A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely comments on the previous chapter. I'm so happy people enjoyed it.
I just finished rewatching the series and I love how soap opera-ish it is. Like murder trials and secret sons. It just makes sense in soap opera format, which I tried to imitate here.
Here is the second chapter of the story. I hope you like it.
Claire
She finds herself hunched over on the edge of her seat, trying to figure out these God-awful game controls. "Who am I again?" she asks. The princesses and the Marios, and the gorilla guy, along with everybody else make it all confusing.
"You're the one being pulled out of the ocean," he says, "again."
"Ah, yes," she says with a nod. Her character is finally placed back onto the track, but now she's getting some notification saying she's going the wrong way—now, somehow, she's back in the ocean.
"Don't worry," says Justin, "I'm not very good either."
"It's these damn controls. I don't know my left from my right!" She looks down at her controls. "Or my a's from my b's…"
The front door opens and hurried high-heeled footsteps draw near. Betty enters the room in that frantic way of hers. Claire focuses on the television screen; she's just slipped on a banana.
"Mrs. Meade—Claire," Betty greets.
"Hello Betty."
And Iggy wins. The game's over in an instant. Thank God! She sets the control down.
"Um," begins Betty, her focus on Iggy, "say goodnight to"—she looks at Claire, wondering what she should have Iggy call her, this stranger, as far as he knows, invading his space in his grandfather's home—"to Mrs. Meade here," she decides, though it doesn't quite fit. At least to her. "And go get ready for bed."
He shuts his game off with just a few high-tech clicks, then the tv's off. He stands. "Goodnight, Iggy," Claire says.
"Yeah… night," he says. He gives his mother a quick look, then heads up the stairs. Justin tiptoes back into the kitchen, conveniently giving Claire and Betty enough space to talk .
And a familiar sadness comes over her, like how she felt keeping Tyler a secret for all those years.
"I didn't mean to intrude," Claire says honestly. She stands, suddenly feeling out of place.
Betty shakes her head. "No, Claire, you… you have every right to be here. You have every right to spend time with him."
She's touched. Truly.
"That is very kind, Betty." She steps forward, crossing her arms. "But I actually came here to see you."
Betty sighs. "Look, Claire—"
"This isn't about Iggy," she assures. Betty raises her brow. "Okay, maybe it is a little about Iggy." She moves closer. "There is a meeting with the executives tomorrow morning that I would be grateful if you came in and… overlooked ." She's quick to silence Betty's protest. "You're running a successful magazine. And, right now, we are not. Please. Help us."
It's silent, just for a moment, before Betty relents: "Okay— okay . But just this one meeting…"
"Thank you. Thank you, Betty." Joy flutters inside her. She clasps her hands together as if to say a silent prayer.
Daniel
Her scent reeks all over the pillows, the sheets—some thousand dollar perfume created from the suffering of animals. Probably. He should know better at his age, but he bought it for her because she begged him. And he likes when girls beg. Or he did… once. Now he just wants to relive it. He sighs and turns, tired; her lips attack his cheeks, his chin, his neck, the smell of lavender lingering each place she visits. She moves down until she reaches his—
"You know, Melinda," he says, lifting her head. "I actually have an early start tomorrow morning. How 'bout a rain check?"
She scoffs. It sounds corny to him, too. Rain check? Who says rain check annymore? And she's out of his bed in an instant. Her naked body would be more than enough to arouse younger Daniel. Current Daniel just finds her boring, uninteresting. She only cares about his money, and just tolerates the sex.
Melinda enters the bathroom, then comes out half a minute later in the skimpy dress she wore here. She stomps out of his room. "Goodbye," he shouts as he hears the front door slam. They do this practically every night. Somehow they're fine by the next morning—he gets his sleep; she goes out partying with her girls, and probably someone a little more.
He sighs, settling in bed and closing his eyes. She's half his age. God. What is he doing with his life?
Betty
"Did you brush your teeth?"
"Yeah," he says before puffing minty fresh air in her direction. He climbs into bed.
She kisses his cheek and starts tucking him in. He looks distant, not like himself. "Grandpa might be coming home tomorrow," she says to try to lift his spirits. He manages a small smile. "Okay." She lays next to him, snuggling close. She decides to start the game they both love: "The clue is… um, fruit."
"How did she know my name?"
"Huh?"
"That lady," he says, "downstairs."
"Oh well, she—she knows you," Betty says quickly, a little too quickly for her liking. Nerves and guilt merge together in her stomach, making it feel like a giant ball is bouncing around in her stomach. "You met her when you were a baby."
It's quiet for a moment. She looks up at the ceiling, seeing the glow in the dark stars Justin put up there when he was little. It seems like a thousand years ago; it seems like only yesterday.
"Apple."
"What?"
"An apple's a fruit."
The game. He's moved on to the game. "Oh." She was thinking of grapes, actually. "Yep, it's an apple." It should be easy to blurt out that the stranger playing video games with him is his grandmother. It should be easy to do and say a lot of things, but… it's not. She turns to him, her hand resting on his stomach. "She… Claire Meade. She came here to recruit me, actually. I use to work for her. A long time ago."
"When I was a baby?"
She looks away, unable to face him, instead opting to look at the glowing stars above them. She never lies to him. "No, before that." She just can never find the courage to tell him the full truth.
Wilhelmina
She lives her life at a fast pace; it's the life of a magazine chief editor. Morning, nights, they're all planned ahead. Yet, she's running five minutes behind thanks to that silly little accident on Wall Street. It's all right; she'll be fashionably late.
She enters the elevator and—
"Hold the elevator please!" That voice, her shriek. Come to ruin her already off day.
Wilhelmina's heart sinks, a lump forms in her throat as she presses the close button, but Betty's hand is quick stop it. She practically barrel rolls herself inside, nearly crushing her.
"Thank you… thank you," Betty huffs out. Wilhelmina says nothing, just takes a few steps back. "Did you see what happened on Wall Street?" continues the mouth. "His poor family. They say he fell twenty floors. Horrifying."
Wilhelmina shrugs. They're all coked up over there anyway; it was bound to happen again, eventually.
Betty turns, then smiles. "Oh, Wilhelmina hi!"
"Hello, Betty," she says formally. "What brings you in my region?"
Her face falls. "Oh, didn't Claire tell you? I'm overseeing the executive meeting today." She says it in such a casual tone. How disgusting.
Her blood boils. The fire ignites in her soul. "No."
"I'm just doing it as a favor. She basically cornered me," Betty continues blabbering on, oblivious to the world around her, as if nothing's changed. "In my own home. My father's home, technically. But I still see it as my home too. I mean, I did grow up there and—"
"Your father's in the hospital, I hear," she interrupts quickly. "I would think you'd want to spend your short visit in New York with your family."
"I do… I mean, I am," she stumbles out. "I'm just doing this as a favor for—"
"Claire, yes, you've said," she says stiffly. The elevator doors opens finally. She steps out. To her dismay, Betty follows.
"Look, Wilhelmina, I know you're probably not very happy to see me back here. Believe me, this is the last place I thought I'd be." Then don't be here, Wilhelmina thinks to say. "But Claire thinks I might be able to help your audience move past this whole Kanye thing."
God, the Kanye fiasco. That issue made millions, sent them skyrocketing. Whether they approved of it or not, people still bought it and read it. It was the next issue that plummeted, and those damn TikTokers were certainly no help. Subscriptions dwindled, sponsors backed out, and celebrities distanced themselves. They live in a society where the entitled loud mouths of the world tell everyone else how to act, how to think. It's hell being on the other end of it.
"I'll tell you what I told Claire when she first constructed this whole charade." She stops and faces her. "We don't need you here. I got us into this mess, and I sure as hell can get us out of it." That seems to stun her a bit. In the distance, Wilhelmina can see Daniel talking to some intern. And suddenly she knows just how to break her: "My condolences to you and your entire family, Betty. Especially that son of yours—Iggy, was it? He must be devastated about your father's heart attack, given that he's probably his only father figure."
Wilhelmina's eyes target Daniel, who is, as usual, none the wiser. Betty's eyes follow quickly, and her face falls.
"I run this place now, Betty. You waltzing back in here isn't going to change that," she tells her, then, when she's met with silence, continues on toward her office, leaving behind a stunned Betty. A low blow, Wilhelmina knows, but at least she stops following her.
Amanda
Marc's in one of his moods again. He probably needs to get laid or something. He's stressed about this new issue, but Amanda knows it'll be great. Probably.
The phone rings. Marc answers it in a girlish voice, completely disguising his voice, "Marc St. James' office. How can I help?" Amanda can't help but cackle. "All right, please hold." He places the caller on hold and waits a moment before answering again. "This is Marc." He acts surprised. "Melissa, hey! Are we still on for Friday?" His face falls. "I think if you just heard our pitch… No? All right. Thanks for calling back anyway." He hangs up the phone, a devastating look on his face.
"You really need a new assistant," she says, then turns to check herself out in his mirror. She sees the reflection of the busy office behind them—they all look pathetic, trying to make their deadline or whatever. They should be more carefree, like her.
"Yeah, well, Claire says she might have hooked me up ," he says using air quotes. She turns back to him. He looks tired, unlike his flamboyant gay self.
"Ooh, hopefully it's a cute little twink who'll call you daddy!" He winces; she backs away. "Too much?"
"A little," he says. "Not to mention an HR nightmare."
"Yeah, probably," she agrees with a hum. She looks back at the sad little workers and gasps, nostalgia fluttering inside her when she spots the one blob out of place. Memories of Betty's first day flood back to her. "Oh. My. God."
"What?" His attention is back on his paperwork, like the Mr. Businessman he is these days. She turns his head forcefully to show him Betty standing there on her phone, looking like the pathetic fashion disaster she is. Aw, she really missed her poncho-loving Mexican friend. "The before's back!"
Hilda
"Oh my God," she says, her cellphone up to her ear. Betty's frantic on the other end. "She really said that to you? Ooh, that bitch! She's lucky I'm not there."
She's at the hospital with papi looking at her like she's some crazy person. She waves her hand in his direction to apologize for saying bitch in front of him.
"Don't worry about papi ," she continues when her baby sister expresses worry about being at MODE instead of at the hospital with them.
"I'm fine, mija!" he shouts to reassure his favorite daughter.
"Did you hear him?" Hilda asks. "Yeah. He's staying one more night just to be safe, but they say he's gonna be okay."
She steps out into the hallway as the nurse steps in to check papi's vitals or whatever. Then, as if Wilhelmina had spies inside the hospital, she checks to make sure there aren't any eavesdroppers. "So… how are you gonna tell Daniel?"
Daniel
He's in his office, taking a break from this chaotic world to eat his bagel in peace. The deadline's coming up sooner than he would like, and there's still so much to do. But, right now, it's just him and this bagel. He bites down, savoring the taste. A light knock on his closed door takes him out of it.
Harman enters with his notepad. "Good morning, Mr. Meade," he greets.
"Morning Harmon," he says. "And, we've already been over this. Call me Daniel."
"Of course, sir," he says with a slight bow. He is definitely going to still call him Mr. Meade. "Is this the appropriate time to give you your morning messages?"
"No time but the present," he says with a smile. Harmon doesn't move. He clarifies, "Um, yes, Harmon, go for it…"
"Melinda invited you to lunch." To make up for last night, probably. "I went ahead and made reservations at your favorite Italian restaurant at noon."
"Great, thanks."
"And Mrs. Meade, your mother, called," Harmon continues. "She wants to speak with you before this morning's meeting. She's waiting for you in the conference room."
"Thank you," Daniel says, standing. "I'll head over there now." He takes his bagel along for the ride.
But the room's empty when he arrives and… something feels off. He sets his bagel down onto the giant round table and takes a deep breath. He never thought he'd be back here. It's like he's coming full circle. And not in a good way.
"Look, Hilda, I'll call you back. Claire asked to meet with me before the meeting starts—"
She enters in a predictable manor: oblivious to her surroundings; she doesn't even see him standing right in front of her. And his heart stops. Well, it feels like it. She hangs up the phone and slides it in her pocket, then turns away from him. Searching for something, someone, still so oblivious. Even though he's right here, she doesn't see him.
He sighs. Of course. It's his mother she's looking for. She set this whole thing up, so they can talk.
"Betty." It's so soft, he isn't sure he even heard it himself. But she turns to face him almost like in slow motion, her hair twirling opposite of her moving head.
"Oh. Daniel," she says unsteadily, awkwardly.
And they stand there silent, motionless. He clears his throat to allow some type of sound between them, but it's meek and full of regret.
"Um, your mom wanted to see me before the meeting," she says after a moment. She looks past him to see out the clear glass window. "Do you know where I can find her?"
"Probably somewhere nearby. Maybe looking at us through some peephole." She looks at him confused, maybe slightly disgusted. "It's a setup, Betty. She Parent Trapped us."
Her face slightly goes pink, her eyes go wide, but she hides her weird reaction quickly. Once again it's silent as she moves across the room, away from him.
"Betty, I want you to know that—" Daniel speaks at the same time Betty begins saying, "I'm actually glad we have this time to talk…" Their words falter as they realize they're talking over each other. Quickly they fall silent again.
"Sorry, go ahead," he says finally.
"No, no, you first," she insists, fiddling with her hands like she does when she's nervous. They're out of sync. Not like they once were.
"Well, I was just gonna say… It's good to see you, Betty," he tells her sincerely, because it is. It's really good to see her. He clears his throat again, then shifts. She says nothing, only nods; he scratches his nose. "Oh, and hey, your work is phenomenal. I mean, it always has been," he quickly adds to fill the dead air. "But I especially loved that one essay you wrote for the New York Times. About feminism belonging in politics."
"You still read my stuff?" She almost sounds surprised. The praise quickly turns to him as she adds, "What about you? You helped build hundreds of houses with President Jimmy Carter. That's amazing!"
He chuckles slightly. It's comforting to know she's also keeping tabs on him. But the awkwardness looms around them once again, and he sighs. "Look Betty, I'm really sorry… for everything."
She steps forward, her face turning serious. Her voice is quiet, gentle: "Um, Daniel, there's something I really need to talk to you about—"
But her words are cut short when Wilhelmina and Marc appear. They enter the room like conquerors invading foreign land. Amanda's quick to follow them inside, but her demeanor is much less fowl; she shrieks at the sight of Betty.
"Man hands!" she greets, her arms open wide to embrace Betty. She kisses Betty right on the mouth, and everyone, especially Betty, shrivels in disgust. "You never said you'd be here."
Betty wipes her mouth. "Yeah, well, it was a last minute thing." She eyes Wilhelmina, who, in response, crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Marc's quick to mimic her mannerisms.
The rest of the executives and editors pile in before settling in their seats. The meeting begins.
Justin
The smell of eggs always turns him off. He's not the best cook, not like grandpa. But it's the thought that counts. Probably. He sets the plate down in front of Iggy, who looks less than enthused about his breakfast options. Justin's too busy on the phone to comment on it.
"Okay. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning," he says, turning away from his cousin to make the phone call a little more private. "I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Meade!"
He hangs up the phone and turns back to Iggy; he's still not eating. "You gotta eat, kid," he tells him, sitting.
Iggy moves the fork to break the yolk, but he just moves it around his plate. "My mom's been acting weird lately. "
"Yeah," he agrees, setting his phone down onto the table and leaning back. They say she's planning to tell Daniel today, and they'll probably tell the kid right after. "She's just under a lot of stress right now. Work and life, sometimes it all jumbles together."
Iggy nods, satisfied with his cousin's answer. They sit in silence for a while with him still not eating. And then his forehead wrinkles in concentrated contemplation. "Grandpa's gonna be okay, right?"
"Yeah, grandpa's gonna be just fine," Justin tells him. It's what he hopes, not what he knows. He knows their grandpa's heart's pretty much okay. But, one day, the inevitable's gonna happen, and it crushes him just thinking about it. "Now quit your stalling and eat the eggs I made you," he adds to make the mood a little more lighthearted again. Iggy finally lifts his fork and bites into it, being kind and keeping his dislike for it to himself.
Marc
So, Betty's back. Yuck—some type of nostalgic happiness fills him. The rumors surrounding her and Daniel made him think she forever said goodbye to this place. Guess not.
Wilhelmina isn't very happy about it, though. God, sometimes she's so… paranoid, thinks everyone around her is out to get her like she's out to get them. By the way Betty's acting, being so quiet at this meeting, he doesn't think she's here for the long run. But, who knows? Daniel looks pretty eager to have her here, despite his past protests.
After her long speech about blah blah blah—just schmoozing the executives so they don't yell at them again—Wilhelmina presents the June cover of Laverne Cox looking fabulous surrounded by pride colors. He smiles, relieved that the executives around him seem satisfied with it. Even Daniel has a sparkle in his eyes, but that could also be about Betty showing up.
"Yes, Betty—you have something to add?" he hears Wilhelmina say, and he turns quickly to see that man hands has her hand raised, like she belongs here. Anger explodes inside him. "Who, I am eager to remind everyone, no longer works here and has absolutely no final say in what goes into this magazine."
"Oh, um…" Wilhelmina's words seem to have weaken her slightly, but she continues on: "I was just wondering how you were going to address the recent Kanye controversy in your next issue?"
"The words 'Kanye' and 'Controversy' won't be anywhere near this next issue," Wilhelmina answers coldly. "The past is the past, Betty, and we're moving on."
"So, you're not going to mention the incident at all?"
Marc resists the urge to roll his eyes. God, it's like she lives under a rock or something. Ugh, she's so offbeat at this magazine. He understands now why Wilhelmina's so mad about her returning.
"We have." Daniel shifts in his seat and clears his throat when all eyes turn to him. "Um, well, we posted a public apology on our social media platforms, as well as making appearances on several talk shows to separate ourselves from Kanye and his beliefs."
"That's it?" she says.
"What else is there?" replies Daniel, kind of dumbly.
"The fire will extinguish itself out, Betty," says Wilhelmina, clearly annoyed. "Once the next trend or tragedy occurs, everyone will forget Kanye's wannabe Mein Kampf and its ties to MODE."
"Yeah, maybe. But you will gain trust back from your audience faster if you put action into your words," Betty says. "You told them you're against his beliefs, so dedicate a page or two uplifting the people he hurt in his statement."
"That's… actually not a bad idea," Marc says after a moment. He's surprised he didn't think of it first. Maybe she hasn't lost her spark.
He turns to Wilhelmina, who tilts her head and lifts her Botox-filled brows in intrigue. "Go on."
"Um, okay…" She thinks for a moment. "Ooh! There's this Ethiopian Jewish woman in the Bronx, who fled her home country during their civil war—"
"Need we remind you this is a fashion magazine, Betty," Marc interjects because the entire thing sounds so Mother Teresa. "People won't be interested in reading about an elderly woman's struggles during some war."
"She's still fairly young," Betty says. "Maybe my age…"
"Which is old," jabs Marc, like in the old days. But it's playful.
"And she designs clothes and sells them on Etsy," continues Betty without reacting. "She's all over TikTok."
"Marc," says Wilhelmina after a moment. And Marc slightly jumps at her tone. "Look into it." He nods and begins writing in his notepad. "And since it was Betty's idea, she'll overlook this project."
He resists the urge to sigh. Guess she's here for a while. That's fine, whatever. It's nice to see her, yadda-yadda. It is really nice to see her, actually; it's hard for him to admit out loud but he missed the old Mexican lump. Betty doesn't look too happy about being back, though. Daniel keeps eyeing her.
Wilhelmina moves on. Everyone else is quick to follow. The meeting continues.
Ignacio
Hilda fluffs his pillow without his request and Bobby's organizing his pill box. He's tired of it, having everyone wait on him hand and foot, twenty-four hours of the day. He's tired of these wires attached to his arms, gluing him to this stone-hard bed. And he's tired of this damn hospital food—a beige tray sits before him with nothing but gruel and lettuce. What is this? Why would they feed sick people this?
"I would kill for a burger right now," he says, using his utensil to touch the grey lump; he thinks he sees it breathe.
"Yeah, you'd kill your own heart," responds Hilda. She moves the tray away. "Justin and Iggy'll be here any minute. Don't worry."
"Are you sure they can't discharge me today, mija?"
"No, papi, I told you," say Hilda. "They want to run a few more tests. Make sure you're not about to drop dead or something."
"We're here," comes Justin's cheerful voice as he and his baby cousin enter holding a large paper bag. "We brought food."
Ignacio sits up, ready. "One burger: no onions, for mom," Justin says, passing a tinfoil wrapped fast food burger over to his mother. The smell of it is divine, like heaven; his stomach rumbles. "One burger: extra onions, for Bobby." He reaches past Ignacio to hand the burger over. Bobby practically devours it. "And a freshly made salad for grandpa," Justin says, setting down a handmade salad inside some of his old Tupperware. "Chef Iggy here made it just how you like it."
His grandson made the salad. Great. Now he has to pretend to like it. He puts on a brave face and digs in, ignoring the blandness. Hey, at least it's better than the hospital food.
"Ooh, Iggy made the Salad," Hilda says cheerfully, then pulls Justin aside, her face suddenly serious. "You supervised, right?"
He nods. "Don't worry. I stopped him from putting in the gummy worms and maple syrup."
"Hey, that's what brings the whole salad together," jokes Ignacio, turning to his youngest grandson for backup. He's still a little unsure about his grandpa being stuck in the hospital. All the reason to get out.
Betty
The meeting ends with Wilhelmina leaving—which pretty much is how she remembers ever meeting at MODE ending when she still worked here, so not much has changed—and everyone files out. Daniel's one of the first to leave, not even glancing up at her. She wants to follow him, but Marc stops her.
He sighs. "Kiss, kiss. Hug, hug," he greets almost dryly before dragging her into the hallway and guiding her around the building, arm in arm. "So, how've you been?"
"Fine…" She spots Daniel in the distance, adjusting his tie and tries to pull away from Marc's grasp.
"Great, me too." He pushes her inside what looks like Wilhelmina's old office. "Let's get to work."
She looks around. It's colorful, unlike how his predecessor styled it. Full of life and, for lack of a better word, gayness. A picture of Marc and Amanda with the Eiffel Tower behind them sits on a nearby table. "Is this your office?" She points at the picture.
"Yes," he says, sitting down at his desk. "Now, let's move on: Ethiopian not-elderly woman living in the Bronx. Go!"
"I just promised to overlook a meeting, I never agreed to help write a story." She turns to see Daniel looking at her from outside the clear glass window. When she catches his eye, he looks away and quickly leaves.
"What's going on with you two?" he asks, almost giddy. "He's been stealing glances all morning."
"He has not. Wait, has he?" she says, then shakes her head. "We… just have unfinished business. That I would really like to clear up, so if you'll excuse me—"
"Betty," says Wilhelmina. Marc stands instantly. She looks almost angry upon entering, but her face softens. "Look, it's not easy for me to admit this, but you actually have some smart ideas." She shifts stubbornly. Apologies have never been her strong suit. "Maybe Claire asking you back wasn't as catastrophic as I originally thought it would be."
Betty face crinkles. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome." She eyes her up and down. "And… about what I said earlier, that was the old Wilhelmina speaking. Your secret is, in fact, still safe with me." With that, she moves swiftly out the room.
Betty turns back to Marc in disbelief. "Did you see that?"
Marc simply nods. "Oh, yeah, she's a lot nicer in her golden age." His brows lift as realization suddenly comes to him: "What secret is she talking about?"
She doesn't answer—because it's not a secret. It has never been a secret. He has never been a secret. Not intentionally. She leaves Marc to follow Daniel.
She calls out his name; he pretends not to hear her, or he really can't hear her. The hallway's crowded with everyone zooming past her, probably just trying to make their deadline. She trips over her own two feet and falls to the floor. He's at her side almost in an instant.
"Betty, are you okay?" he asks.
"Yeah..." She apologizes to the model she nearly knocks over, then readjusts her glasses and pats down her frizzled hair. He guides her up to her feet again. "Daniel," she practically breathes out. His blue eyes reach her soul. The crowd of people push past them, pretty roughly actually. But, just for a second, it feels calm, like they're in the eye of the storm. "Um, do you maybe want to go grab lunch?" she asks meekly. His eyes dart away, and an uneasiness settles in her stomach. "I've heard good things about the pizza place across the street." He shifts and someone bumps into him; they apologize and Daniel assures them he's okay. But he's still not looking at her. "My treat."
"I actually have a lunch thing that I'm already late for," he says quietly.
"Okay." She nods, attempting to mask the pain she feels. "Another time then." What did she do all those years ago to make him act this way? "There's just something I really need to tell—"
"Look Betty, I'm really busy. And with everything going on here…" Daniel's tone is cold, distant. He finally looks at her, and she thinks to blurt it out right then and there for all of MODE to hear:
You have a son! His name is Iggy. He's an eleven year old boy obsessed with video games and I want you to meet him. I want you to be a dad to him.
"It was good seeing you. Really." She believes him, despite everything.
He leaves, quickly. She feels her phone vibrate. "Hey Hilda," she answers. "I'll meet you guys at the house in about an hour. I have to do this quick thing with Marc…" She begins walking in the other direction, away from him. "No, I haven't told him yet."
Claire
"You are an idiot, Daniel." Smoke fills the room as she breathes out. The rapidly contracting cigarette butt sits between her two slightly shaking fingers. Ash sprinkles down onto the clear table before her.
"Love you too, mom," he says dryly, moving the ashtray below her cigarette to prevent more of a mess. "I thought you were quitting…"
She smushes the cigarette into the ashtray. "I am," she assures. "It's my last one."
"Right," he says in disbelief.
She stands. "I don't understand why you refuse to talk to her."
"Because I…"
She huffs when he falls silent, which turns into a quick cough, then a clearing of her her throat. "Daniel," she scolds. Sometimes it feels like she's still mothering a child who's too stubborn, too self centered to understand the world doesn't revolve around him. "What happened?" A question she's been asking him for about twelve years now.
"I ran away, like I always do," he says, turning away from her. He sighs. "I broke her heart. I don't know why I did it, but... now there's nothing I can do to fix it."
"You can hear her out," she says, as she's been saying for so many years—ever since she held that darling baby boy in her arms. "She was your first real commitment after Molly," notes Claire quietly when he doesn't respond. She keeps her distance, so not to set him off. He remains a ticking bomb, ever since his return to New York. "Things were getting serious. You were terrified of losing her, so you fled before she could hurt you. " She knows her son well; his movements are predictable. "It's what you do." After Betty, he went back to his old ways, dating dumb models too innocent, too immature to deal with all his trauma. And like with Betty, he eventually leaves them before they can get too close. It's just a matter of time before Malala, or whatever that girl's name is, joins them.
She hears him sniffle; he's crying. "Mom, please—" She thinks he'll explode, but his tone is soft. Instead, he wipes his face and moves to the door without looking at her. "I, um… have a lunch date with Melinda I'm late for."
Claire sighs as she resists the tears. Her hand begins shaking. She pulls out another cigarette.
Amanda
She finds Betty in Marc's office. They're working on homework or whatever when she walks in. Something boring. "So sorry to hear about your second heart attack, Betty."
Marc's too busy on the computer to react to her comment, but she sees Betty roll her eyes. It feels good to have her back. "For the last time, Amanda," she says, "it was my dad. Which reminds me"—she checks the time on her watch—"I really need to get back."
"Go," says Marc. He doesn't look up from his computer screen, but he waves his hand as a goodbye. "I've got it covered for right now. I'll text you details tonight." And she gathers her things. "Ooh, wait." He stops her from leaving and hands her a sticky note. "For Justin. It's tomorrow morning's agenda."
"Baby gay's visiting?" Amanda asks with a gasp.
"He's Marc's new assistant," Betty proclaims cheerfully as she takes the sticky note. She says her goodbyes quickly and hurries off.
"Bye grandma," Amanda says, blowing her a kiss. She waits until Betty's no longer visible to lean on the desk. "Word on the street is Betty and Daniel were hooking up back in the day. And since both me and Betty have hit that, technically we're sister wives now."
Marc finally looks up at her and leans in close, fully invested in the gossip. "Really? Daniel couldn't keep his eyes off her at today's meeting. Maybe that's what Wilhelmina has on her," he says. "She came in here earlier talking about how Betty's secrets are still safe with her."
"Ooh," says Amanda, intrigued by the whole thing. "Wanna go stalk her like we used to back in the old days? Find out what's really going on?"
He frowns. "Can't," he tells her, his attention going back to the computer screen. "I have to do this thing called work. You should try it sometime."
"Nah…" Wait. What does she do? A paycheck comes in from MODE, but she thought she quit, like, thirteen years ago. She shrugs; it's whatever. At least she's getting paid.
Daniel
"Hey, sorry I'm late," he says, slightly out of breath. The incident on Wall Street this morning made it impossible for him to get to the restaurant by car. He basically had to run to get there.
Melinda smiles; he kisses her on the cheek. "I forgive you."
"Things are just crazy right now at the office."
The host guides them to their table. He's careful not to knock over any waiters on his way there. "Yeah, you've used that line on me before."
"Listen," he begins, "I just want to say I'm sorry about last night—"
Her phone rings. She answers it without so much as a glance at him. "Hey girl. Yeah, I know. It was crazy. He was crazy. I still can't find my earring."
"Okay," he mumbles. The waiter comes by and she points at the Caesar salad as she laughs at whatever her friend is saying. The waiter turns to him. He suddenly lost his appetite. "Um, I think I need a little more time to decide."
"Sorry about that," she says, setting her phone down. "You know how Lacy is."
"Oh, Lacy…" Daniel doesn't remember any Lacy on her friend's list. But he doesn't really know any of her friends.
He turns to look out the window and he sees… her, trying to hail a cab. She looks exactly the same, all awkward and misplaced in her surroundings: Betty. God, he's been such an idiot.
He stands just as he hears Melinda reply, "Yeah, she's such a bitch."
"Um, Melinda, can you just give me one second…" His focus is on Betty, not anything else. He hurries out the door—nearly knocking over another tray of food. "Betty!" he calls out when he's outside, but New York City is too loud and she's all the way on the other side of the street. "Betty, over here!" He waves his hands like a maniac and it seems to get the attention of the entire world except for Betty. Everyone stares at him. Some random lady even tries to hug him.
A cab finally stops for her and Daniel watches as she's driven away, oblivious that he's even there. He sighs. Melinda's waiting for him and the random lady's pulling something out of her exposed cleavage. He goes back inside.
Betty
"I can't believe he did that to you. Again!" Hilda says. "He is such a jerk."
"Hilda," she scolds, urging her to keep her voice down. Iggy's just in the other room. She wants him to hear it from her, his mother, not his gossiping aunt. It's late in afternoon and they're all back at the house now, besides papi who still has one more night in the hospital before he's allowed to come home.
"Maybe write him a letter," she continues as loud as before. Betty gives her a look, and she moves to the fridge. "I know. I know. You want to do it in person."
"Why does it have to be so hard?"
"Men," she answers, taking the juice out from the fridge and setting it on the counter. She grabs a clean cup. "They never make anything easy, especially this."
Betty jumps slightly at the sight of Iggy as he enters. "Iggy!" she says, a bit too loudly.
"Here, baby, I got your juice," says Hilda calmly, pouring his drink.
"Mom?" he says. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, your mom's just stressed," Hilda says with a careless wave of her hand.
Betty takes the cup from Hilda and hands it off to Iggy. She then takes him out into the living room, away from her sister, the blabbermouth. They sit together on the couch.
It's time to tell them both the truth, she knows. It's been time for a while now. "Iggy, you know I love you more than anything in this world, right?"
He nods. And suddenly she panics, doesn't know how to continue. "This is about my dad, isn't it?" Iggy asks when her words fail her.
They don't talk about Daniel a whole lot. Mostly because he doesn't ask. But he doesn't ask because it's hard for her to talk about. She can already feel the tears in her eyes as she takes his hand. "Yeah."
"And that lady, from last night," he says, "she knows my dad?"
"That lady from last night—" The doorbell rings. She starts again: "The lady from last night, Mrs. Meade… Claire, actually. She's your—" The doorbell interrupts her again. She sighs. "Hilda, door!" she calls out, but her sister's nowhere in sight. She tries for Justin; he doesn't answer. Then, Bobby. The doorbell rings again. Still, no answer. "Hold on one second," she tells him, standing.
She swings open the door and all the annoyance leaves her body once she locks eyes with him. She forgets how to breathe. She forgets everything, just for a second. "Daniel."
He awkwardly drops down onto one knee. "Betty Suarez, will you marry me?"