THE CUT

another elitist kook with too much to say

this is my favorite one so far
new chapter every day

1

My parents are discussing the new changes to the Country Club with the Camerons over Lemon Trout and red wine from Bordeaux. Before we left the house, my father had told my mother we would bring them the red wine that he'd bought on his recent trip to France. My mother had thought that was perfect and told him so with her hand pressed to his chest and a red lip-stained smile.

"I can't believe they're renovating the kitchen when the front porch is falling apart," my mother says. She swipes her glass up and takes her hundredth sip of the evening.

"It's starting to look like a Pogue's house." Rose cradles her chin in her hands. She's such a hypocrite. She wouldn't allow my elbows on the table—something about upperclass protocol—but she gets away with it so elegantly.

Sarah clucks her tongue in disappointment as she reaches for the vegetables. "That's not true," she says.

"Well, the kitchen certainly doesn't need renovating."

"How would you know, Rose?"

To my left, at the head of the table, Rafe leans back in his chair with his fingers laced together across his stomach. He's got this devilish smirk I've seen for years and yet, somehow, it still makes my insides jitter.

"It does not look like a Pogue's house," Sarah says.

"Yeah, you would know, wouldn't you?"

Sarah scowls at her brother. I hide my smile behind my glass.

"That's enough, Rafe," Ward says, glaring at his son from the other end of the table.

"JJ says the reason they're renovating the kitchen is because it almost didn't pass the health inspection." Sarah straightens her back like she's proud to announce this information.

My mother sets her glass down. "And how would he know this?"

"Because we're friends. And he works there."

Rafe snorts. I meet his gaze and smile so wide, my cheeks hurt. We both know what's coming.

"They must have saved up a lot for the renovation," Rafe says, coolly, "by paying a Pogue less than minimum wage."

"Don't be mean." Sarah scowls.

Sarah. She's my best friend, but... she hangs out with those Pogues. I swear, sometimes the only reason we're still close is because our parents are, and we have these stupid dinners together all the time. Plus, Sarah is the only one who likes to run around in The Cut, not me.

Now I try hard to hide my smile. Rafe only says those things to get under Sarah's skin, and she falls for it every time.

"Sweetheart, we're not being mean," my mother tells her. "That's just how it is." She's also an elegant upper-class protocol-breaker with her arms on the table.

"That's not even the point," Sarah says. "The Country Club porch needs, like, a single paint job, and you're acting like it's crumbling." She looks at Rafe. "And at least he's working, unlike you."

Rafe's expression hardens. "Yeah, and what are you doing in your free time? Charity work?"

"Alright." Ward puts his hands up. "That's enough, both of you." But he gives Rafe a warning look, and Rafe goes quiet.

Sarah stacks the few empty plates around her, scrapes her chair back, and storms into the kitchen.

The table is silent for a moment. Ward sets his glass down and swallows loud enough so everyone can hear it. "Shall we have dessert?"