Chapter 4 - Before Dawn
A hand settled on my shoulder in the dark.
When I opened my eyes, Adam was standing beside the bed, holding my coat. His keys were already in his other hand.
"Get dressed, honey. Quietly."
"Adam, it's not even five."
"I know. That's the point."
Twenty minutes later, we parked outside Diane's house. Her porch light was off. The only glow came from a window at the neighbor's place.
"Are we really doing this?" I whispered.
"She used our emergency key to walk in on you," he said. "I still have the one she gave me years ago."
Until that second, I thought he'd brought me there to confront her at her front door.
Wrong.
He slid the key into the lock and eased the door open. I followed him inside.
And stopped cold.
A soft gray film of dust covered the entry table. Shoes lay tipped over along the wall. From the kitchen came a sour, closed-up smell. The sink was stacked higher than the faucet, and a filthy dish towel sat balled up on the floor.
For eight years, I had been killing myself trying to meet a standard she couldn't come close to herself.
"Adam, look at this place."
"It's worse than I remembered," he murmured. "Keep going."
Then his list came back to me. Fridge. Cabinets. Laundry. Towels.
This wasn't an impulse. He'd been building it for days.
We moved down the hallway. At his mother's bedroom door, Adam glanced at me once, then flipped on the light.
It hit her right across the face.
She jolted upright, hair sticking straight up on one side, eyes puffy with sleep.
"What—" she gasped. "What are you doing in my house?"
Adam lifted his phone.
Diane went rigid. "Adam. Don't."
He didn't take a picture. He just held the phone steady, aimed at her.
"Why not?" he said. "You figured it was fine when you did it to Megan."
She pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Put that away."
"Almost five in the morning, Mom. Megan's already awake. You're still in bed." His voice was flat and even. "Think about what your Facebook friends would say."
"That's not funny."
"No," he said. "It isn't." He lowered the phone. "Now you understand."
She turned toward me. "Megan, sweetheart—"
"Don't," I said. "You don't get to call me sweetheart right now."
She went quiet.
My eyes drifted to the hallway behind us. The dust. The laundry piled on a chair. The wrecked kitchen. And all at once I saw exactly what Adam had been setting up.
"Actually," I said, "I have a better idea."
I sat down on the edge of her dresser.
"Go back to your post. Tell every woman who called me lazy that I had a 102-degree fever when you took that picture. Tell them you let them laugh at me anyway. Then apologize."
Her face hardened. "I'm not doing that."
"Then prove you were right," I said. "Tomorrow at noon, we both go live from our own kitchens and do the exact same chores. Fridge, cabinets, laundry, towels. Let everyone see which one of us actually practices what she preaches."
She stared at me. "And if I say no?"
"Then Adam and I take pictures of you and this house and post them ourselves. Everyone who laughed at me finally sees the truth."
Her jaw tightened. "And if I agree?"
I looked toward her kitchen.
"THEN WE MAKE IT INTERESTING. WHOEVER LOSES TAKES A PUNISHMENT — IN FRONT OF EVERYONE."
Her eyes narrowed. "What punishment?"
"You'll find out tomorrow."
For the first time in eight years, Diane hesitated. I could see the choice forming behind her eyes. She could admit she'd lied about me. Or she could take the challenge and prove she was every bit as perfect as she'd spent eight years pretending to be.
May you like
Finally, she lifted her chin. "Fine. Noon."
I smiled. She still had no idea what losing would cost her.
