The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,379

and Eva didn’t seem to mind that. But when her former friend joined a clique of bullies and targeted Eva, she defended herself. She was anxious about going back to school after the suspension and very tight-lipped about how she was doing.

To my relief, she shrugs, grabs a scone, takes a bite and grins. “I don’t care about those girls, mom. ‘Cause you taught me the rules, remember?”

“Yes, I do.” I tussle her hair.

When she was seven, she encountered her first bully. And I’d given her a list of what I called “rules of friendship” and made her memorize and repeat them every single day.

1) Friends don’t hurt us on purpose.

2) Friendship is optional and it’s okay to end one.

3) To have a friend, you have to be a friend.

“So, if they say something mean, that means they’re not my friends, and I don’t care about them anyway,” she declares. She reaches for my hand and links our fingers and squeezes. “I’m fine, Mom. And I want you to be, too.”

Startled by her solemn tone and knowing gaze, I let go of her hand and walk to the fridge to make myself some tea. I’ve been dreading this moment for, what feels like, her whole life. “Why do you think I’m not, okay?”

“She walks over to me and wraps her arms around me from behind and presses her cheek to my back. I cover her small hands with mine. And she tightens her hold on me. “Mom, I’m young, but I’ve got eyes. You’re alone. And you’re bored, and you’re sad.”

Guilt stabs at me. I hate that she knows and is worried about me. I pat her hand and turn around, so we’re facing each other. She looks so determined, and pride swells my heart. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got stuff to figure out.”

She purses her lips and puts her hands on her hips, in a terrifyingly, exact imitation of my mother. “Then do it, Mom. Because you’re amazing. And Daddy…I love him. But ... you don’t have to stay like this for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know about Hanna.” She looks at me, her eyebrow raised in challenge, daring me to deny it.

“Whaa--” I grapple for what to say. My mother warned me. Shit.

Raised voices outside the kitchen door announce my mother and Tyson’s approach up my back walk. I asked them over to talk about an idea I had, but they’re an hour early.

“We’ll talk about this later, I promise,” I say, and she nods and steps away, just as they walk through the door. They’re so deep into their argument, they don’t even look our way. They stride to the round dining table and sit, without missing a beat of their conversation.

“Ty - you’re not ready and you don’t get a thumb on the scale just because your last name is Wilde. In fact, having that last name means you have to earn your place; there can’t be a perception of nepotism.” My mother’s tone is more placating than normal. She hates arguing with Tyson, he’s her favorite.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Tyson slaps the table, as he slips into a chair and grabs a cup of coffee. The glass top rattles and the blue and gold painted china teacups jump in the saucers.

My mother doesn’t even blink. “You’re the one who’s making this difficult. You shouldn’t be pursuing this when you’re not ready,” she tells him, matter-of-factly.

He growls low in his throat and looks like he’s fighting to maintain control.

I take advantage of the moment of silence. “Good morning to you, both,” I say, sarcastically.

“Hey, sorry Reggie. Hey, Eva,” Tyson’s greeting is caustic and distracted.

My mother smiles warmly in our direction, but her eyes are tight with tension. “Eva, darling, I left my cream scarf upstairs a few weeks ago. Can you go find it and bring it to me?”

Eva glances at me in question, and I nod.

“Of course, Nana,” she says, and then darts from the room. She’ll be gone a while, and if she comes back, she’ll be empty-handed. My mother used to send us on errands whenever she wanted to get rid of us. I wish she’d sent me instead. Their fights are legion and never end well.

I continue boxing up the scones, without comment, and they dive back into their argument.

“Are you kidding? I’m bringing Phil Wolf’s new restaurant to Rivers Wilde. We have a waiting list for new residents at all our properties, and this is the third year I’ve