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I don’t point out that it already has, or that I can’t afford to spend valuable dollars on luxuries like alcohol. Instead, I say, “Okay. I’ll tell you how it went tomorrow. Ka kite ano.” It means see you later.
“I love you, sweetheart,” she says.
“Love you too, Mama.” I end the call.
I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking about the people who are going to be at the bar tonight. I feel an ugly twist of envy. Gaby has always had money, even when we were at school. Tyson and the guys he works with are all loaded. James is, I think, possibly the wealthiest of them all, because his father is some kind of financial whiz—I’m pretty sure Gaby dropped the word billionaire into the conversation at some point. I can’t even conceive of being that rich.
It’s impossible not to wish for more than I have. I’d like a job I enjoy, in a pleasant working environment, where I wake up excited to go to work every day. I’d like my own place, a whole house or apartment to myself, I don’t care how small, where I don’t have to fight with others for the bathroom, label my food, or follow a duty roster for chores; where I can walk around naked if I want, and where everything is always exactly where I left it. And despite my protestations to Gaby, I wish I had a partner, too. A boyfriend who was crazy about me, who doted on me. Who put me before everything else in his life. And if he was great in the bedroom, well, that would be a bonus.
But, right now, more than anything else, I’d like not to have to worry about where the next dollar is coming from.
Imagine going into the supermarket and not having to mentally add up what you put in your trolley to make sure you don’t go over your budget. Choosing a bottle of wine, or a new iron, or a kettle, without having to pick the cheapest. Let alone shopping in a boutique, Pretty Woman style, and buying whatever clothing you liked, or going into a jeweler and choosing a ring without asking the price first.
I don’t resent people who’ve worked hard to earn their fortune, but it’s so unfair that some are born into money and have never faced hardship. They’ve never had to return items in the supermarket because they don’t have enough money to pay for everything, or lived on noodles for a week because they don’t get paid until the end of the month. They’ve not had to watch their mother cry because she can’t afford to buy her kids Christmas presents. And they’ve never felt the despair that comes with being poor, or the utter despondency of being in debt, and knowing you’ll never, ever earn enough to claw your way out of the hole.
Gaby would want me to tell her what’s happened, but I won’t. She knows I’m not rich, but she has no idea, I think, just how little money I have. I couldn’t bear her pity—I have some pride, and I’ve always been determined to cope on my own.
Right now, I want to curl up into a ball on my bed, pull my duvet over my head, and cry myself to sleep. But I’ve never given into self-pity yet, and I don’t intend to start now. I count my blessings: I’m in good health, I have a job, a roof over my head, food in my belly, and a loving family. It’s a lot more than many people have. I’m not going to succumb to envy. I’m going to get up, finish my hair, get dressed, go out, and have a great evening, because although these guys are rich, they’re all kind, pleasant people. I’m going to try to forget about my woes tonight. And then tomorrow I’ll sit down with a piece of paper and a pencil, and I’ll have a think about what I can do going forward.
I can’t fool myself completely—my fear is going to push through my bravado like a hernia throughout the evening, but I’ll have to do my best to deal with it when it happens.
I settle on wearing my hair up and add a piece of silver tinsel fixed with a bobby pin to the center of the twist. It’s nearly six-fifteen now, so I slip on my white mules with a small heel and grab my purse, phone, and keys. An Uber is a luxury I rarely indulge in, but screw it—it’s too far to walk, and I’m going to have a drink tonight. I’ve scrimped and scraped all year, and after buying all the members of my family a small Christmas present, I have forty dollars left. I was going to save up for something nice to cheer up my bedroom, but if I’m not going to be able to stay here anymore, it doesn’t matter anyway.
I call for an Uber, and in less than five minutes I’m heading toward the city center.
When I arrive, I stand outside the bar for a moment, doubt making my stomach churn. I should be able to afford two glasses of wine for myself. But will I be expected to pay for a round for everyone? I hadn’t thought of that.
“Aroha!”
I turn, and my heart bangs on my ribs like a kettle drum at the sight of James Rutherford walking toward me with a smile. Oh wow. He’s a tall guy, maybe six two, slender and muscular rather than big like his colleague, Henry, and damn does he look good today. The last few times I’ve seen him he’s been in a suit, but today he’s wearing tight black jeans, a dark-gray shirt hanging over the top with the sleeves rolled up a couple of times, and a pair of well-worn black Converses. His hair is fashionably cut and styled, and his eyes are obscured by a pair of aviator sunglasses that I’m sure are Cartier or Gucci or some other expensive brand rather than from the two-dollar shop, like mine are. As he walks up to me, though, he lifts them up onto his hair, revealing his attractive eyes. They’re an unusual turquoise color, slightly more blue than green, fringed with dark lashes. His cheek and jaw bear a slight shadow—God knows how he keeps it at the exact length for designer stubble. Mmm. He’s gorgeous.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says, and he leans forward and kisses my left cheek, then my right. His cologne infiltrates my senses, spicy and smoky. He’s what my dad would call a pretty boy, but to me he oozes such masculinity that it makes my knees wobble.
“Gaby asked me at the last minute.” I’m conscious that I sound breathless. I clear my throat. “Is Cassie coming?”
“Uh…” He glances over his shoulder. His gaze returns to mine, hardening. “We had an argument, and she’s sulking. She’s on the phone to a friend.”
“Listing all your faults?” I tease.
His lips twist. “Probably. There are enough of them. Shall we go in?”
I hesitate, still debating whether I’m making the right decision.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
It’s going to be embarrassing to ask him, but it’ll be even more mortifying if I need to pay for a round and have to admit to everyone that I can’t afford it.
“Um… I was just wondering, are we paying for our own drinks tonight? Only… um…” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s nearly Christmas, and money’s a little tight, and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for a round for everyone…” My face burns.
His eyebrows rise, as if he hadn’t considered that anyone wouldn’t be able to afford one round of drinks, but he wipes the look away quickly, well-brought up enough to know not to comment on it. “I’ve already paid for the whole evening,” he says, “including food and drinks. You don’t have to pay for anything.”
“That’s very generous!”
“Well, it wasn’t me per se,” he clarifies, “it’s entertainment expenditure, tax deductible. So you can eat as many mince pies as you want.” His lips quirk up. It’s a polite way of saying I can drink as much as I like.
“Thank you. I could do with a glass of wine tonight,” I add with feeling.
“Bad day?”
