Life and Other Inconveniences(37)

I liked to imagine my mother would’ve loved Riley. She of the winter forts, the best cookies, the giggles at bedtime.

Why’d you leave, Mom?

The eternal question. One worn out from repetition, and one I rarely allowed myself as an adult. But somehow this odd reunion—Genevieve, Donelle, Jason and his family—had me thinking about it. And yeah, I knew all the clinical answers, but the eight-year-old in me still wanted more.

I still missed her. I would always miss her.

“So Genevieve is sick, huh?” Jason asked, bringing me back to the moment. “Always figured she was too mean to die.”

“Me too,” I said. “Guess not.”

“Will you inherit everything?”

The question made me blink. Then again, we shared a daughter, so I guessed my finances were his business, sort of.

“No,” I said honestly. “She’s made that quite clear.”

“Too bad. What with college coming up for Riley.”

“Yeah, about that, Jason. We’re gonna need your help.”

He grimaced. “Sure. I’ll give what I can.”

“How about your parents? Did they save anything for her?”

He gave me a look. “What do you think?”

“So that’s a no.”

In a nutshell, Jason’s parents were shits. Once, I had loved Courtney and Robert Finlay. Imagined them as my in-laws, spent more time at their house than Sheerwater in my last two years of high school, stopping by on Thanksgiving when our own frosty family dinner had been endured, and basked in their solidarity—the aunts, uncles, cousins and, of course, Jason.

Courtney had adored me when I was heir to Sheerwater and the London fortune. She’d been big on compliments—how good I was for Jason, how sweet we were together, how smart/pretty/kind I was. And she had a mad crush on Genevieve. “I just adore your grandma’s bags!” she’d coo. She had six or seven and always flashed them around town, especially in Genevieve’s presence. “I couldn’t resist this color!” she’d say when they ran into each other. “So good to see you, Genevieve! We should sit down with these gorgeous kids and have our families get to know each other!”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Genevieve would murmur. “It’s quite infrequent that high school sweethearts stay together, after all.”

It didn’t have the chilling effect Genevieve intended. Courtney volunteered on every committee Genevieve was on—historical society, garden club, scholarship fund—and kissed up to Genevieve at every step, hinting about marriage (which was fine by me back then). She wanted access to Genevieve’s world, and Genevieve was quite content to keep the secret handshake to herself.

Given its natural beauty and lovely homes, Stoningham attracted a few celebrities in the summer. We weren’t the Hamptons (thank God) but we had a sighting or three each year. Many knew Genevieve through her company or charities. One year, Meryl Streep came for dinner at Sheerwater—she and Genevieve were on the board of some organization, and Courtney begged me to get her invited. When that failed, she asked for just five minutes so she could tell Meryl how much she adored every movie she’d ever made.

I tried. I loved Courtney, who gave me a glimpse of what it would be like to have a mother. “Gigi,” I pleaded. “She loves Meryl Streep. It would make her life to meet her.”

Genevieve, sitting behind her enormous desk, gave me a pitying look. “You do realize that woman is trying to use you to get to me,” she’d said, and honestly, the ego! The narcissism! The bitchery! “She is the very worst type of social climber.”

“No, she’s not! She’s really nice. You should give her a chance.”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow and said no more.

Turned out she had been a hundred percent correct. The second I’d been unceremoniously turned out of Sheerwater, Courtney cast me as an irresponsible slut who was trying to latch on to her son, steal his money and ruin his future. His role in impregnating me was dismissed with “you know how boys are.”

Robert, who was what can only be termed a limp dick, fell into line. Jason would “do his duty,” but I had better not expect anything from them. We knew where babies came from, and he was disappointed with us both. When Riley was born, they didn’t come out. Didn’t send a present. Pretended Riley—our beautiful child—didn’t exist.

“By the way,” I said now, taking a sip of my seltzer. “I’m not crazy about the idea of Riley spending time with your folks.”

Jason frowned. “I was kind of hoping they’d get to know her a little bit.”

“It’s a no, Jason. They’ve had sixteen years to get to know her.” My jaw locked. Fuck the Finlays. They didn’t deserve her. Riley had had shit luck in the grandparent department—Clark, my mother, the idiot Finlays—but at least she had Pop.

He nodded. “True. Sorry. They’re great with the boys, so . . . yeah. I see your point. Never mind.” He finished his beer. “Well. I’m glad you’re here. Both of you. I think it’ll be a great summer. Why don’t we go sit with the kids?”

“Sure thing,” I said.

As I got off the stool, he stood and hugged me. “I’ve really, really missed you,” he said.