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The woman.
My wife.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
AMBER: SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL
It’s a beautiful, chilly evening as I walk from Ford’s house to my apartment. It’s August 22nd, my birthday. And it was the best day, thanks to my best friend.
Ford brought me flowers at school like he always does, the Pink Piano roses from his mom’s garden I admired all those years ago. They’re still my favorites, the prettiest color of pink.
After school, we went to his house, where his mom had baked me a birthday cake. Angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream. Last year I told Ford it was the yummiest kind of cake, and of course, he remembered and requested it from his mom.
Ford has grown up these past few years, and it’s hard not to notice the muscle he’s packed on, the facial hair he can now grow. He’s become a man, with his deep voice and rugged good looks. And better than all that, his heart is so kind.
I hope someday I’ll end up with someone as great as him. But he doesn’t look at me that way—he never has. I’m not sure he looks at any of the girls at school with interest…but maybe that’s just because he hates eye contact?
I hum thoughtfully as I open the door to the apartment. When I see my mother sitting in our tiny living room, her face pinched in irritation, I nearly drop my small purse.
“Where have you been?” she demands, not bothering to introduce me to the man sitting next to her whom I’ve never seen before.
He looks away, probably feeling uncomfortable that my mom is upset with me.
“I was at the Remingtons’,” I answer with a smile, not wanting to let her ruin my birthday.
She scoffs. “You’re still hanging out with him?” Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Why bother with that Remington boy? Despite the freckles, you’re pretty! You could do so much better.”
I swallow back an angry response. “Ford and I aren’t dating, Mom. But I’d be lucky to be his girlfriend—any girl would.”
Mom rolls her blue eyes and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. I’m reminded again that I look nothing like her—and hopefully I act nothing like her either. “The Remingtons don’t have any money, Amber. Don’t waste your time.”
She obviously missed my comment about how Ford and I aren’t dating. And I’d never be with a guy just for his money. I don’t want to be like my mother. The guy sitting on our sofa, dressed in a black suit, like he just got off work, gapes at my mom.
“Is that why you’re with me? For my money?”
Mom’s eyes widen, and she backpedals. “Of course not, Stuart! Don’t be ridiculous. I’m with you because you’re such a gentleman.”
He narrows his eyes. “A gentleman who buys you expensive gifts?” My mom’s flavor of the week, Stuart, rises from his seat and makes toward the door. It’s a very short walk in our 900 square-foot apartment. “I’m out of here. You can mooch off someone else.”
Mom chases after him, latching onto his arm. “Stuart, baby! Stop!”
They continue their fight outside in the hallway. I close the door behind them, so I don’t have to listen to it. This is nothing new, coming from my mom. I used to make excuses for her behavior, thinking she must be really lonely or something. But now I’m old enough to realize she’s just selfish and miserable. Some rich guy could finally wife her up tomorrow, and she’d still be this way.
She didn’t even tell me happy birthday.
Walking into the kitchen, I spin in a circle, looking for any sign that she remembered the day of my birth. Some years she does, usually the years she’s between boyfriends and has time to think about someone besides herself.
The kitchen is bare, save for an empty bottle of red wine and the two glasses she and Stuart must have used. No cake, no streamers, no card, no present.
The Remingtons might not have a lot of money—although they definitely have more than we do—or a fancy house. But judging by their happiness, and joy in being with each other, you’d think they were the richest people on the planet.
Ford’s mom made me feel special today by making a cake for me. It probably cost her ten dollars. Ford makes me smile on my birthday every year by bringing me free flowers from the garden in his backyard.
Mom is focused on money when that’s the last thing that matters.
CHAPTER
