Patricia finally looked toward me.
“Claire, sweetheart…”
“Don’t,” I said. “You don’t get to call me sweetheart now.”
She fell silent.
My eyes moved toward the hallway behind us.
The dust.
The laundry.
The messy kitchen.
Suddenly, I understood what Nathan had been preparing.
“Actually,” I said, “I have a better idea.”
I sat on the edge of Patricia’s dresser.
“Go back to your post. Tell every woman who called me lazy that I had a 102-degree fever when you took that picture. Tell them you let them laugh at me anyway. Then apologize.”
Patricia’s face hardened.
“I’m not doing that.”
“Then prove you were right,” I said. “Tomorrow at noon, we’ll both go live from our own homes and do the same cleaning tasks. Fridge, cabinets, laundry, towels. Let everyone see who actually practices what she preaches.”
She stared at me.
“And if I say no?”
“Then Nathan and I take pictures of you and this house and post them ourselves. Everyone who laughed at me will finally see the truth.”
Her jaw tightened.
“And if I agree?”
I glanced toward her kitchen.
“Then we make it interesting. Whoever loses faces a punishment. In front of everyone.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What punishment?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
For the first time, Patricia hesitated.
I could practically see the decision happening behind her eyes.
She could admit she’d lied about me.
Or she could accept the challenge and prove she was every bit as perfect as she’d spent eight years pretending to be.
Finally, she raised her chin.
“Fine. Noon.”
I smiled.
She still didn’t know what losing would cost her.
The livestream began at noon the following day.
I moved through my kitchen while Patricia appeared in a small square beside me on the screen.
“Fridge first,” someone commented.
NEXT PAGE
