Breaking Him

Dante cursed.  “God, she always could get to you with her venom.  No, it’s not too tight.  You look amazing.  Perfect.  Gram would be proud.”

“Thank you,” I said simply.

“Damn,” I cursed as I took in the transformation of Gram’s large driveway.  Parking attendants had apparently been hired to manage the large influx of vehicles for the reception.  They were trying their best to valet each one, using the front lawn to fit in as many cars as possible.  “Gram would have hated this.  She loved to keep her lawn pristine.”

Dante cursed.  “What in the actual fuck?  Goddamn my mother.  This has her stamp all over it.  Keeping up appearances when the fact is these people can walk a few fucking feet instead of ruining Gram’s lawn.”

He was right.  There was a paved road a mile long leading up to the house with plenty of shoulder room, i.e. ample parking.

But Adelaide had always hated Gram and it surprised me not one bit that she was messing with the property that had once been hopelessly out of her reach.

Dante refused to use the valet, parking on the shoulder just shy of the chaos.

“I’m going in the back entrance,” I told him as I opened my door.  “I need to freshen up,” I added, feeling awkward.  “Um, see you around.”

I took off.

I carefully redid my makeup and then lingered in my room for a cowardly amount of time.

It was just so unpleasant, the sounds of a large gathering in Gram’s house with the woman herself absent.  It felt wrong and I didn’t want any part of it.

But then I thought about all of the vultures down there circling, all of the blood-sucking opportunists that had come, not for Gram, but to eye up the property she’d left behind, to speculate about who she’d left it to.

I had to go down, had to be there to thicken the ranks of those who were genuinely mourning her loss.

It didn’t start out well for me.  In fact, it couldn’t have started worse.

I took the back stairs down to the kitchen, because I knew the place well.  I went straight for the liquor in the butler’s pantry, pouring myself a liberal tumbler of scotch that I was sure was up to even Dante’s standards.

I downed it, then poured another.

Only when I was in two deep and holding a third did I move to venture out into the melee.

Unfortunately I didn’t get that far.

This place, these people rattled me and so I was uncharacteristically clumsy.

I’m sure the liquor didn’t help make me more coordinated, to be fair.

I moved to open the door that swung out from the kitchen into the formal dining room, but I mistimed it, and  one of the many servers that were taking trays around frantically came in right as I was going out.

Half of my glass ended up on my chest.

The server, a young nervous guy, apologized profusely and brought me a stack of napkins.

I set down my glass, took the napkins, and waved him off.  I started patting at myself, wondering if I should change.

At least I was wearing black.

The liquid came up easily, but the napkins left little white fuzzies all over my bust.

Fumbling with it, I opened my little clutch, taking out a moist towelette that I kept in it because I was one of those girls that knew the proper purpose of a handbag, which was to be prepared for anything.

It took forever, but I slowly got the front of my dress looking normal again.

I tossed the towelette and napkins into the trash, but somehow ended up bouncing a tube of lipstick out of my open clutch.

It landed right on top of the pile.

I would spend my last twenty dollars on a tube of M.A.C. lipstick.  I took that shit seriously, and so I went in after it.

With a curse I bent down, grasping at it, trying to get a hold before it slipped in deeper.

To no avail, it kept falling deeper, through layers of leftover food and used napkins.

I almost left it, in fact had resigned myself to, when I felt the smooth edge of it touch my finger.  I grabbed it and straightened, but not before the damage had been done.

That was how they found me.  Elbow deep in the garbage.

Fucking typical.

“Trashcan girl is back, and I see that not much has changed,” a laughing female voice told my bent back.

The old nickname was familiar and despised, and epitomized everything I hated about this place.

I straightened with my lipstick in hand to face a small group of snickering women.  There were three of them, all girls from high school that I recognized instantly as being part of the mean girl pack that had done their best to terrorize me back when I’d been a stuttering mess.

I was not a stuttering mess now.

“I see the bitches still travel in packs around here.  And by the way, guests aren’t even supposed to come into this part of the house.” I told their leader, Mandy, my voice steady, eyes flashing.  That had been a strict rule of Gram’s.  No guests in the kitchen, ever.

Also, I was extra defensive and hostile with the way they had caught me, the sore spot they had rubbed right off the bat.

“Oh, guests aren’t welcome, but charity cases are?”

She had a point.  Mandy was a bratty little bitch, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

Just because Gram had treated me like family didn’t make me any less of a charity case.  I’d just been too stupid to see it myself back then.

No, I shook off the thought.  No.  Just because Dante had thrown me away didn’t mean Gram had.

Gram had really loved me.  I was as sure of it as I was of anything.