Unbreak My Heart (32 page)

To this day I wasn’t sure if living a totally different lifestyle in Wyoming was the best thing that’d ever happened to me or if my mother’s relocation to Paris and her having no influence on my decisions provided the catalyst I needed to change. The Sierra McKay who returned to Arizona to start college in no way resembled the Sierra Daniels who’d left Phoenix three years prior.

Thank god.

I’d come into my own during that time. I hadn’t done it alone; I could thank my dad, my new stepmom Rielle, my new sister Rory, the close connections I’d found with my new family and friends in Sundance, Wyoming. Even the heartbreak Boone West had brought about by leaving had helped transform me.

A transformation my mother hadn’t liked at all.

I’d grown self-confident enough in my years away from her that I’d hoped we could find common ground to reestablish a new, different mother-daughter relationship.

Then she’d fucked my boyfriend and thereby fucked any chance of being part of my life.

Four years later I was still good with that decision.

Which made me wonder why I was even here, waiting in
line
for the woman who’d given birth to me to acknowledge me.

She waited until she finished her conversation before signaling me to approach her.

“Mother. You look amazing.”

For that compliment I earned a somewhat sincere smile and the kiss-kiss cheek brush.

“Thank you, dear.” Before I could say anything else, she addressed the person in line behind me, with an effusive, “Joan! Darling, how are you?” dismissing me completely.

No surprise I practically skipped toward the bar.

I ordered Crown, but the snooty bartender informed me their top shelf whiskey was Jameson, so this event wasn’t starting out very promising.

“So kiddo, how long you think this phase will last?”

I faced Char, my mom’s best friend, the only other person who’d also suffered through years of the foibles of Ellen Bertrand Daniels. “I think she’s found the love of her life and her true identity.”

Char scowled. “With Bill?”

“No, with all of Bill’s
bills
.”

She snorted. “I think we’re both sitting in the back table. The crude friend and the daughter ain’t welcome in the prime seating areas.”

“It’s just as well. We’re closer to the bar.”

“Amen, sister.” She touched her bottle of Miller Lite to my lowball glass. “Did you tell Ellen not to invite you to this?”

“No. Why?”

“When I saw the guest list the first part of the week and you weren’t on it, I chewed her ass. Then I warned her if she didn’t invite you, I’d tell these snooty new friends of hers about the time she pissed in the birdbath at the Wrigley estate.” She flashed a mean grin. “I still may do that. But the point is, you’re her only kid. She oughta treat you better.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is, Char.”

“Well, she’s jealous of you, that’s what it is.”

“Right.”

Char leaned closer. “I’m serious, Sierra. She failed to turn you into a replica of her. She knows while she seeks validation and approval from all men, you only seek it from one man.” She swigged her beer. “Your father.”

Her insight didn’t surprise me as much as the fact she was still friends with a woman as insipid as my mother.

“Ellen and I have been through a lot over the years,” she started, which meant I’d voiced that comment out loud. “We’re friends more out of habit than anything. My invite to this shindig surprised the hell out of me. But Ellen needs to rub it in that she’s stepped up to a higher social standing. Sort of sad, when you think about it, because I’ve never given a shit about any of that.”

“You’re the only friend she hasn’t fucked over.”

“Oh, she’s fucked me over plenty of times. I forgave her mostly because I know I’m the only real friend she has left and I felt sorry for her. But I’m done.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “I say we leave with a bang, kiddo.”

And so it began.

Clarissa somebody, who adored Ellen to the ends of the earth, was so,
so
thrilled that her dear,
dear
friend would once again join the ranks of those in matrimonial bliss.

Polite applause.

Patricia somebody relayed the cute story about how Bill and Ellen had met and how she’d snagged his heart.

Char came up behind me and whispered, “More like she snagged his wallet,” and handed me my second whiskey.

Irene somebody delivered a heartfelt toast about welcoming Ellen into the club, and jokingly added she was now eligible to be a golf widow like the rest of them.

That’s when it occurred to me why my mother hadn’t belonged to this kind of club before she’d met Bill. Single women, who looked like her, could probably cherry pick her next husband—from any of theirs.

Clarissa settled Ellen behind a beautifully decorated table to open her gifts.

Apparently I shouldn’t have ignored the bridal registry link since all of her gifts were some sort of Swarovski crystal. So my “His and Hers” hand towels—his with a golf motif and hers with a shopping theme—were a little weird and a lot out of place.

Just like you
.

I snuck away and snagged my third glass of whiskey. The stuff didn’t taste half bad after the third glass.

At least we didn’t have to play stupid party games and we were dismissed for the luncheon portion. Sadly, Char and I weren’t assigned seats at the same table in the back after all. The finger foods were interesting, if a little bland, and there weren’t nearly enough of them.

I listened to the table conversation as I nibbled on my itty bitty square of lemon poppyseed cake.

“June is just heartsick over the whole thing,” the woman across from me confided to the entire table. “Can you imagine?”

“Marybeth told her not to book that venue,” the silver-haired woman next to her retorted. “But June just followed her own agenda, like always.”

“Does the postponement of this fundraiser mean June is being reassigned to something else? Because I
will
take issue with that if Clarissa foists her off on me,” a woman my mother’s age groused.

They were still talking about fundraisers.

And me with no little cocktail forks to jab in my ears. I snickered…which brought their attention to me.

Seven pairs of judgy eyes homed in, scrutinizing my face, hair, clothing and beverage choice.

“I’m sorry, we’re being horribly rude,” the gossiper said. “It’s so lovely that you could join us.”

I said, “Quite,” with a straight face.

“Of course, many of us were surprised that Ellen had a daughter…um, your age.”

That was a polite save.

“Yes, Ellen looks far too young,” a pearl-wearing woman added.

“I’m sure she’s attributed her youthful look to clean living and good genes. I’m just lucky to take after her.”

Just then, a lowball glass filled with amber liquid appeared above my cake plate.

Char, that instigator, had bribed the waiter to deliver another whiskey to me.

With all eyes on me, I tried my damnedest to be classy by keeping my pinkie off the glass as I lifted it and sipped as if I was on the set of
Downton Abbey
.

“And you live in the Phoenix area?” the don’t-foist-June-on-me woman asked.

“Yes, in Scottsdale.”

Pleased looks all around.

At least my address passed their approval.

But old-sour-puss-pearl-wearer #2 wasn’t done grilling me. “You own? Or rent?”

“I’ve owned my home there for two years.”

“But you’re so young.”

I leaned forward as if I intended to dish the dirt. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I’ve been told that I could pass for a twenty-year-old.”

“But Ellen told us you
were
twenty.”

I laughed. “Honey, please. I’ll be thirty-
one
next month.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The ladies exchanged a smug look and tongues would be wagging later.

That’s what you get for putting me in the B section, Mom.

But my glee quickly vanished. I didn’t know why she’d invited me if she didn’t want me here.

That’s when I missed my Dad. He liked me. He wanted me around. In fact he’d texted me yesterday just to tell me that he loved me and missed me. I was such a crappy daughter for not responding right away, with a million kissy face emojis and sparkly pink hearts.

No time like the present to rectify that.

I didn’t even pretend to be discreet; I pulled out my phone and sent him the emoji-filled text I should’ve sent yesterday.

Dad:
That’s a lot of hearts. You okay?

Me:
I’m at Mom’s sucky bridal luncheon and I miss you.

Dad:
Sorry. Is she being…?

Me:
The same old Ellen? Yes. Except she wears pearls when she ignores me now.

Dad:
I love that you have a sense of humor about this, sweetheart.

Me:
Only because I know I have you in my corner no matter what.

Dad:
That’s sweet. I appreciate it. So how much have you been drinking? LOL

Me:
Eyeing drinky-poo #5. This lousy country club doesn’t even have Crown.

Dad:
The horror. Get out of there right now. Clearly it’s totally sketch.

I laughed out loud. Literally. My dad was such a dork sometimes. I glanced up to see if anyone had noticed.

The entire table was watching me. And hooray, my mother chose that moment to look over. She glared at me, then she glared at my phone. Defiantly I held it up higher and sent another text.

Me:
Uh-oh. Busted texting at the table by the bride-to-be. Gotta go. Love you.

Dad:
Love you too. You have a DD Miss Drinky-poo #5 at 2:00 on a Saturday afternoon?

Shit. No I didn’t. But I would.

Me:
I’ll figure something out. Seriously, I’ve gotta go. Her deadly glare is heating up the plastic on my phone and it’s melting to my hand.

Dad:
HAH! Text me later so I know you got home safely. XO

I looked up and yep, Mom’s eyes fired daggers at me. I made a show of pocketing my phone and excusing myself before I headed to the bar.

Drink number five went down smoothly. Probably not good to drink on an empty stomach. I wandered over to the cake table. If I put four mini-squares together it might actually make a normal-sized piece of cake. I did that and carried my spoils back to the table.

Damn. No fork. Well, they called it finger food for a reason, right?

My tablemates appeared uncomfortable with the fact I was, oh,
eating
. Their discomfort turned to judgy silence when Char dropped off drink number six.

I was feeling pretty mellow and wanted to leave on a high note, but driving was a no-go. Boone hated texting but I couldn’t exactly call him and say, “Hey, babe, I’ve knocked back six drinks just to make it through this stupid party and now I’m tipsy, so can you please haul that hot ass of yours over here and pick me up?”

I snickered. That’s exactly what I texted him.

B-Dub:
OMW

Me:
Cool. Oh, and can you pick up a bucket of fried chicken on the way? The food here SUCKS

B-Dub:
No

Me:
Dammit, I can’t find the emoji sticking its tongue out, so imagine that, k?

B-Dub:
Stop dirnkign

I squinted at his text. Stupid autocorrect.

But that’s when I realized autocorrect hadn’t fixed it. I was seeing what Boone struggled with every day. That configuration of letters probably looked right to him.

No wonder he didn’t like to text.

No wonder I was falling in love with him, the man who trusted me enough to share his vulnerability.

Great. Now the “I love you, man” phase had kicked in.

Another text popped up from my assistant Nikki:

NZ:
The quarterly reports for the Prestwood expansion are not where they’re supposed to be.

Me:
There’s nothing on the checkout sheet about who might have them?

NZ:
No. I didn’t misplace or misfile them.

Damn you, Greg, for not owning up to your fuck-ups and putting every assistant in the company on edge.

Me:
I’d never accuse you. If you can’t find them they’re gone.

NZ:
I hate to bring this up, but I think someone in the office is trying to sabotage you. You need that data to compile your report. No data, no report and you look incompetent.

I briefly closed my eyes. Dammit, the words were blurring.

Me:
Whoever took it is an idiot to think I wouldn’t make backup copies. I scanned everything and sent a copy to the secure server as well as my personal cloud for this type of situation.

NZ:
I figured you did, because you’re on top of things, but I thought I’d ask. Do you need me to do anything else?

Me:
You know the next two projects on tap, so see if the files containing that data are missing. Make a list and we’ll discuss on Monday.

NZ:
Will do. Thanks boss