CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HONEY
Getting a letter from my family back home was like getting a superpower—the world would be long gone before it happened, and you shouldn’t really get your hopes up.
Which was why I had to read the letter very slowly when I got it in the mail, and read it two more times after.
It was short. It wasn’t sweet. It was basically an order more than anything to return home as soon as I could, because there were family discussions that I needed to be a part of and wouldn’t proceed without me. Family discussions meant meetings for the future, and I’ve never really been invited to any—no, not since I decided that car racing was going to be my thing and not some debutante who would uphold the family name and marry some wealthy politician back home.
So why was I being called now?
Because my questions would be left unanswered and my own and my curiosity was bound to kill me, I realized that there was no other choice in the matter. I had a week’s worth break before I participated in my next race. With this thought, I was booking tickets and packing my bags as soon as I could.
And of course, easing Gavin in on the idea a few days before the flight.
“I can’t believe Sara wants me coming with you to your family affairs,” Gavin muttered when we were on the plane. I shot him a look as the plane took off, then settled back comfortably in my seat.
“There might be reporters there? I dunno.”
“I thought this was a private matter and no one knows you’re going.”
I replied in my most teasing tone. “You never know, right? You know how they jump on me when I least expect it. Talk to Sara. Ultimately she pays the bill and it’s her choice.”
He shot me a look, which I ignored as I tried to stifle a grin. Then I sobered up. The truth was I needed as much support as I could get.
And Gavin was the first person that came to mind.
We arrived in what felt like no time and it was just the same as it looked before—full of those huge houses, lawns and culture that screamed the Deep South. It was a very charming place, and a part of my heart squeezed tight at not having returned in so long.
Soon enough, the taxi we rode in entered a huge iron gate that led to a pathway with a line of oak trees on each side. It was beautiful and haunting at the same time, and I watched in the corner of my eye as Gavin looked on in interest. Then the mansion came into view, and we got out of the taxi and stood at the front.
“I didn’t realize you were…” Gavin trailed off.
“My family, not me,” I corrected, already knowing where he was getting at. “I did a waitressing job, remember?”
“They didn’t support you?”
“Long story short, you could say that.”
There was no point in dilly-dallying, so I immediately knocked and had the delight of watching my favorite housekeeper, Mrs. Thompson, open it. Her eyes lit up in surprise when she saw me, but then she beamed. I beamed back and stepped forward to hug her, something I’d been doing since I was a kid up until I left to pursue my career. I opened my mouth to ask her how things were going.
But a voice interrupted me before I could.
“Honey, glad you could make it. Come now. You’re late.”
My mother’s deep Southern accent was thick and beautiful, and I eyed her as she came over to me and air-kissed me on the cheeks. The urge to hug her was strong, but Carol York had never been a hugger to begin with.
She eyed Gavin curiously, impatience simmering as I introduced him quietly. Then she dismissed him almost immediately and asked Mrs. Thompson to take him to the living room for tea—to distract him, most probably. It was said in such a polite tone, too, and I knew that was manners talking.
I followed her down the hall, noting down the changes in the house and all the old things that had nostalgia rising up. Then we reached the back of the house, where my father’s office was located and most so-called discussions were held.
We stepped in. My eyes zoned in on my father instantly: George York, who was sitting at the only desk as the relatives gathered with chairs around him. My aunts and uncles were there, and so was my younger sister, Winnie York, who looked very pretty in a yellow summer dress that showed off her milky skin. She glanced at me with a small, formal smile, and I forced myself to smile back.
My dad stood up, eyeing me. Then he nodded his head and indicated for us to sit down, and I realized that was the only welcome I was going to get.
Apparently, my dad was planning to retire from the textile business, and he needed to divide his assets and rearrange the authority system along with his brothers, who were co-owners. There was some talk about the will and testament, talk that I understood from a young age when it was thought I would be entering into this business in the future with my political husband. I almost sighed in relief when most questions were directed at Winnie. She answered them all gracefully and without a hitch, and some mention of a wedding made me startle as I realized she just got engaged and I wasn’t informed.
I tried meeting her eyes, but it was like she was purposely avoiding looking in my direction.
It got boring, to the point where I had to blink my eyes a couple of times to keep myself focused. I still kept wondering what I was doing here when my father began naming off the rearrangement, and everyone listened in and either argued their share or approved it. My name was never brought in, giving me the idea that I was pretty much cut out from my share in the family money. Since I’d long ago accepted it, I kept quiet until the meeting was over and everyone filed out except my parents and Winnie.
I gave them a tentative smile. Only Winnie returned it.
My dad eyed me again, while my mom kept looking at him. Then she turned to me reluctantly. “Have you had your lunch?”
I nodded, trying to be pleasant. “Yes, we were served lunch on the plane. Thank you for offering Gavin tea.”
“Hmm.”
Dad finally looked down at his papers, then back at me. “You’re probably wondering why we called you here, Honey. With your grandmother gone, Winnie’s upcoming wedding and me retiring from the business, there are some power shifts that need to be addressed.”
“I understand,” I said.
“As you probably already deduced earlier, you will no longer receive your inheritance. I suppose you’re already earning enough from your…racing thing?”
I nodded. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Then that was the best decision.” He shifted the papers, then re-shifted them. Then he nodded his head. “We also want to ask you one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Please pack your bags. And please consider this your last visit here.”
The words hit me like a runaway train, straight and intense. I stared at my dad, not sure if I was hearing it right. But he was no longer speaking, and it was my mother who cleared her throat.
“What your father is trying to say is that your sister is marrying the mayor’s son, and it’s a very crucial time as our family will be exposed to some very public scrutiny. The media will be covering every detail twenty-four-seven, and…”
“…and my recent incident will be very bad publicity,” I finished for her, my voice soft.
Mom visibly shifted in her seat. “Yes. That’s exactly it.”
“You will still retain your last name,” George said, “But you can never talk about us or our relation. I want you to distance yourself from this family as much as you can and not involve us in your sordid lifestyle choice.”
“Then why was I asked to come here?”
“We’re not barbarians,” George intoned, his voice perfectly calm. “You can pack your clothes and some belongings before you deem this place non-existent. We also wanted to make sure you agreed to all this, so discussing it in person was the best.”
There was more, but I could barely hear it over the roaring in my ears. My body grew numb. The point was essentially the same: I wasn’t to come back, not even for a visit.
And their decision was final. I was cut out of the family forever.
It was a miracle how I managed to keep the smile on my face, but I did. It was terribly fake, but no one commented on it—not even Winnie. She was so very different from the Winnie in my youth, the one who used to follow me around and said she would grow up to be a Southern belle like me. Well, she was a Southern belle now, and the evidence was in the perfect poise and calm on her face and stance.
Nothing was going to bother her, not even our parent’s decision.
When it looked like they were done talking, I bid my goodbye with a gracious nod, repeating a mantra in my head to keep strong as my mother became gracious back and insisted that we stay for one last dinner. But I declined, and I didn’t miss the way she held back her sigh of relief. It ripped at my heart, and I almost flew towards my bedroom upstairs.
Whatever calm I had when I reached my bed and sat on it disintegrated quickly as I realized the severity of everything. I knew I was at fault, too, for never really communicating with them anymore after they kept taking jabs at my career choice—then, for never really reaching out to them after they got mad at my scandal and didn’t even ask for an explanation. I could have reached out, but my pride got in the way.
Now, only hurt was left.
In my head, the scene in my father’s office replayed itself over and over, like some sick, twisted movie that had me mesmerized and horrified at the same time. My numb body started to feel light, then heavy, and I started to feel something pounding in my chest and burning it up. It felt like a sadistic squeeze, and I placed my palm over it to stop it. Of course, that didn’t help.
So I started taking deep breaths—in and out, thinking of the good things in my life. My career, which had always been the goal and the happiness I sought. My own courage at handling my first solo interview after the scandal, and the support of those I trusted the most. I am strong. I am okay.
Gavin.
He was still downstairs, and I needed to pack. I told myself to move.
But my body wouldn’t move.
Belatedly, I realized that something was falling on the hand on my chest and that my cheeks were wet. I blinked the tears back, trying to keep them in. I was stronger than this. I was so much better than this—and if I could survive a sex scandal and the public’s condemnation, how difficult could my small and unsupportive family be?
The door opened, and I looked up, a smile already forming on my face.
“I’m ready to pack…”
The words drifted off when I saw that it was Gavin and not my mother, nor my sister. I kept the smile up. But he frowned, closing the door as he did so.
“What’s wrong?”
My smile froze. “Nothing’s…”
He walked closer, pinning me with a look that said only one thing: bullshit. He sat down beside me, then did something that had me gasping—pulled me abruptly until I was on his lap.
My breath hitched, and my wall started crumbling. I tried to push him off, but he held firm.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice soothing. “Let it out, Honey.”
The hands that tried to push on his chest clung. I looked up and saw understanding in his gaze.
And that was when I knew I was truly alone and cut off from my family.
The storm inside me poured out, and so did the tears.