Page 158 of Dial F for Finance

Serena:

Do it.

Nora:

OK. I’m walking out of my office now.

Audrey:

Me too.

Serena:

Jenna can leave Dominic. She does not get to resign from us.

Layla:

Plane secured. Wheels up as soon as we’re all on board.

Serena:

I’ll bring coffee and a metaphorical crowbar.

Audrey:

I own a compact pry bar.

Layla:

Audrey.

Audrey:

I’ll leave it at home.

CHAPTER 45

Jenna

“I’m pretty sure that pan was clean ten minutes ago,” Ma says from the stove.

I drop the sponge into the sink, my fingers stiff and wrinkled from the hot water. “It had a spot.”

Ma turns the burner down to a simmer, wiping her hands on her apron. She leans against the counter, watching me with that new, unsettling clarity she’s developed since she quit drinking. “Jenna,” she says, her voice stripped of its usual nervous energy, replaced by a gentle steadiness I am still learning how to navigate. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

I dry my hands on a dish towel, folding it into precise, mathematically perfect thirds before draping it over the oven handle. The silence in the kitchen feels thick, pressing inward against my ribs. I look at the small red chip sitting proudly on the windowsill. Thirty days.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

Ma tilts her head. “Regret what?”

“Marrying Dad.”

She goes entirely still. Then, with deliberate slowness, she reaches over and turns the stove completely off. The kitchen is suddenly devoid of the ambient hiss of gas. She pulls out a chair at the small table and sits, gesturing for me to do the same. I hesitate, then take the seat across from her, maintaining perfect posture because if I let myself slouch, my composure will fail.

“No,” she says finally, meeting my gaze directly. “I don’t regret marrying him, because it gave me you and your sister. But I deeply regret who I became when he left.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “You were hurt, Ma.”