“Glowering is Dylan’s love language,” Andrew clarifies. “They do miss you, but I meant everyone. The grandmas ask me about you all the time. Lovey wants to know when you’re going to finish The Arrangement, even though I keep telling her she already knows how it ends. And Meemaw told me the truth—that she knew our relationship was fake all along, that she knew about you and Jack. I think she blames herself a bit for not stepping in. Also, she wants her snowsuit back.”

She can’t have it, I don’t say aloud. It does, a little bit, still smell like Jack.

“And my mom mentions you a lot. At first, it was in a not-so-positive context. Like How could we have let ourselves be taken in by that charlatan? And Who raises their daughter to infiltrate a family at Christmas? But once her initial anger wore off, I think Mom started to realize you weren’t a charlatan so much as a desperate poor person, and that the whole point was that your parents didn’t really raise you. Now she mostly worries you’re not eating well and wonders if it would be acceptable to drop off Tupperware containers full of food.”

I want to smile, imagining Katherine stealthily depositing reusable grocery bags outside of Brideshead, but instead I’m holding my breath, waiting to hear if “everyone” includes her.

If Jack ever talks about missing me.

But Andrew doesn’t say her name, and I’m forced to exhale my disappointment. Jack doesn’t miss me. Why would she miss someone who did nothing but hurt her and violate her trust?

Andrew seems oblivious to my own hurt as he reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulls out an envelope. “I’ve missed you, too. I know you were supposed to be my wife, but I started thinking of you as a sister, and—” Andrew cringes. “Wait, did that sound creepy?”

“It’s the situation that got creepy, honestly. That’s not on you.”

He pushes the envelope awkwardly toward me. “Anyway, since you’re my almost-wife, sort-of-sister, I’ve been feeling really guilty that you went through all of this and still didn’t get the money, so I—”

“I don’t care about the money,” I interrupt. “I mean, of course I care, because that kind of money is the difference between Grocery Outlet frozen burritos and Whole Foods fresh vegetables, but the money was just a Band-Aid. A golden parachute I thought would fix my life without me actually having to, you know… fix my life.”

“Well, it seems like you’ve been fixing your life, so… take this.”

I do. The envelope is heavier than I expect. “What’s this?”

“It’s not two hundred thousand dollars, so adjust your expectations.” He flaps his hands. “Just open it.”