“I hate you,” he says. “I hate me too.”

I don’t know how to answer that.

He pops the cap off and takes a swig. “Read it.”

I’m afraid to grab the piece of paper, but I do anyway. I pick it up and look at the fancy cursive.

I can’t do this anymore. There are too many memories. I moved to the penthouse in LA. You’re eighteen now anyway; you’ll be fine. Your father’s secretary will be in touch with the next steps. You look like him. I love you, but you look like him. I’m sorry. I just can’t be the mom you need right now. You have your uncle close by. And Mary-Belle can keep you company. I thought of buying you a cat or something. I know this comes across as a shock and harsh, but you’ve always been more of an adult than a teenager. Take care of yourself. I’ll be in touch when I’m ready.

— Mom

“What?” I drop the piece of paper. “What is this? What do you mean she just left? Does she think this is easy for you? And now she’s gone?”

“Defending me even when I hate you?” Ambrose takes another swig. “Look who’s perfect now?” He chuckles.

“It’s not funny!” I yell. “This is child abandonment!”

“Look around you, B; we aren’t children. We’re both eighteen, living alone in a giant mansion with an unlimited amount of money…” He tilts his head. “Really, we should celebrate.”

He’s hurting. I know he is.

He’s masking it.

But he’s lost everything.

I know the feeling. The feeling of just wanting someone to tell you they love you and mean it and being disappointed every single time they don’t.

“Ambrose…” I lean down, ready to rest my hand on his shoulder. He bats it away instantly. “We can come up with a plan. I can cook more. I’m good at cleaning—“

He snorts out a laugh. “Okay, Cinderella, you ready to be my fucking maid?”

I swallow my pride. “If that’s what it takes, then yes, I’ll be your maid.”

“Unbelievable.”

Why is he angry? “I understand if you want me to leave, I can probably find a place tomorrow if I need to—“

“—Stay, it will be entertaining for me to see you cleaning bathrooms, but B, we have plenty of maids who come in and out.”

I swallow. “I should at least help out somehow.”

His eyes darken. “I think you’ve helped enough; just stay out of my way and keep eating your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the dark.” He grabs his phone and starts furiously texting with one hand. “Until then, I’m inviting some friends over.”

“Like, Hudson?” I ask lamely.

“Like…” He sends the text. “…the entire Senior class.” He eyes me up and down. “I’d change if you ever hope to get any guy to look at you twice. This girl, thinking she can clean my house when she can’t even iron.”

“I fell asleep in my uniform,” I blurt. “I was studying.”