Chapter Sixteen

Nina

Sunday night comes, and I am ready to call it a week. And it's been a great week. From serving up breakfasts to marshmallows in the moonlight, I have spent the better portion of each day at the ranch—and I love it! Brayden had told me I didn't have to stay for dinner activities and beyond, but he never argued when I did. Besides, what would I do at home? Sit in my room and hide from Jordy?

Because that's what I'm doing tonight.

I still haven't seen much of Jordy since she moved in. It's like we're moving around each other's schedules on purpose. Maybe we are. I haven't made an effort to check in on her, but she hasn't said two words to me. Once she got a copy of the house key, the pleasantries stopped, and I was met every day by her closed bedroom door.

But it's more than that. I have spent the whole week with Brayden, crushing on him, enjoying the way his eyes linger on me, fantasizing about how his hands would feel under my shirt, sliding up my legs, nestling between my thighs… I am so attracted to this man, I can't tell if he's attracted too, or if I just need him to be.

Then there's still the fact that he's engaged to my cousin. I might feel overwhelmed by the idea of him, but at the end of the day, he's telling Jordy he loves her and making her promises about their future.

Thank fuck he hasn't slept over here yet. In fact, I have no idea if they've spent any time together at all. What I do know is that he hasn't set foot in this house since he helped move Jordy in. I also know that the day he does, I will literally die.

Why didn't I think this through before I let her move in, and before I took the job at the Winters ranch? I am setting myself up for a fabulous fall, and it's not going to be pretty when it happens.

I'm full after tonight's barbecue, but I still snack mindlessly on a bag of cheese-dusted chips while scrolling Netflix on my computer, searching for something to watch. I'm interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Nina?"

Her voice is a question I'm not sure I want to answer. But still, I mute my computer, slide off my bed, and drag myself to the door. When I open it, she looks as reluctant as me.

"So, um, how did your first week go?"

"Fine." I start to close the door, but she blocks it with her foot. I open it, looking down at her slipper. Hell, she even wears designer slippers with a label.

"Sorry," she says, pulling her foot back. "I was just thinking we could, I don't know…"

She's stalling, and I'm getting impatient, and all of this is so weird.

"I have a show on," I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice, but hinting for her to hurry up .

"I was looking through some old photos," she blurts out. "Ones of us when we used to stay at Nanna Dot's, back when we were just kids. It got me thinking about how close we once were, and how much things have changed since then. I don't know you anymore, and you don't know me, and there are so many things I think both of us could do to…" She pauses, then rolls her eyes. "Look, I know things are weird between us still. I feel it, and I know you do too. I've been avoiding you because I don't even know what to say. But we live together now. We used to have some of the best times together. I guess I thought we could try to rekindle some of that."

I sigh. She's trying, I know she is. But I still have so much resentment. I can't stop thinking about how she believed so many of our mothers' lies without talking with me.

Maybe it's because I've spent a week with her fiancé, and it's completely fucking with my head.

Maybe it's because I still love her, and the lingering dregs of our feud is tiresome and old.

"Fine. Whatever." I open the door a little wider. She grins, then gestures toward downstairs.

"I thought we could start with raiding Nanna Dot's liquor cabinet and just talk. No agenda. We don't even need to bring up the past. But I want to get to know you again, and I sure would love for you to get to know me." She crinkles her eyebrows, raising them with an expression of hope. And even though I'd been pretty set to stay in my room for the rest of the night, I relax into something that must look like acceptance. She beams at me, making room for me to join her in the hall.

When I reach downstairs, I realize just how much I've been gone. It seems I haven't noticed all the things she's changed down here. The living room no longer has mountains of laundry on the couch or piles of junk mail and bills on the curio. Instead, the colorful couch has new throw pillows and a fluffy blanket laid over the back, both in stark white. There are new plants in the corners of the room and by the tall floor to ceiling windows. On the curio are three bouquets, all with white pom flowers that send a message of cheerfulness. It used to feel dark in here, but somehow she's made it feel light and airy.

But I'm seeing red. This is not her house, it's mine, and she never even asked if she could do any of this.

"What did you do to my house?" I demand. I don't miss the way the words hit her right in the gut, the way she winces before hiding behind her usual mask of haughty loathing. "Where are all my things?"

She's frozen in place, her mouth hanging open at my outburst—and fuck, I feel bad. I actually feel bad. To be fair, the place looks so much better than before, and I know I'm being a bitch. But then she shakes her head.

"You know what? Never mind. I was stupid for even trying to be civil or do you a favor with this dump." She crosses the room and yanks open a closet. "Here's where all your clothes are, neatly pressed and hanging instead of dying in a mountain on the couch." She points to a shelf on the curio, which is also neatly organized with books and a filing container. She takes the container out and thrusts it at me so that I can see the few bills that are there. "I threw the junk mail away, unless you're really interested in buy three get one free tires. They're still in the recycling if you want to throw it all over the place like you usually do."

She storms into the kitchen while I place the bill file on the curio.

"Put it back where it belongs," she yells over her shoulder.

"You're not my mom," I yell back, but I also pick it up and place it on the shelf next to the books. I honestly wonder how I'll remember to pay any of them now that they're out of sight. She's totally ruining my filing system, which is to leave out anything I don't want to forget about. Well, we'll see how pleased she is when the electricity is shut off from non-payment.

I march into the kitchen to tell her so, but then stop at the threshold and look around. The counters are cleared. The microwave has been moved to a more open spot and out of the way. The kitchen table is completely cleared off and the window has brand new curtains that give the room a fresh look. In fact, the whole room looks fresh as a whole and almost more spacious. On the kitchen island is every single bottle of alcohol Nanna Dot owned, a dust rag next to them. I can see she's been wiping them down, judging by the clean bottles on one side and the still grimy ones on the other.

"So, you not only think you own the place, but you also think you can drink all of Nanna's booze? Well fine, Jordy. Get good and drunk, it always worked for your mom."

"Fuck you, Nina."

I want to be pleased that I got to her, that I broke through her icy exterior. But this time, the wounded expression on her face remains.

I broke the unspoken rule. I hit her in a place I already knew was raw. I took something she confided in me when we were young, and I used it against her. I remember all the times she'd escaped the house after her mom had a few too many, picking me up on the way so we could spend the weekend at Nanna Dot's. It was ironic since Nanna aided and abetted us in underage drinking. "As long as it's in my house, and nowhere else," she'd say, and we'd promise—though I broke that rule at so many high school parties. But on those weekends, Jordy sipped her drinks slowly, then confided in me after the lights went out about the things her mom called her when she was drunk. The way Aunt Lil yelled at Uncle Dan, threatening divorce. The tears, the complete chaos, the way even a pillow over her ears couldn't drown out Aunt Lil's drunken tirades .

I owe her an apology. It doesn't matter that we've been enemies for years, we were friends once, and we told each other things that we never told anyone else. No matter what's happened since, neither one of us has used those confidences as weapons.

Until now.

I lower my gaze to the ground, the apology sticking in my throat. I can't seem to utter the words. So instead, I shuffle over to the island and pick up the bottle of whisky that Nanna Dot always used for Midnight Manhattans. I look at her, but she turns away abruptly, bringing one of the bottles with her to the sink as if she can't be near me. She runs the water while I busy myself with the appropriate ingredients. Nanna always used her favorite whisky glasses, so I retrieve those from the neatly straightened cupboard. It's obvious Jordy worked hard in here, and I never even noticed because I'd been at the ranch during waking hours, and in the kitchen only long enough to get my coffee and go. How long had it been this way? How long did this take her?

"That was shitty of me to say," I finally utter. She stops washing but keeps her back to me. The words are right there, and I can either swallow them forever or be the one with the olive branch. "I'm sorry."

Jordy turns and I hold out a Manhattan. She eyes it, and I see the corner of her mouth twitch.

"Is it poisoned?" she asks softly, then smiles at the joke. I smile back cautiously, still holding it out.

"Guess you'll have to find out."

She takes it, holding it in her hands like she's not sure what to do with it. So I move my glass towards hers, the silvery clink filling the spotless room with the sound of amends. Then, holding her gaze, I take a sip. She does the same.

"You still do that," she says, her eyes crinkling before she takes another sip.

"If you don't hold eye contact, you'll suffer seven years of bad sex. You know that."

At this, she lets go and laughs out loud—and I do too.

Two hours and half a bottle of whisky later, we're huddled over Nanna Dot's old photos and laughing more than I've laughed in years. The past floods into the present as we point out how dorky we were wearing Nanna's smocks and muumuus, as if they were costume pieces and not her everyday clothes. When we were younger, we used to put on these theatrical performances that were mostly made up on the fly, even though we'd whispered ideas beforehand. Our parents would wear these stupid canned smiles that we later realized were their way of humoring two gauche and gawky girls. But Nanna Dot's smile was real, as was the way she clapped her hands and exclaimed. Even when I fell during the dance performance and pretended it was part of the act. Even when Jordy's voice wobbled and cracked during her musical solo.

"We should call that talent agency," I once heard Nanna Dot whisper to my mom and Aunt Lil. "You know, the one that gets kids in commercials or on the Disney Channel. Or maybe dance and acting classes to refine their skills. Agents would fall all over themselves with natural talent like your girls."

"Holy shit, we were awful," Jordy says now, picking up a photo of us in Easter bonnets and long nightgowns. She breaks into a bad imitation of the song we made up for this performance. "I'm like a flower in May, on a bright sunny day, hoping you'll stay if you come my way."

"Oh man," I groan. "Why did we ever think we were any good?" I sip my whisky, then nod at Jordy. "At least you improved with lessons. How did you convince your mom?"

"I didn't," Jordy says. "When my mom said we didn't have time or money for something like that, Nanna Dot signed me up for classes anyway and drove up to Santa Barbara every week to take me."

I'm not sure what to say to this. It's the first I'm hearing of it. Why didn't Nanna Dot do the same for me when she knew I loved performing just as much as Jordy. When I was right here in Sunset Bay?

"Shit, Nina. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"It's fine," I say. But it's not fine. This information has chipped the relationship I thought I shared with Nanna Dot, like the first chip in the holiday China. I had always assumed I was Nanna's favorite, though I never said it out loud—but come on, I lived with her. Jordy came over all the time, but I was here every day. Nanna and I had our secrets, our late evening talks. I knew her routine by heart, and she knew mine. I knew the messages behind every expression on her face. I even knew the way she took her coffee every morning—two teaspoons of sugar, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and a drop of vanilla, finished with a splash of cream and stirred exactly three times.

I knew Nanna Dot—or at least I thought I did.

"She got you horseback riding lessons," Jordy continues, making me realize I haven't rearranged the disappointment in my face. She's not even mentioning the inheritance, which is kind of her. I have no right to feel this bitter, but between the whisky dullness in my brain and the suddenness of this new information, I'm vibrating with jealousy.

"That was years later," I say, my jaw aching from how clenched it is. I get that fair is fair and all that shit—but it's not fair. We both wanted to sing and act, but apparently Nanna Dot only saw potential in one of us. "And you know why? Because Nanna Dot thought I needed something to take my mind off being raped by the high school football captain and his friends, not because I had any talent."

The words are out of my mouth before I've even had time to process what I'm saying. Then they freeze between us as reality hits us like shit on a fan.

"What did you say?" Jordy asks, as I say, "Holy fuck," at the same time.

"Holy hell, Nina. You were…" She pauses, and I can see her doing the math. "That's why you moved in with Nanna and started homeschooling," she murmurs. "And why you stopped talking to me about anything. It's why we drifted apart."

"Oh sure, blame me," I spit out. "As if you didn't believe every lie our mothers told you about my relationship with Nanna Dot."

"That's not what I—"

But I wave her words away. I know she didn't mean it, but I feel viperish, ready to strike. I swig at my whisky, relishing the way it rakes over my throat like peroxide on a skinned knee.

"My mom suggested I live here to heal," I continue. "But really it was because she couldn't look at her damaged daughter anymore. When Nanna Dot died and left me everything, my mom had the audacity to tell everyone I'd manipulated an old lady into writing her daughters out of her will, even though she knew why I was here, and why I stayed. But she didn't know anything about the nightmares, or how I couldn't even leave the house. My mom didn't know how my screams woke Nanna every night, keeping both of us up." I take a deep sob of a breath, realizing that I'm crying. With shaky hands, I swipe at my nose, trying to anchor the air I can't catch. "I didn't even want the money," I say. "I wanted Nanna Dot because she was the only one who cared about me. But now I find out that she was paying for you to be something great. She never did that for me."

"Nanna Dot loved you," Jordy says.

I huff out a laugh. "I know," I say. "That's not a doubt. But she saw me as a caged bird while you were a swan. She kept me safe, but she invested in your future."

"Really? You have millions in your bank account and live in one of the biggest homes in Sunset Bay, and you're crying because Nanna Dot didn't send you to acting and singing lessons?"

It really is ridiculous. I sound like a spoiled brat right now, squatting in a mansion with all the money in the world. But it's not about the money, and I tell her as much.

"She saw something in you that she didn't see in me," I finally say. "That's what hurts."

We're quiet for a moment. Jordy plays with her empty glass. I'm feeling drunk enough to know I don't want more. Instead, I go to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, and after a moment, I pour one for her too.

"Thank you," she says when I place it in front of her. She takes a sip, the silence in the room as loud as the silence of the past few years. "It wasn't what you think," she finally says. "Yes, Nanna offered. But I don't think it had anything to do with me. There was always weird energy between Nanna and my mom, as if Nanna could never do enough for us. My mom was constantly crying poor, but we had money. At least, we lived comfortably enough. But whenever Nanna was around, Mom would go on and on about how much we were struggling, and how I was growing out of my clothes so fast. When Nanna mentioned a talent agency, my mom laughed in her face, said she was working too hard to cart me around. Besides, there wasn't enough money for classes or costumes or any beauty treatments I'd likely need for something like that. So Nanna took care of it, and soon she was driving hours every week, sometimes a few times a week, just so I could go to these classes."

She places her glass on the center island and looks me in the eye. "But Nina, I hated it. All of it. There was so much to learn, and I wasn't any good. I was surrounded by professional actors, most of them younger than me, who seemed to be made for the stage. But I would forget my lines, my voice would crack, and I had absolutely no coordination. And once my mom got into it, everything got worse. The pressure I felt in the lessons was now at home since my mom made me practice every free minute of the day. Soon, it wasn't just acting and dancing, but singing and piano too. She saw me as our family's answer to escape poverty, even though we were far from poor. But no matter what I did, I wasn't good enough."

Hearing this, I'm almost glad Nanna didn't choose me. I could almost imagine the strict diets my mom would have forced on me. Well, stricter, at least.

"It doesn't really matter what we do, our moms will never think we're good enough," I muse. Jordy holds her glass out to me, and I tap it with my own in a toast.

"Ain't that the truth," she says. "Imagine what it was like when I got pregnant."

"Wait, what? You were pregnant?"

"You didn't know?" She shakes her head. "Shit, of course you didn't. Your mom knew, but my mom made me keep it a secret from everyone else, especially from Nanna Dot. As if getting pregnant without getting married is some huge sin in this day and age."

"But when? What happened?" I'm crossing and uncrossing my fingers, hoping it was years ago.

"I was pregnant when Nanna Dot died," she says, and I feel the air leave my lungs while the walls cave in. "I lost the baby a few days later, just before the funeral."

The memory of that day exists behind a layer of fog. I was a ghost of a girl, barely able to function in the wake of the loss of my grandmother. I do remember Jordy, standing next to her mother in a shapeless black dress, her face puffy from crying. Or maybe from the baby she'd just lost …

But more than anything is the realization that this was Brayden's baby too. That Jordy and Brayden are not just some casual couple who aren't meant to be together. No, they were going to be parents, to raise a child together. It makes my feelings for him seem immature and childish.

And wrong.

I set my water down and take Jordy's hands in mine. "I'm so sorry," I say.

"I'm sorry to you too. I wish I'd known what you were going through back then. I would have been there for you. I would have helped, or at least listened. When Nanna died, I knew how close you were to her. I was jealous." She closes her eyes, but not before a tear escapes. "And then the baby." She breaks into sobs, and I squeeze her hands tighter.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, my thumb grazing over her hand.

"The funny thing is, I never even wanted kids. Not ever. Brayden did, and a part of me knew that being with him meant one of us would have to give something up. When I got pregnant, I just figured it was meant to be me. He was so happy, he proposed and everything."

My eyes immediately fly to the ring on her finger, that huge carat diamond on her tiny finger. Now that I know the story behind that ring, I just want to crawl inside myself and die.

"I was about seven months along when it happened. Her name was Violet. You know, to continue with Nanna's flower naming ritual."

Violet, like Aunt Lily or my mom, Poppy.

Our mothers had rejected this naming convention when they had us. I never really thought of this before, but now I can't help wondering why. Antonina is a mouthful of a name, and Nina is so unoriginal, it literally means "girl." Jordan would have been Jordy's name whether she was a girl or a boy, and is also nothing like a flower.

If I ever have a kid, I make a vow to find my own flower name. Or maybe nature names, like Olive or Juniper. Anything to make Nanna Dot smile, if she's still looking in on us.

I'm still stuck on the reality that they were going to have a kid. She would have been my niece. If I hadn't met Brayden that very first night, would I have fallen for him with my niece in his arms? Would I dream of kissing him if he were already married to Jordy?

"Is that why your engagement has been so long?" I ask, hating to even ask about it. I don't want to know anything.

Jordy looks at her ring, and a wave of sadness washes over her face.

"I guess I'm not really sure what I want," she says. "And I don't think Brayden does either. He asked me when I was still pregnant, and our plan had been to get married a few months after she was born so that I could wear the wedding dress I wanted. But then we lost her. So we just pushed off the wedding plans, and we never picked them up again." She looks at me then, and winces. "Sometimes it feels like we're no longer in love, just going through the motions."

"What do you mean? I thought you two were crazy about each other?" But even as I say it, I recognize a few things I've overlooked. Like how she's never at the ranch, even though I'm sure she has time, and Brayden has never been in our house.

"I don't know," she says, then waves her hand as if to erase her words. "I guess things cool down when relationships leave the honeymoon phase. I thought it might feel better when I moved here, but maybe my expectations are too high."

There is a war going on inside me. One part of me wants to tell her to break things off now, opening the door for me to swoop in. But the other part—a very small but insistent part—reminds me that even if they broke up, I can't be with Brayden. Not when he was hers first. Even I'm aware of the family line that crosses.

But more than all that, I think of the child they lost. What if Brayden wants to try again with Jordy?

"Well, the two of you just need time," I finally force out. "Maybe take him out on a date or something, or get away on his days off."

"Maybe," she says. She swirls her water, almost like she's swirling whisky. Then she smiles at me. "Yeah, maybe. We've both been so busy, it would probably do us good to get away."

My heart aches at this. Why did I even suggest it? But then again, it would have happened eventually anyway. Them going away, or her staying at the ranch, or heaven forbid, Brayden spending the night here while I slept alone upstairs.

"I guess I just feel bad," she says thoughtfully. "I mean, Brayden was so excited to be a dad. He was ready to dive right in and talked about so many plans."

"Well, you lost the baby too," I point out. "It was both of your loss."

"Yeah, but I never really wanted children. I mean, I would have had one, maybe two, for Brayden. But only for him and now that I can't have any..."

"Wait. Like…ever?" I'm reeling from this. "Oh Jordy, I'm so sorry." My heart hurts for Jordy, but I'm also thinking of Brayden. I don't know how he feels about kids, but now that I know they can't have them, I feel like it doesn't make sense. I can't help thinking he'd make a great father.

"We lost Violet because my uterus can't handle a child," Jordy says. "If I were to get pregnant again, I'd not only lose the child, but I could also die. They tied my tubes to ensure I'll never get pregnant again."

Poor Brayden .

"Poor you," I say. "What about adoption? Or even surrogacy? You could have a kid that's still yours but could just grow in another woman's body. Have you thought about it."

"That's an idea," she says. But her voice tells me she's no longer on that page at all.

I look at the ring on her finger. Brayden gave her that when she was carrying his child. But now?

It's not her fault she can't have kids, but she's not even sure if they're in love anymore…if she loves him. So why is she still holding on to him? She's making him upend his life for her dream, dragging him across the country and away from his family. And for what?

I want so badly to tell her to dump Brayden. But I can't. I have so many feelings about this, and all of them point to me. I'm afraid if I say anything, it will reveal how I feel about Brayden, and how much I wish I were the one wearing his ring and having his babies and being a part of his ranch dream.

"I'm sure the two of you will figure this out," I finally say. But inside, I swallow my longing, the insatiable hunger that's growing by the day—and will never be satisfied.