FALLING FOR MY MOM'S FIANCÉ

a

ard enough to leave a white chip in the glaze. My thumb finds the crack befor

O WED SOCIETY DESIGNER MONICA WILS

in her life. Standing next to a man with silver-streaked black hair and shoulders

een blurs at the edges as I scroll down, reading how they'd "been plannin

n our old couch after she moved out. I found him there one morning, staring at a pho

u

reen: U up? Just saw the news OMG r u ok??? Did s

nger from spilling over: No. She didn't tell me. Found out from a damn tabloid. I can'

up bagels and mimosas. We'll get drun

ening. I punch in my mom's number without thinking. It rings twice before she picks up, background noi

nens for the reception with my planner. You rememb

idn't call me? I had to see it on Twitter, some random account with two hundre

er room. "I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I just... wanted

nds are shaking now, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles ache. "Who e

lass one on Third Avenue? He built that from scratch." She sounds proud, almost gid

e same word to describe my dad twenty-five years

phone call. You owed Dad a phone call, wait, did you even

he way it always does when she's trying to get her way. "That's why I'm calling now, we'

hem on the same ballroom floor when I was seven years old, wearing a tiny white dres

ing you celebrate with some man who probably doe

Maya, please... he wants to meet you. He kn

like ash. "I said no, Mom. I'm n

the couch hard enough to make the cushions bounce. It lan

t moping in here all day. I already got the bagels

loud enough to rattle the dashboard. She glances over at me every few

the leather dresses and the crazy prices. I just got paid for that campaign, so my treat. Then we hit up that new rooftop bar in Brooklyn... you know, t

her like they're trying to escape the ground. The image of my mom's face in the

say, quiet enough the m

me again. "You don't even know hi

ver my chest, pressing my palms against my ribs to steady the shaking. "I know how she gets, she s

marches straight to the back, weaving between racks until she pulls out something that makes my breath catch. It's deep

says, pushing

mirror. I look smaller than usual-angry and sharp-edged, like I could cut

is one?

ke you could take him apart with just one look." She grin

t photo, looking like he owns everything he touches. I think about

y, my voice low and steady thi

ins-slow, dangerous, matching my own. "Now th