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“Her money ran out a long time ago,” I explain again, because she either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t remember. “I’ve been paying for her care.” Her medication is expensive, not to mention the monthly cost of the care home.
“And we all know where that money comes from,” she says with a condescending tone.
I regret having called her, but I regret ever telling her what I do for a living even more. At that moment when I did, I wasn’t in a good place. I needed a mother to tell me I didn’t have to fuck men for money, that she would find another way to help take care of Mimi… but she didn’t. Instead, she told me maybe if I was lucky, I’d marry a rich client.
Hot tears burn in the back of my eyes. Maybe this is why I understand how Darren feels, because no matter how much we act out or pretend that it doesn’t bother us, all we want is to be loved and accepted for who we are by our parents.
I’m on the verge of openly crying in this café, and I will not let her… I will not allow her to cause me any more pain. My coffee is lukewarm, so I push it away.
“Never stopped you from taking it,” I accuse.
“I didn’t call to argue with you.”
“So why did you call? Because I know it’s not about Mimi.”
She breathes softly into the phone, and I try to picture her as the person she was when I was little.
“It’s been a tough couple of months,” she admits, and her voice sounds small. I have no doubt she’s had it rough, but just like I do, she has to live with her choices too.
“If it has something to do with the house, just send me the bill.” As long as my grandmother is alive, I won’t let her house fall to ruin, but I know better than to give money to my mother.
“I see you did good for yourself though,” she says, showing her cards. “Finally got a rich client to marry you.” Her voice is resentful, and it sends a chill up my spine that I have to shake off.
I suck in a shaky breath. “You taught me well,” I say, before hanging up the phone.
25
The Perfect Fuck You
Darren
I take the subway from the Capitol Building into Georgetown where I only have to walk a block in the chilly late afternoon to The Tombs, a bar I started hanging out at when I went to college. The neighborhood looks the same, and when I reach the familiar beige brick building with green awnings, I can already hear the ruckus inside as someone exits through the heavy wood doors.
Everything about this bar screams nostalgia, and not just my own. Lining the brick walls are framed photos of twentieth century propaganda. It’s a Georgetown staple, and I find Alistair in one of the booths in the back, his back to the wall with his long legs stretched out over the red leather seat. He’s wearing sunglasses and a tie that’s pulled loose. I shake my head and walk over to the booth, kicking his feet off before sliding into the opposite side.
“Rough night?” I ask, while Alistair pulls the shades from his face and sets them down on the table between us. He’s already taken the liberty of ordering shots, but it looks like he didn’t wait for me to arrive.
“More like a rough day,” he groans.
“Aww, did you have to roll out of bed before noon?” I signal the waitress to bring another round.
“Har, har,” Alistair says, pointing his finger in the air dramatically. “I’ll have you know that you are looking at the employed,” he says with a proud grin.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my eternally lazy and depraved friend, Alistair?” I joke.
“I assure you, it’s still me under this dress shirt and tie,” he jokes back.
“Something tells me I want you to be sober—well, mostly sober—when you explain this job you’re talking about. Which, by the way, I hope is legal.”
He scoffs. “Of course it’s legal. Capital Management.” Alistair leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Did you know people have to be at work by nine a.m?” he asks.
“Yes,” I laugh. “What exactly do you do?” I ask, trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about.
“I’m still figuring that out,” he laughs, and then raises his shot glass.
“To…” Alistair pauses as if he’s trying to think of something witty to toast. “To capital management, whatever the fuck that is!”
I toss back my shot and suck in a breath. Alistair sets his empty glass back down with a thud.
