Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,67
had friends who were more like family than her own family and a full life. Sasha didn’t feel the need to run away because she felt empty—like Madison had. “The only thing I don’t have that you do is a high-fiving, pleated-pant-wearing, soon-to-be-ex-husband who is only truly happy when he’s playing golf with his boys.”
“Tucker is not that bad. At least he wasn’t. And I will definitely get married again.” Madison crossed her arms. “You won’t give anyone a chance. You have no one to come home to. You are truly alone.”
Sasha only felt alone when she was with her family of origin. Hearing her sister denigrate the life she’d made on her own flipped a switch in her. She’d always thought she’d been bad or wrong because she didn’t fit her family’s mold. All of the tiny mental rebellions she’d tallied like a burn book against herself and castigated herself for—from her fantasies about Professor McDermott to her very real transgressions with Father Patrick—were just evidence that she’d never come up to snuff.
But maybe the fact that she could never quite fit the mold didn’t mean that she was bad or wrong. Maybe it meant that the mold was wrong.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” Of course empathy would escape her sister. “I’m just telling you the truth.”
Maybe it was the truth as Madison saw it. And perhaps they might have reached the limit of their common ground.
“I just want to see you happy,” Madison said. Instead of telling her sister off, Sasha picked up one of Madison’s blouses and started to help fold. She realized then that she was never going to see the world in the same way her sister did. And she might not see the world in the same way as Bridget or Hannah, but at least they saw her. Her family only cared about the version of her that fit with how they saw the world.
“I’m happy,” Madison continued. And then she bit her bottom lip as though she was thinking about the next thing she was going to say. She hadn’t done that before, so this must be a doozy. “It just took me seeing how miserable you are to realize it.”
Miserable? Sasha knew she’d been mildly dissatisfied with life before, but she didn’t think she was miserable. “I’m not miserable.”
“You never seem satisfied with anything that you have.”
Madison had a point there. She had started therapy for a reason. She’d been missing something that she couldn’t pinpoint.
“So, me not being satisfied made you decide to be satisfied?”
“I guess.”
She couldn’t fault Madison for that. But she was going to have a lot to discuss with Pam next session.
* * *
—
PATRICK WAS NERVOUS ABOUT seeing Sasha again, but still he was disappointed when Hannah came into his office for a final meeting about the carnival.
It must have shown because Hannah smirked at him. “You were expecting to see someone else?”
He wondered what Sasha had told her best friend. He knew they were very close, but he’d also learned that Sasha was a bit of a vault even when it came to her friends. They were alike that way, smoothly gliding on the surface and not letting their friends in on how hard their feet were churning underneath the placid water. They were birds of a feather and kindred spirits.
Instead of probing deeper, he decided to take in the message sent by cutting off a strand of her hair—which Patrick wouldn’t think about, even though it was still in his desk drawer—and sending her business partner in her stead.
“You’re feeling better?”
Hannah certainly looked hale. “Yes. I’m very lucky that the bad morning sickness only lasted for the first trimester. It was like the fetus stopped trying to make me feel like shit once it knew we were in it for the long haul.”
“Have you and Jack decided whether you’re going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Nah, gender is a construct, and I know you’re trying to change the subject.”
“From what?” Playing dumb seemed to be his best option with Hannah. She seemed to be out for blood, and it probably wouldn’t help. But he couldn’t think of anything else.
“From the fact that you’re toying with my best friend’s emotions.” Guilt hit Patrick in the guts when she said that. It was certainly how things would look, even though it hadn’t been his intention.
“I never meant to—”
Hannah put up one hand. “It doesn’t matter what you meant to do.”