Chapter 2He Divorced A Fake Bankrupt Billionaire

When I walked through the front door carrying a dripping black trash bag, the three of them were sprawled across my living room couches, the TV blaring. The laughter was deafening.

The moment Helen saw me, her smile snapped shut like a trap, replaced instantly by her trademark sneer.

"Where have you been? Trent is starving!"

Kyle was practically horizontal, a leg tossed over the armrest, peeling a mandarin orange and letting the rinds drop onto my Persian rug. "Hey Georgia, where’s the lobster? I want the garlic butter kind."

Trent pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, walking toward me with that practiced, sickeningly sweet smile. "You work too hard, babe. On our anniversary, too. It kills me to make you cook."

I sidestepped his outstretched hands and dropped the bag onto the dining table.

Thud.

A thick, putrid scent immediately bloomed in the air.

Trent pinched his nose. "God, what is that smell?"

I untied the plastic bag and dumped the pile of gray, lifeless shrimp and slimy, brown-edged lettuce into a glass bowl.

"They were out of lobster," I said, my voice perfectly level. "But I saw these shrimp and thought, hey, what a steal! Dead meat is still meat, right? It was seventy percent off."

All three of their faces turned the color of week-old bruised fruit.

Helen lunged forward, pointing a trembling finger at the blackened shells. "Georgia! Are you feeding us garbage like we're stray dogs?! Didn't Trent tell you to get lobster? You sit on all that cash and you feed your own family dead shrimp?"

I moved to the sink, slowly washing my hands, turning wide, innocent eyes on Trent.

"Mom, that's not fair. Didn't Trent say last night that we need to tighten our belts to help pay for Kyle's wedding? I thought I was being financially responsible. Live shrimp are twenty bucks a pound, these were two. The money I saved on dinner will buy Kyle a carton of cigarettes."

Trent’s face went rigid.

He loved playing the "noble, unmaterialistic intellectual." Throwing his own "budgeting" rhetoric back in his face was like forcing him to swallow a mouthful of sand.

Kyle slammed the rest of his orange down on the glass coffee table.

"Are you doing this on purpose, Georgia? You literally own buildings, and you're nickel-and-diming us? Whatever. Just Venmo me five hundred bucks. I’m meeting the guys for drinks later and I'm not looking broke in front of them."

In the past, whenever he asked, I’d casually transfer a thousand or two just to keep the peace.

Now?

I dried my hands on a towel, walked right up to Kyle, and held out my palm.

"Actually, Kyle, perfect timing. The gas tank on my car must be empty by now. I checked the premium gas prices today, it’s about a hundred to fill up. You reimburse me for the gas you've burned this week, and then we’ll talk about your allowance."

Kyle froze.

Helen froze.

Trent stopped breathing.

The silence in the room was thick and suffocating.

Kyle’s eyes bulged. "Are you insane? You want me to pay for gas to drive your car?"

I offered a bright, hollow smile. "Business is business, right? Plus, that car is my pre-marital asset. Letting you drive it for free is already a favor; you expect me to subsidize your joyrides, too? I'm just a vulgar businesswoman, Kyle. I don't understand all this 'family loyalty' stuff. I just understand ledgers."

Trent couldn't take it anymore.

He whipped out his wallet, pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and slammed it onto the dining table.

"Georgia, when did you become so agonizingly transactional? You reek of money! Where is the generous, loving woman I married?"

I picked up the bill, held it up to the recessed lighting to check the watermark, and slid it into my back pocket.

"I guess I'm a product of my environment. Living with you guys, I've had to learn how to count my pennies."

I turned back to the kitchen, swept the rotting shrimp into a boiling pot of water, and tossed in a handful of cheap table salt.

"Sit tight, guys. Anniversary dinner is almost ready."

Behind me, I heard Trent’s harsh, whispered hiss: "Mom, Kyle. Shut up and endure it. Don't ruin the long game. We just need to get the deed to the house first."

Watching the murky water bubble and froth in the pot, a cold, sharp smile touched my lips.