I tried to match together an outfit that showed proper respect for a grieving, stressed-out mother on the verge of losing her mind. No black, because black meant death and that was the last message I wanted my outfit to put in Felicity’s head.

Picking out ripped jeans that showed a dash of thigh here, a sliver of leg there, and a cream turtleneck, I stepped into the only expensive shoes I owned—a pair of $400 genuine leather Freebird boots that I bought myself as a Christmas gift courtesy of my uber-rich boss (I never did tell him just how big a bonus I gave myself) and checked the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. My father’s Caribbean-soaked skin glistened with coconut butter, while my mother’s hazel eyes popped beneath green eye shadow. It wasn’t too much—I’d managed to channel my inner hoochie mama while retaining the veneer of the supportive sister.

Not that how I looked should have mattered. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Liar.

I slipped into the bathroom, wondering what Cody meant by do what you do best. Did he really think that was all I was good for, looking pretty? I admit I didn’t contribute much financially to our neglected life in our neglected house, but not all of us had the same opportunities for advancement and wealth. There wasn’t much earning power or promotion above “personal assistant.”

At least working for a high-powered attorney was a step up from my last job, because waitressing when my passion was acting was too much of a cliché, even for me. I had settled for community theatre during my early twenties, then pursued the whole Hollywood thing, only to return home weighed down by the baggage of rejection and humiliation. Now that I was pushing thirty, acting seemed like a childish dream. One that I still longed for, but one that I simply couldn’t dedicate every waking moment to anymore. I still auditioned for local theatre gigs, but wiped away the vision of my name in giant letters on the silver screen. After years of almosts, I finally gave up and faced reality—a boring and predictable Groundhog Day existence where the white picket fence was riddled with termites, the plumbing leaked, and the kitchen looked like a Waffle House. Much like my regrettable past, I finally let my future die.