Page 88 of The Cost of Love

She walks a quick circle around me, and I don’t know if she is appraising the dress or the person wearing it.

“I love your necklace,” I say, trying to get her to stop taking me in.

“Oh, thank you, wedding anniversary gift last year. I saw it in Paris Fashion Week, and he remembered and got it.”

I just keep nodding, at a loss for words. With no idea how to have these types of conversations, even if I did, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to. The ghetto in me just wants to ask how much it cost, like she got it from someone’s apartment that you’re not supposed to talk about. It’s kind of ugly, so I hope it was a bargain.

“Who are your parents? I swear, you look like my friend Patricia’s daughter.”

“Um.” I look at Alex, not sure if I am supposed to say my mom is a woman who couldn’t afford the price to walk into this room.

He catches my eye and promptly ends the conversation with her husband.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was just going to show her this sculpture I was eyeing,” Alex says, intertwining our fingers.

That seems to perk them up, and we exchange a few more pleasantries before he pulls me free from them. I don’t know if he’s doing it for my benefit or his, but I don’t know how many more conversations like that I can take.

Taking me over to a marble carved woman, he scans the QR code in front of it and pulls up the bidding. I look over his shoulder and see it’s sitting at more than a million. Promptly choking on air, I slap my chest and step back.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I just need to go to the bathroom.” Quickly, I turn and walk off, not even knowing where I’m going. I just need to get away from him before I pass out. In the hallway, I press a hand to my chest and try to catch my breath while crouching down.

I’m pretty sure he is about to spend more money than I will make in my lifetime with the click of his thumb.

“What am I doing?” I mutter while staring at my shaking hands.

Unsure of how I got to this place, I try to remind myself that he’s worth it. Being with him measures up to whatever is stacked against us. I just have to keep holding on to him so I can see over all of this other stuff. I just have to get through tonight.

My heart starts to beat normally, and I can stand without feeling like I’m going to faint. Going in search of the bathroom, I need to pat down the sweat collecting under my arms.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I try to see the woman underneath the glam, the one who will still be here when it’s all said and done. The one he says he really wants. All that is looking back is the version of me that is acceptable. I sigh as I finish wiping myself down.

When I turn to leave, an older woman walks through the door and stops in front of me.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to side-step her, but she just moves into my path again.

“Who are you?” she asks.

I crane my neck back, my eyebrows furrowing. Expecting her to explain why she is questioning me or introduce herself, I don’t say anything. She keeps glaring at me, her eyes unmoving. When she realizes I don’t intend to answer, she finally continues.

“I saw you with my son, and I want to know who you are.” She tilts her head up and juts out her chin. Her thin lips practically disappear.

Not expecting to meet his mother this way, I feel that panic sweep up through my gut again. From what I know, I am aware this won’t be a positive encounter, but I still offer her my hand in the hope of making Alex’s life easier.

“I’m Chanice.”

She stares at my hand like I used it to wipe my ass. The disgust is so apparent that it almost makes me feel dirty.

I try to look for traces of Alex in her, but she is the cold stone version of his malleable clay. The only thing they have in common is how they started out.

“I’ve never seen you before, and I’m pretty sure I would remember someone who looks like you.” She looks me up and down and then tsks. Her eyes are accusatory, as if I did something to her.

The utter disrespect finally pushes me past my panic.

“That’s because I usually work these events, and you don’t strike me as the type to look at the waitstaff.”

She literally gasps and places her hand against her chest. If this weren’t so offensive, it would be funny.