“Brooklyn! Did you borrow my pearls?”
“Ew, never.” Mom has the worst taste in clothes.
“Have you seen them?”
“Brooklyn, get in here!”
I stand and march into her room and flop onto her bed. Makeup and jewelry float a few inches off the cream colored duvet and fall back down. “What?”
Mom turns and looks at me, her hands on her hips. “What do you think?”
“That this is pointless.”
“What? You’re going out looking for another guy like Dad and all you’re going to find are men who want in your pants.” I must have struck a nerve, Mom deflates, the twinkle gone from her eyes.
“Is that what you really...
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