Rude.
Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised.Zander Sterling is just another successful, wealthy man in this town who treats women with disrespect.
I know what he thinks of me.
I’m a nobody who came to Manhattan with nothing and married a billionaire.
He’s right.
I am all of those things.
Except I didn’t marry Adam for his money, although in some ways I did.
I grew up poor in Arizona, wondering every day if there would be food at dinner, if I’d get in trouble for not having the textbooks at school, and patching up my shoes so I wasn’t made fun of.
Being malnourished makes it really hard to learn, think straight, and get good marks.I did okay.But it didn’t matter, I wasn’t going to college anyway.I wasn’tthatsmart, and my parents didn’t have a college fund for me.
Hell, we could barely afford food and rent.
The number of times I thought we might lose our home kept me awake at night.It scared me.When I asked, after the landlord came knocking when I was about ten, and we all hid behind the sofa, I was slapped.Hard.
So, I never did that again.
My parents were functioning addicts, I guess you’d call them.
In some ways, when I left school, I was happy.I began working at the local Walmart, and the day I got my first paycheck, I felt giddy.I made plans to get my own place and thought about what I could do with my life.Perhaps I could study.Travel.Buy a home one day.
I created a Pinterest board with how I saw my life: married with a baby, one of those entrepreneurial women who juggled life and carried a big handbag.Posting photos on social media with her husband and kids from their tropical vacation....
Until the second month into my new job, when I came downstairs, plaiting my hair, and Mom was sitting in the kitchen spooning cereal into her mouth.
I stopped dead.
“What are you doing?”She’d only had her cleaning job for three months and was usually well gone by the time I left the house.
“My baby girl is working now, so I can retire,” she announced, taking another mouthful.
I felt my stomach flip.
No, no, no, no.
“Mom, that’s not how this works.I am saving money to move out.To...do things.Maybe go to college.”
She snorted, choking on her cereal.“Oh honey.You barely made it through high school.Your grades were average at best.No college is taking you.I raised you and paid for everything for eighteen years.You got a job.I’m proud.But Momma needs a break.”
A break?
Meaning, she thought I should pay for everything.My dreams began to shatter before me.
My father had walked in then, yawning and scratching his bare stomach.I hesitated, waiting to see how his mood was.Coming down off drugs made him unpredictable, and while he never truly hurt me, he yelled.Some days he was fine.Others, not at all.I’d walked around on eggshells most of my life.
It didn’t make me meek so much as highly alert.
When I was little, I asked what drugs he took, but I knew he never answered me honestly.
“It’s just dope, baby girl.”He’d ruffle my hair.“When you grow up and have to deal with this hard world, you’ll understand why.”
I hated being called baby girl.
