Chapter 9
Summer's POV
The kitchen was warm with the lingering smell of scrambled eggs and bacon when Mom's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting from contentment to concern in an instant.
"It's the head designer," she said, already moving toward the hallway for better reception. I watched her pace, one hand pressed to her temple, nodding at whatever urgent crisis was unfolding on the other end. When she hung up, her face was tight with stress.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." She was already reaching for her car keys, her earlier relaxation evaporating. "There's an emergency at the office—the main fabric supplier for the fall fashion week collection just backed out. If I don't get there right now to handle the logistics, we could lose the entire deal."
"It's okay, Mom." I stood, trying to keep my voice steady. "I can take the T to my piano lesson."
"No honey, you'd have to transfer to get the T now, and you'd miss most of the class. Let me call Aunt Maya." She was already dialing, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she gathered her briefcase. "She's off today, she can drive you."
The name hit me like a fist to the stomach. Maya. My chest constricted, and for a second I couldn't breathe. Images flashed through my mind—Mom in an orange prison jumpsuit, her hair gone gray, Maya's Instagram posts from Monaco, champagne glasses raised against a backdrop of yachts and luxury I'd paid for with my mother's freedom.
"Mom, I really can just—"
But she was already speaking into the phone, her tone warm and grateful. "Maya? It's me. Listen, I have an emergency at work. Could you do me a huge favor and drive Summer to her piano lesson? You're a lifesaver. Yes, right now if you can. I'll have her wait out front. Thank you so much."
She hung up and turned to me with an apologetic smile, already halfway to the door. "Your aunt will be here in ten minutes. Are you sure you're okay?"
I forced myself to nod, my nails digging crescents into my palms. "I'm fine."
Mom hesitated, studying my face. "You look pale again. Maybe you should skip the lesson?"
"No." The word came out too sharp. I softened my tone. "I'm good, really. You should go handle the crisis."
She kissed my forehead quickly, grabbed her coat, and was gone in a flurry of expensive perfume and clicking heels. I stood in the suddenly silent kitchen, my heart pounding so hard I thought I might be sick.
Ten minutes. I had ten minutes to pull myself together before facing the woman who would destroy everything.
I walked to the living room, my legs unsteady, and sank onto the piano bench. My fingers found the keys automatically, playing a few bars of Chopin before I realized what I was doing. The Steinway had been a gift for my tenth birthday, shipped from Germany, tuned by specialists Mom flew in quarterly. I ran my hand over the polished wood, remembering how I used to complain about practice, how I'd once deliberately scratched nail polish into the finish during a teenage tantrum.
The music stand still held my old Czerny exercise book, Mom's handwriting on the first page: For my little pianist. Love always, Mom. I'd thought it was controlling back then, another way she tried to shape me into her perfect daughter. Now I saw it for what it was—love, expressed the only way she knew how.
A car horn sounded outside.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed my bag with shaking hands, checking one more time that I had everything—sheet music, water bottle, the carefully maintained fiction of a normal Tuesday afternoon. Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door.
Maya's silver Mercedes was idling at the curb, sleek and expensive in a way that made my skin crawl knowing where that money would eventually come from. The passenger window rolled down, and there she was—perfectly made up, designer coat, warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Summer! Get in, sweetheart, don't keep your aunt waiting."
I forced my legs to move, forced myself to open the door and slide into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like her perfume, something floral and cloying that made my throat tight.
"Thank you for doing this, Aunt Maya." My voice sounded almost normal.
"Oh, don't be silly." She pulled smoothly into traffic, one manicured hand on the wheel. "We're family. Besides, I wanted to see you. It's been too long."
Not long enough, I thought, but I kept my face neutral, my hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling.
"I got you something." Maya gestured to the center console with a smile that probably looked generous to anyone who didn't know what I knew. "Caramel macchiato, your favorite. I had them make it sugar-free since your mom mentioned you're watching your diet."
The coffee cup sat there, still steaming. I stared at it, and suddenly I was twenty-two again, sitting across from Maya in a café while she bought me drinks and desserts, listened to me complain about Mom's strictness, told me she understood, that she was on my side.
"Your mother is so hard on you, Summer. She's always been like that, you know. Doesn't trust anyone."
"I'm your aunt, honey. I'll always be here for you. Whatever you need."
"Don't worry about the company stuff. I'll handle everything. You just focus on having fun."
All those little kindnesses, those sympathetic words, making me feel seen and understood while she systematically destroyed everything Mom had built. And I'd believed her. I'd chosen her over my own mother.
"That's really thoughtful," I said carefully, "but I'm not drinking coffee right now. Doctor's orders."
Maya's smile flickered, just for a second. "Oh. Well, that's probably wise. You're growing up, making healthy choices." She laughed lightly. "Your mom mentioned you've been different lately. More mature."