I frown. “What would happen?”
“The two of us in a house I didn’t even know existed until a few weeks ago. Sitting in my kitchen and sharing a meal together thatIprepared.” Her laughter is bright and unexpected. Full of joy despite the earlier dark confessions of the day. “A miracle has occurred.”
“It was a damn good sandwich, Syl.”
She wiggles in her chair, her smile unable to be contained. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“I never imagined you could make me a meal either. You’ve always had servants for that,” I continue.
A sigh leaves her and she pushes her plate away. “I was such a spoiled little shit.”
“Yeah, you were,” I agree, and she tosses her balled up napkin at me, missing me completely. “Though now I’m guessing you were just hiding a lot of pain.”
Her somber gaze finds mine, never straying. “I was. Still doesn’t excuse that I was so awful to you.”
“I must’ve really liked you to put up with all that.”
When I was a teenager, I was completely gone over this girl. I would’ve done anything she asked me.
“We made out a lot,” she reminds me.
I chuckle, the memories hitting me, one after another. Plenty of secret moments, sneaking in kisses here and there. “You were insatiable.”
“I don’t think I was the only one who wanted to do it all the time.”
“You were the one who almost always instigated it, though.”
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. The widowed woman, embarrassed over teenage make-out memories. “True.”
I eat a few chips, watching as she finishes her sandwich. “You’ve gained weight. I noticed it at the wedding too.”
“Is that a bad thing?” She sounds vaguely defensive.
“Not at all. You were always so…” What can I say that won’t offend her?
“Thin? Frail? Sickly?”
I press my lips together, not wanting to insult her.
A sigh leaves her. “I’m away from my mother. She’s not poisoning me and keeping me deathly skinny anymore.”
That she can say it so matter of fact, like it’s no big deal, what her mother has been doing to her all these years. That she survived after everything is…amazing. Huge. “Do you hate her?”
“My mother?” When I nod, she shrugs. “I don’t know. I should. Sometimes I do. Yet other times, I love her and miss her, because she’s my mother, and at one point, she was all I had. My dad wasn’t around much, and she always told me he didn’t care about me. Not like she did.”
I’m quiet, absorbing her words. She’s been manipulated practically her entire life by her mother. Does she even see it?
“We shared some great moments together,” Sylvie continues. “My memories with her, they’re not all bad.”
They’ve been tainted though, those moments. They have to be. I’ve been disappointed plenty of times by my parents over the years, but one of them never tried tokillme.
I don’t know how you ever recover from that.
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“He didn’t—notice what Sylvia was doing?”