The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (that summer book .txt) 📕

“It’s not a big deal.” Marc lifted a shoulder in a dismissive half-shrug.

The pieces fell together, and Jill was stunned. She pointed to the screens. “Is that why Manny’s here? Are you hosting a work presentation? This isn’t the party I planned for you. I sent a guest list and bought decorations; we were going to have a cook-out. What is this, Marc?”

Marc sighed as if he were dealing with an errant child, a habit Jill loathed.

Jill’s anger sparked, though she tried to keep her tone even because anger would get her nowhere now. “Did you call in a sales team? Is that what Kyle meant by ‘earning his tuition’? This isn’t anything like the birthday I planned for you, Marc.”

“It’s a slight change of plans. And it’s good for business so I hoped you would be supportive.”

“But—”

Marc ended the discussion with a single look. “It’s my birthday, Jilly. I should be able to do what I want.” His voice was calm, but Jill understood the warning.

Jill looked away because he had a point. She was doing it again, taking over. If he wanted to celebrate his birthday with a work party, he should do it. But was it too much to ask that he at least recognize the effort she’d made to arrange a party in the first place?

“Don’t pout, Jilly.” She felt his arm on her shoulder and heard his voice soften. He’d won—they both knew it. “More important right now is your meeting at the Brockhurst mansion. Did you get the job?”

“She hasn’t decided,” Jill lied, still annoyed with how he’d changed the party.

“Jillian.” Marc’s voice deepened. “I hope you realize how important a connection to the Brockhurst family would be for my company. I’ve been trying to break into that circle for years, and it hasn’t been easy. A wedding invitation would offer a tremendous opportunity to network with other guests.”

“A wedding invitation? Is that what you want?” Jill glanced up at him. “Marc, the interview was for a job, for Libby’s bridal portrait. It’s nothing to do with the ceremony or the reception.”

“You’re already friends with Libby, aren’t you? That spin class I pay for?” Marc frowned. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to get invited. Hundreds of couples are going—why can’t we be one of them?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way.”

“The world works that way, Jillian,” Marc pressed. “A simple wedding invitation isn’t a lot to ask in exchange for the thousands of dollars I’ve spent on photography equipment and classes. An investment in a hobby that has yet to return a single dollar, I might add.”

Jill stiffened. It was an old argument, but it seemed to be gaining more traction lately—how much Jill’s “hobby” had cost him. It was true that her camera was one of the best, but Jill had bought it used. The classes she’d taken over the years were just a fraction of the number she’d wanted to take. She loved photography, being behind the lens, bringing forth an image that may have gone unnoticed before. The whole process felt like alchemy to her and there was so much more to learn, but Marc didn’t believe in pursuits that didn’t recoup their investment.

“I’ll try again,” she conceded, but only because she didn’t want to spoil his birthday.

He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “That’s all I ask.”

Kyle jogged back across the lawn toward Marc, so Jill turned her attention to the activity in the yard. This was nothing like the party she’d arranged. The pool house, where she’d planned to serve Marc’s cake, was closed, the curtains drawn tight. A catering van had pulled up and workers were unloading supplies. A florist rolled a cart overflowing with centerpieces toward the entrance of the party tent, and behind him a row of workers hauled crates of wine glasses and silverware.

“I can’t believe this,” Jill muttered, her heart sinking. Marc’s parties always came with strict rules, for dress and for conversation, and that wasn’t what she wanted. It had begun to feel as if she were expected to become another person altogether.

Marc tensed beside her and Jill followed his gaze across the yard toward the rose garden to the cause of his distraction. There, a young woman in a too-short black dress and too-high stiletto heels stood by the pool. She’d arrived too early to be a party guest and she wasn’t dressed like one of Marc’s staff, so Jill couldn’t place her. She watched as Kyle moved toward her and saw the woman laugh a moment later at something he’d said. As the woman tossed her long blonde hair off her shoulder, she turned, aware that someone had noticed her. When she saw that it was Marc and Jill, she froze.

Marc gestured for her to join them—no doubt she’d be warned about her dress and behavior. As the woman walked toward them, Jill recognized her from the summer before.

“Is that Brittney?” Jill asked.

“It is.”

“Dewberry Beach Brittney?”

“Yes.” Marc’s answer was curt.

The Dewberry Beach house was a remote project, finished before she and Marc were married. One of Marc’s largest builds, it was decidedly upscale, built right on the beach in a quaint New Jersey shore town. It was perfect for entertaining, and she and Marc had hosted several client parties there. The house itself wasn’t Jill’s taste and it seemed that buyers agreed because it had been on the market for years. Marc’s solution had been to hire a live-in property manager, the idea being that she’d be available for immediate showings. Her name was Brittney and she’d graduated college just a few weeks before Marc put her in charge of marketing the million-dollar home. She hadn’t been able to sell it either.

“Why is she dressed like that?” Jill asked.

She watched Brittney, who was not much older than Marc’s eldest daughter, pick her way across the lawn, her spiky heels sinking into the soft earth. As she approached, Jill