The Last Time I Saw You. Liv Constantine

inwardly. The last person she was in the mood for was Selby. They’d barely acknowledged each other at the funeral luncheon; Selby had sat with her husband, Carter, and not with the women. Now she’d have no choice but to talk to her.

      When they walked into the kitchen, Blaire looked around in appreciation. It was fabulous, like something you would expect to see in a grand Tuscan villa of old. Beautiful terra-cotta flooring that looked so authentic she wondered if it had been brought over from Italy tile by tile. A skylighted cathedral ceiling with its rough-hewn wood beams cast a golden glow over the polished wooden counters and floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The room had the same refined and antique feel as the rest of the house, but with the added flavor of a bit of old Europe.

      Selby was seated at a table that appeared to be a thick slab of wood carved from a single tree, coarse on the edges and elegantly simple. Annabelle was on her lap, and Selby was reading to her. Selby looked up, her expression turning sour.

      “Oh. Hello, Blaire.” Selby scrutinized her with the same disdain she always had, but Blaire didn’t care anymore. She knew she looked good. If she wasn’t quite as thin as she’d been in high school, her time at the gym and careful diet assured she could still rock a pair of jeans. And the hair that had been impossible to tame back then was straight and shiny thanks to the modern miracle known as keratin. Selby’s eyes rested on the round eight-carat diamond ring on Blaire’s left hand.

      Blaire coolly returned the favor, grudgingly acknowledging that the years had been good to Selby. If anything, she was more attractive now than she had been in high school, the soft waves around her face streaked with subtle highlights that softened her features. Selby’s jewelry was exquisite—large pearl earrings, a gold bangle, and a sapphire-and-diamond ring on her hand, which Blaire knew was an heirloom. Carter had shown it to Blaire a million years ago—before he’d acquiesced to his parents’ insistence that he find a “suitable” prospect to settle down with.

      “Hi, Selby. How are you?” Blaire said, turning away from her and pulling a stuffed purple unicorn out of her tote. She held it out to Annabelle. “Annabelle, I’m your mommy’s old friend, Blaire. I thought you might like to meet Sunny.”

      Annabelle flew from Selby’s lap, her arms outstretched, and hugged the stuffed animal to her chest. “Can I keep her?” she asked.

      “Of course. I found her especially for you.”

      Breaking into a wide grin, the little girl squeezed it tighter. Blaire was pleased to see that it was a hit.

      “Where are your manners, Annabelle?” Kate gently scolded. “Say thank you.”

      Annabelle regarded Blaire solemnly for a moment, then murmured a shy “Thank you.”

      “You’re very welcome, Annabelle. Auntie Blaire loves to give presents.”

      Selby looked annoyed. “I didn’t realize you were already on ‘auntie’ terms, Blaire.”

      Couldn’t Selby put aside her pettiness for one day? Blaire thought. Not about to engage, she instead turned to Kate. “You don’t mind if she calls me that, do you?”

      Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Of course not. We were like sisters—are like sisters,” she corrected herself.

      “Remember how we used to pretend that we were sisters when we’d go clubbing in college?” Blaire asked her. “And the fake names. Anastasia and …”

      “Cordelia!” Kate finished, laughing.

      Selby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it was hilarious.”

      Blaire thought back to those years. Despite their completely different coloring, people believed them. They’d spent so much time together that they had begun to sound alike. They’d picked up the cadence and tempo of each other’s speech and even had similar laughs.

      Before she’d met Kate, Blaire had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a normal family, to have a mother who cooked breakfast for you, made sure you had a healthy lunch for school, was waiting when you got home to help with homework or just ask how your day had gone. Blaire had been only eight when her mother had left, and she had quickly become the center of her father’s universe. By the time she was in fifth grade, she’d learned how to cook better than her mother ever had, and relished making gourmet meals for her father. After a while, Blaire even liked taking care of herself and of him—it made her feel grown-up and in control. And then it all changed when Enid Turner came along.

      Enid was a sales rep in her father’s company who suddenly started coming to their house for weekly dinners. Six months later, her father sat Blaire down with a goofy smile on his face and asked, “How would you like to have a new mother?”

      It had taken her only a moment to understand. “If you’re talking about Enid, no, thank you.”

      He had taken her hand in his. “You know that I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

      “I guess.”

      He’d gone on, that stupid smile still on his face. “Well, I’ve asked her to marry me.”

      Blaire had shot off the sofa and stood in front of him, tears of fury blurring her vision. “You can’t do this!”

      “I thought you’d be happy. You’ll have a mother.”

      “Happy? Why would I be happy? She’ll never be my mother!” Blaire’s mother, Shaina, had been beautiful and glamorous, with long red hair and sparkling eyes. Sometimes the two of them would play dress-up. Her mother would pretend to be a big star and Blaire her assistant. She’d promised her that one day they would go to Hollywood together, and even though she’d gone on her own, Blaire believed her mother would come back for her once she got settled.

      She looked for a letter or postcard every day. She searched for her mother’s face in movie posters and television shows. Her father kept telling her to forget about Shaina, that she was gone for good. But Blaire couldn’t believe that she would leave her behind forever. Maybe she was just waiting until she made it big before coming back for her. After a year had passed with no word from her mother, Blaire started to worry. Something must have happened to her. She’d begged her father to take her to California to look for her, but he just shook his head, a sad look on his face. He told Blaire that her mother was alive.

      She’d looked at her father in shock. “You know where she is?”

      It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t. I only know that she’s cashing her alimony check every month.”

      Blaire was too young to wonder why he kept paying the bills after they were divorced. Instead, she blamed him, told herself that he was lying and deliberately keeping them apart. Soon her mother would come for her, or if Hollywood wasn’t what she thought it would be, maybe she’d even come home again.

      So when her father told her he’d decided to marry Enid, Blaire had run to her room and locked the door. She’d told him she would refuse to eat, sleep, or talk to him ever again if he went through with it. There was no way insipid Enid Turner was going to move into her house and tell her what to do. No way she was going to take Blaire’s father away from her. How could he even look at Enid after being married to her mother? Shaina was vibrant and exciting. Enid was ordinary and boring. But nonetheless, a month later, they were married in the local Methodist church, with Blaire a grudging witness.

      They quickly converted the den, where Blaire’s friends used to come and watch TV or throw some darts, into a craft room for Enid. Enid painted it pink, and then she hung her “artwork,” a collection of paint-by-numbers dog breeds, all over the walls, while Blaire’s games and toys went down to the basement.

      The first night after the room conversion, once Enid and her father had fallen asleep, Blaire had crept into her former den. Grabbing a Magic Marker from the dresser, she’d drawn eyeglasses on the cocker spaniel, a mustache on the golden retriever, and a cigar in the mouth of the black lab. Soon, she’d been doubled over with silent laughter, her body shaking as she held it in.

      The