Page 5

“Nope.”

“Not even a text?”

“They don’t do birthdays,” I say, knowing it’s not the whole truth. “Not for me. You know I only see them at Christmas.”

His mouth pulls into a flat line. I know he wants to say something, maybe even offer a soft I’m sorry, but he’s always known better. There’s no point in apologizing for people who’ve chosen to turn their backs.

“They still think working is beneath me,” I say, voice low. “That studying politics is just me being difficult. Mom told me once, ‘You weren’t raised to beg for a salary, Piper. Working is for people who have no legacy to protect.’”

He exhales sharply, like the words physically piss him off. “Jesus Christ.”

“I guess when you live in a Connecticut estate with your name on half the hospitals and three centuries of old money at your back, it’s easy to forget the rest of the world actually runs on effort.” I pause. “They’ve got staff for everything, even feelings.”

“They’re relics,” he mutters. “Dust in tailored suits.”

I lean back into the cushions, my throat tightening more than I want it to. “You’re the only reason I’m even here. You know that, right?”

He waves me off with a flick of his hand. “Bullshit. I signed some paperwork and pissed off your dad. You’re the one keeping your head above water.”

“You paid for this apartment.”

“I own the building. You’re doing me a favor, really.”

“You set up the trust.”

“So you wouldn’t be beholden to people who think ambition is tacky. Which it isn’t.”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. It’s a little embarrassing how easily he always disarms me. Like he’s immune to the shame I’ve carried since the moment I said I wanted to be more than a wife on a charity board.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Even if your parents are too busy sipping dry martinis and basking in their moral superiority to say it.”

“Thank you,” I sniffle softly.

He lifts his glass one more time. “Happy birthday, kid. Go eat something with frosting. And stop pretending you don’t deserve the life you’re building just because it doesn’t look like theirs.”

The call ends, and I stare at the blank screen for a moment, letting the silence settle over me like a weighted blanket.

I only allow myself a few minutes of pity-partying before I get my ass off the couch and go change, swapping my black, figure-hugging dress for a pair of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt.

Since I don’t have any plans of going out tonight, despite my earlier conversation with Lena, I remove my makeup and throw my dark brown hair up in a messy bun. There, now I look exactly like one of those women my mom compares me to. Talk about a self-fulfilled prophecy.

Even though I know there’s no point in mourning the distance between me and my parents, I can’t help it. Especially not on my birthday.

Growing up, I had everything I could ever want. When I said I liked horses, Dad bought me three ponies because I couldn’t decide what color I wanted. When I watched a Disney princess belt out a song and I wanted to sing just like her, he hired one of the best instructors and flew them across America.

In short, when it comes to materialistic goods, things with a price tag attached, I had it all in spades. But when I was scared of the dark, no one checked for the boogeyman under my bed. The nanny was the one who comforted me when I needed stitches after falling off my bike and scraping my knee.

Everything changed when I announced my plans of continuing my studies after high school. That’s when I learned the true meaning of being raised in a Greenwich estate where ambition was fine for men, but vulgar for women.

Mom announced that no Harrington woman should ever work, and Dad backed her up. If it wasn’t for Uncle Teddy, I would have never been able to complete my undergrad at American University right here in Washington, D.C., and definitely couldn’t afford studying at Georgetown.

But when I broke down and confessed my dreams to him at my elaborate eighteenth birthday party, he… well, he saved me. He set up a trust for me, and bought not just an apartment, but the entire building near American University. Then again, when I got into Georgetown.

He said it was for peace of mind so he knew I was safe when I moved from Connecticut to D.C. Regardless of his reasons, even if it’s just to stick it to his brother, my dad, he made my life possible.

Just as I’m about to throw myself into the kind of spiral that ends in Googling government job placement stats and crying into leftover takeout, the door bursts open.

“Presenting: your favorite bitch with baked goods,” Lena announces, kicking it shut behind her.