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“Are you even listening?” Angela’s sharp voice breaks into my thoughts.
Wincing, I smile weakly. “I am, Mom. I just have a lot on my plate, that’s all.”
“A lot on your plate?” Angela sniffs. “What are you talking about? You’re just a salesgirl at a lingerie shop. Imagine what it was like for me when I was your age! I was a single mother with a daughter to take care of, and I had to provide. I sacrificed everything for you, you know.”
I manage not to visibly wince.
“I know,” I offer as diplomatically as possible. “And thank you, Angela.”
But now, she’s off to the races.
“Do you think I loved Fred Walsh?” she demands, her eyes bugging out and her face turning red. “That man was seventy if a day when we tied the knot, and I only married him so I could provide for you, Chrissy.”
I wince. I desperately want to remind my mother that she didn’t marry Fred for me – she married him for his money, which is different. But it’s her own damn fault for cheating on Fred with the pool boy. What did she think was going to happen? Fred might have been old, but he’s not deaf, blind and dumb. With the way Angela and Buddy were going at it in the pool house, anyone would know what was happening.
But of course, I say nothing, instead nodding along to my mother’s rant.
“And Buddy – don’t even get me started on that jackass.”
Once more, I stifle the urge to defend my mother’s third husband. Buddy’s not a bad guy; he even legally adopted me and gave me his last name, Stanton. But even though he had his own business cleaning swimming pools all around Sheridan, it was never enough. Fishing for leaves is not exactly the most lucrative profession, and Angela’s needs are great. She loves luxury goods and designer clothes, and soon enough, divorce papers were filed.
“Well, are you seeing anyone now?” I ask Angela, hoping to change the subject. “I’m sure there are lots of eligible men in Sheridan.”
“Who on Earth would I be seeing in this hellhole?” Angela screeches, irate. “This place gives new meaning to slim pickings, and I swear, I should move to Dallas or Houston. God knows things couldn’t be worse.”
A number of retorts poise on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to keep them inside. Instead, I merely take another sip of coffee, smiling placidly.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone. You’re very beautiful, Mom.”
Suddenly, Angela comes straight to the point.
“I need money,” she says in a flat voice. “Do you have any?” Just like that – classless as usual. I knew it was coming, as it always does.
For about the thousandth time in my life, I refuse. “Mom, you know I don’t have any extra funds. I’m barely scraping by as is.”
“You do, Chrissy, I know you do. You’ve got that cushy job at the lingerie shop,” she whines.
I shake my head at the camera.
“Angela, you’re the one who just told me that I’m nothing but a salesgirl. So how can I be loaded? That makes no sense.”
Angela merely shrugs.
“Yeah, but you have nothing to spend your salary on. Besides, you owe me, Chrissy. After everything I’ve done for you, and sacrificed for you.”
Biting my bottom lip, I merely shake my head, suddenly exhausted. “It’s a retail job, Mom. I make minimum wage.”
“Well, what about the cash you’re saving for your business?” she demands ruthlessly. “You know, that lingerie line? It’s not like your dream is going to amount to anything. I mean, let’s get real, Chris. You don’t have what it takes. Besides, you’re going to be stuck in Sheridan forever, baby girl, just like me. It’s not like we have some magical escape route that leads straight to a charming prince! At the very least I raised you to be realistic, if nothing else.”
I swallow hard, trying to contain my tears. Again, it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that Ayema by Chrissy will be launching soon, and that in fact, I’m dating two successful and handsome CEOs from New York. But instead, I let her rain insults down upon me. It’s better this way because the truth is that my stepbrothers are absurdly rich, and Angela will stop at nothing to get her hands on that kind of wealth.
Suddenly, I feel the urge to vomit uncontrollably.
“Mom, I have to go. I have things to get done today.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, you ungrateful girl,” Angela snaps.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, panting, before ending the call.
Seconds later, I dash to the bathroom and hurl into the toilet. My skin is pale, my forehead clammy. I stare at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the haggard face looking back at me. But then I grab a washcloth and wet it, before pressing the damp fabric to my forehead. After all, talking to my mom always does this to me. Angela makes me physically ill and unfortunately, there’s no avoiding her, this time or ever.
