Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,39

delivered. What were you doing at the store?”

“Oh, just picking up this and that.” She kept her eyes on her hands as she adjusted and smoothed her napkin in her lap.

“Mom,” I warned, “did you go to the grocery store to set us up?”

“Don’t be silly, Elaine,” she said noncommittally.

“That wasn’t an answer,” I noted.

Jett’s brows came together. “Please tell me you weren’t hanging around in the produce department, looking for eligible men for Laney.”

“Of course not! I was looking for girls for you too, dear.”

Everyone but Jett and me laughed.

“Yuk it up, you guys,” I said, pointing at them with my spoon. “Better to have Mom soliciting strangers for us than keeping a calendar of your cycles.”

“It’s not a calendar,” Mom argued. “It’s really more of a list.”

Now the laughter came from Jett and me while the rest of them groaned and blushed.

“What’s the update on Longbourne?” Jett asked in the direction of Marcus and Maisie, who had taken over the corporate end of things.

“They miss you two working with us,” Mom answered before they could, making hard eye contact with me. “I’ve seen their team’s marketing, and it’s beautiful, but it could use your touch. No offense, darling,” she added, smiling at Maisie.

“None taken,” she answered with a smile of her own. And she was genuine—we all knew Mom knew jack about marketing and probably hadn’t seen anything. She just wanted me to be involved in some context, any context.

“I’m sure they’re doing perfectly fine on their own, Mom.”

“But they would be doing better with you.”

“Mom—”

“I’m only saying that you’re so talented, dear. And you’re off working for the bookshop and now with that big firm. And I’m not the only one who feels like you’d rather work with everyone but your family.”

Half of everyone looked into their soup, and the other half glared at Mom. The argument was so worn out, I didn’t have it in me to fight.

“Longbourne’s team has it well in hand, Mom, and Wasted Words had no one before I started there.”

“Don’t they have the Darcy’s now? I still don’t understand why they need you so desperately.”

“Because I know how the shop works, what its clientele wants. I’m an advisor, and I really enjoy—”

“I’m only suggesting that they don’t need you as much as we do,” Mom said. “I understand that you don’t want to work in the shop and you don’t care about the greenhouse—”

“That is not true—”

“—but you are part of this family, Elaine Bennet. Everyone contributes in their way.”

“Jett doesn’t,” I argued, “and I never hear you on his case about it. Why am I the lucky one? You’ve always favored the boys”—I stopped her from speaking with a gesture—“and don’t deny it. I know I’m a disappointment, Mom, but please, stop making it a topic of conversation at the dinner table.”

For a handful of seconds, it was dead silent in the room as Mom and I locked horns. But her face wasn’t angry—it rarely was. Instead, it was full of the quiet disappointment of a mother’s dashed hopes.

“Maisie, the stew was delicious. Was that fennel in it?” Tess asked, breaking the silence.

And with the change of subject, dinner was over. Kash pushed back his chair and began gathering up bowls while Luke and Marcus cleared the table of what was left of the meal. Jett and I would take the dishes tonight, and I was glad we could hide away in our corner of the kitchen, where Mom would hopefully leave me alone to do our work. Because once that was done, we could get the hell out of this house so I could breathe again.

I grabbed some glasses and fled to the kitchen, lining them up next to the sink so I could prep, first filling one side with hot, soapy water. Then finding fresh towels for Jett and me. I felt him approach and threw it in his direction without looking.

“Oh!” Mom squeaked her surprise, and with niggling dread, I turned to her.

I’d apparently hit her square in the face, and she laughed, her twisted, arthritic hands gathering up the towel to hand it back.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, taking the dish towel.

“I am too.” She paused, tracing my features with her gaze. “I shouldn’t go on like that—I know I shouldn’t, and I’m always breaking my promise to myself not to bring it up. But I can’t seem to help myself.”

I offered a resigned smile.

“When you were a little girl, I always imagined you would be