za
food out of a takeout container and watching a mindless reality show. My
dropping his briefcase by the door. It
perfunctory "How' s the arm?" to which I hadn' t re
ng," I said, not loo
anged. He was holding a small, glossy gift bag from a high-en
watching me, his gaze intense, searching for a sign of gratitude, of forgi
eld that familiar, condescending pity he re
I said, my voice
ked. "
that brand. It'
e of her and Drake at the brand' s boutique, her holding up the exact same jar of cream, with the c
ickered back to the TV, where a woman was thro
rying to look at my a
the gift bag from the coffee table. The heavy glass jar inside hit the hardwood floor w
w clenching. "Are you serious, Eliza? You' re
" I said simply.
ing me the silent treatment. How old are you, twelve? It' s pathetic.
r throat raw with unshed sobs. The new Eliza felt a strange sen
u want, Drake," I
ntainers, and threw them in the trash. I walk
anger. This was not going according t
Ou
he demanded, bl
I lied, pulling m
his face, his expression a mixture of fury and utter bewilderment. He couldn' t comprehend a w
about t