Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(80)

Char scowled. “With Bill?”

“No, with all of Bill’s bills.”

She snorted. “I think we’re both sitting in the back table. The crude friend and the daughter ain’t welcome in the prime seating areas.”

“It’s just as well. We’re closer to the bar.”

“Amen, sister.” She touched her bottle of Miller Lite to my lowball glass. “Did you tell Ellen not to invite you to this?”

“No. Why?”

“When I saw the guest list the first part of the week and you weren’t on it, I chewed her ass. Then I warned her if she didn’t invite you, I’d tell these snooty new friends of hers about the time she pissed in the birdbath at the Wrigley estate.” She flashed a mean grin. “I still may do that. But the point is, you’re her only kid. She oughta treat you better.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is, Char.”

“Well, she’s jealous of you, that’s what it is.”

“Right.”

Char leaned closer. “I’m serious, Sierra. She failed to turn you into a replica of her. She knows while she seeks validation and approval from all men, you only seek it from one man.” She swigged her beer. “Your father.”

Her insight didn’t surprise me as much as the fact she was still friends with a woman as insipid as my mother.

“Ellen and I have been through a lot over the years,” she started, which meant I’d voiced that comment out loud. “We’re friends more out of habit than anything. My invite to this shindig surprised the hell out of me. But Ellen needs to rub it in that she’s stepped up to a higher social standing. Sort of sad, when you think about it, because I’ve never given a shit about any of that.”

“You’re the only friend she hasn’t f*cked over.”

“Oh, she’s f*cked me over plenty of times. I forgave her mostly because I know I’m the only real friend she has left and I felt sorry for her. But I’m done.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “I say we leave with a bang, kiddo.”

And so it began.

Clarissa somebody, who adored Ellen to the ends of the earth, was so, so thrilled that her dear, dear friend would once again join the ranks of those in matrimonial bliss.

Polite applause.

Patricia somebody relayed the cute story about how Bill and Ellen had met and how she’d snagged his heart.

Char came up behind me and whispered, “More like she snagged his wallet,” and handed me my second whiskey.

Irene somebody delivered a heartfelt toast about welcoming Ellen into the club, and jokingly added she was now eligible to be a golf widow like the rest of them.

That’s when it occurred to me why my mother hadn’t belonged to this kind of club before she’d met Bill. Single women, who looked like her, could probably cherry pick her next husband—from any of theirs.

Clarissa settled Ellen behind a beautifully decorated table to open her gifts.

Apparently I shouldn’t have ignored the bridal registry link since all of her gifts were some sort of Swarovski crystal. So my “His and Hers” hand towels—his with a golf motif and hers with a shopping theme—were a little weird and a lot out of place.

Just like you.

I snuck away and snagged my third glass of whiskey. The stuff didn’t taste half bad after the third glass.

At least we didn’t have to play stupid party games and we were dismissed for the luncheon portion. Sadly, Char and I weren’t assigned seats at the same table in the back after all. The finger foods were interesting, if a little bland, and there weren’t nearly enough of them.

I listened to the table conversation as I nibbled on my itty bitty square of lemon poppyseed cake.

“June is just heartsick over the whole thing,” the woman across from me confided to the entire table. “Can you imagine?”

“Marybeth told her not to book that venue,” the silver-haired woman next to her retorted. “But June just followed her own agenda, like always.”

“Does the postponement of this fundraiser mean June is being reassigned to something else? Because I will take issue with that if Clarissa foists her off on me,” a woman my mother’s age groused.

They were still talking about fundraisers.

And me with no little cocktail forks to jab in my ears. I snickered…which brought their attention to me.

Seven pairs of judgy eyes homed in, scrutinizing my face, hair, clothing and beverage choice.

“I’m sorry, we’re being horribly rude,” the gossiper said. “It’s so lovely that you could join us.”

I said, “Quite,” with a straight face.

“Of course, many of us were surprised that Ellen had a daughter…um, your age.”

That was a polite save.

“Yes, Ellen looks far too young,” a pearl-wearing woman added.

“I’m sure she’s attributed her youthful look to clean living and good genes. I’m just lucky to take after her.”

Just then, a lowball glass filled with amber liquid appeared above my cake plate.

Char, that instigator, had bribed the waiter to deliver another whiskey to me.

With all eyes on me, I tried my damnedest to be classy by keeping my pinkie off the glass as I lifted it and sipped as if I was on the set of Downton Abbey.