I enterthe restaurant a little past one, spotting Whit sitting at a table waiting for me. He glares when our gazes meet, and I can’t help it.
I’m grinning the entire time I walk toward him, which only makes his scowl deepen. By the time I’m settled in the chair across from him, he’s in full-on disgusted mode.
“God, you’re cheerful. I can only assume you’re getting laid on the regular.”
“I’m in love,” I declare, unafraid to say it. For once in my life. “With your sister.”
Whit’s hand immediately shoots up in the air, waving at a nearby waiter. “Going to need a stiff drink for this conversation.”
We order drinks, and once the server is gone, Whit leans back in his chair, studying me carefully with those always assessing eyes.
“I don’t like what happened at your apartment Saturday.”
“I don’t either,” I agree.
“My mother oversteps her boundaries. She doesn’t understand why no one wants to be around her. Specifically, Sylvie, who was her little puppet her entire life.” Whit leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “I don’t understand it either. What happened between the two of them? Do you know?”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “It’s not my place to tell. You should talk to Sylvie.”
“I’ve tried. She dodges the question every chance she gets.”
“She might not anymore. If you tell her you spoke to me, she could open up a bit.”
“Did she try to hurt her? My mother,” he clarifies when I frown. “When Sylvie was sick all the time, was that because of—our mother’s doing?”
I don’t want to reveal what isn’t my story, but I offer him a curt nod in response.
A ragged sigh leaves Whit, and he stares off into the distance, his jaw working. “I hate that.”
“I do too.”
“Summer gave me bits and pieces of her conversations with Sylvie when we were all in high school, and we came to our own conclusions, though it was hard for me to fathom. Why would our mother try to hurt her? Why would she purposely keep my sister sick? Then Summer started sending me links to articles about Munchausen by proxy, and after reading them, I realized that sounded a lot like my mother’s relationship with Sylvie,” Whit explains, his voice low.
“It’s child abuse.” I did my own research, and what I read disgusted me. “Your mother is an abuser.”
“I never noticed. Not when I was younger. Not really.” He stares off into the distance. “I should’ve known. I should’ve done something.”
“We were kids. What could you have done?”
“I don’t know. I should’ve talked to my father. I should’ve helped my sister.” He shakes his head. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. She doesn’t blame you for anything. This is your mother’s fault, and no one else’s.”
“It’s why we don’t let her spend any time alone with August.” Whit’s expression slightly pales. “I could never forgive myself if something happened to him while in her care.”
“I think that’s best,” I agree.
The server appears with our drinks and takes our lunch order. Once he’s gone and we’ve downed a few sips, I decide to be completely truthful with my best friend.
“I want to marry Sylvie.”
Whit barely hides the smile curling his lips. “I assumed that would be the case.”
“I want to ask her to marry me soon, but I don’t know if I’m rushing things.” I feel like an idiot for even admitting that to him.
“You two have been dancing around this for years. I don’t think you’re rushing anything.” His words dismiss my worry in an instant.
Mostly.