it over with. She opened the door to the backyard and led me through. "She's pregnant," I said back. "Isn't growing another human supposed to take up some extra space?"

"Not in your ass." She winked, then turned toward the cabana and waved. "Donald, she made it!"

My eyes flicked from my dad to the pool, which was colored a bright pink. "Anthea's having a girl?"

Mom nodded happily.

Dad lifted his martini glass at me from across the pool. "Want a drink?"

Did I ever. "Rum and Coke?"

"Great," he said, turning back toward the bartender. If that was the best greeting he could offer, I'd take it.

Despite myself, I looked around, trying to see who had come. There was the usual crowd from Brentwood and some of the wealthier families from Emerson. The Academies might have been rivals, but networking amongst the wealthy knew no bounds.

Mother was always trying to schmooze the richest of the rich at these parties. I noticed the Rush family, who were well-known in the gaming industry; the Bhattas, who owned a production company, and... great.

Pam Alexander stood next to her husband, chatting up another couple. She looked up, noticing us, and flashed a falsely warm smile.

Mother fell into the hostess role, walking us closer so she and Pam could exchange kisses on the cheek. I decided I would be professional, even if she acted like she'd melt if a drop of water landed on her.

"How are you, Pam?" Mother asked.

"Wonderful." She held up a fruity drink with an umbrella sticking out. "This is delicious. You must tell me the name of the service you use."

Mother put her hands out for Pam to take. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

They both cackled.

My ears were seconds from bleeding.

"Beatrice, is that you?"

I cringed. Only my mother and father and their colleagues called me that. I turned to see who it was and found a much more pleasant surprise.