This had been her sister’s final attempt at undermining her: naming someone else as her daughter’s legal guardian. Did Diana really think she was incapable of caring for a child? That she was incompetent? What did this man have that she didn’t? Jan was an accomplished musician who made a six-figure salary, a brilliant woman who owned an apartment in a distinguished building. There was nothing she couldn’t provide. She had done it out of spite, hadn’t she? One last twist of the knife.
Before leaving her place, she picked up the wine bottle and set it back on the counter three times. Would they think she had a drinking problem if she brought it as a gift? Given the man’s line of work, she imagined him scrutinizing her demeanor, her reactions—every detail, from the way she styled her hair to whether her shoes were smudged or gleaming. She would need to perform, to put on her best show. Better than she had during the audition where she’d lost first chair at the Symphony.
In the end, she took the wine. Jan drew in a steadying breath before knocking, already rehearsing her lines, the precise smile she’d offer the moment the door opened.
@chronically-engaged.
