Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I nod to both of them before walking away, hearing her words again as I press the button to go up to my sister. I’m too good for him. I don’t even know why I’m still harping on it a week later. I should care less; I’ve been called worse. Far worse by people who lived in my own house.
I step into the elevator, pressing the fourth-floor button before going to the back and waiting for the doors to close. My head turns to where I know they are, or at least were, finding them still standing there. He leans in and kisses her cheek and I have to roll my eyes. Who the fuck kisses their wife like that? She smiles at him and then turns to walk away. Instead of watching his wife, he turns to walk away from her and dumps the coffee cup in the trash.
I look down at my feet, trying to fight back the anger that is creeping up in my blood. Looking up when the elevator doors open, I walk toward my sister’s office. She’s on the phone when I stick my head in, and she holds up a hand to say hello. Her eyes go big when I place the iced coffee on her desk with the white bag next to it. Her hands go into the shape of a heart. “I have you down for next Thursday at noon,” she confirms. “I will see you then.” She puts the phone back on its receiver.
“Who is my best big brother,” she says, grabbing the coffee, “ever?”
“That would be me.” I sit in the chair, taking off my hat and tossing it in the chair beside me, before running my hand through my hair. “Let me ask you something.”
“Ugh, I know,” she starts, grabbing the bag, “three thousand is a lot for a dress. But it’s gorgeous and was literally made for me.” My eyebrows pinch together. “If it makes you feel better, I bought the shoes myself.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask her and she takes a piece of the muffin.
“I’m talking about the dress I bought on your credit card this weekend,” she explains, leaning back in her chair. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t even know you used my credit card. I also don’t give a shit.”
“Good to know, I should have also charged the shoes to you,” she mumbles. “What has you all uptight and shit?”
“I’m not uptight.” I glare at her. “Anyway, I have a question for you.”
“Obviously, I’m a woman, so I have all the answers.” She smiles at me and then winks.
“Do you think Mom knew Mac was a narcissist when she met him?” I mention my stepfather, who came into our lives when I was eight and my sister was three. Our father passed away from a heart attack, and six months later my mother started dating Mac. The way Lexi acts around her husband reminds me of how we used to walk on eggshells around Mac and cater to his needs. How we would make sure to act the way we thought he wanted us to act. How we would say what he wanted to hear. How it didn’t matter what we wanted; it mattered what he thought we wanted.
“No.” She shakes her head. “She definitely didn’t know. Did we know?”
“I figured it out in high school, I think,” I admit to her. “We were so…” I snap my fingers to think of the word.
“Manipulated,” she offers and I shake my head.
“Brainwashed,” I correct and she shrugs. “Gaslighted is another word.”
“Why are we talking about this?” she asks me. “We all got out from under him.”
“Because he died,” I snap.
“What difference does it make?” she questions me. “She met him six months after Dad died. She was lonely and Dad did everything for her, so she had no idea what the fuck she was doing. I love her, but she was a bit of a space cadet. Meeting Mac, she changed to make him happy, and along the way we changed also. The good news is, we all got out of it. Why are you bringing all this up again?”
I can’t even begin to understand it. The last thing I want to do is tell her for the last week my head was all over the place, thinking about Lexi and wondering when she became who she is. Why she was so nervous when Trent was around and thinking about her reactions after he called her at the baby shower. “I don’t know, maybe it’s being home and shit.” I get up. “It’s fucking with my head.”
“Well, don’t come over here and yuck my yum.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “It took me a year to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to cry when you aren’t feeling well.”