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Daughter of acclaimed actress Renee Barrick and Vice Presidential candidate Christopher St. James.
Socialite.
Former child star.
I despise who I am on the outside.
Perfectly coiffed, manicured, waxed, and well-mannered, all wrapped up in one perfectly presentable package. Silky blond hair with big, beautiful beach waves—thank you kindly to my extensions—designer clothes, and lips that, according to my ex-bestie Lizzie, can bring grown men to their knees.
And believe it or not, those are all things I hate about myself.
Who gives a shit if I’m a size six or my hair has the perfect balayage? What about who I am on the Inside? What about my kind heart and sympathetic soul? What about who I am when no one is looking? Don’t those things matter anymore? Today’s world is so consumed with beauty and the perfectly sculpted body that the really important things people have to offer go unnoticed.
Such as kindness and compassion.
“I am strong.”
Glaring at the screen on the dash, I wrinkle my nose at the narrator. This one is
a bit harder because I’m the opposite of strong.
I’m weak—a puppet of sorts, conforming to what everyone else wants, occasionally forgetting that it’s okay to have an opinion. It’s okay to be...me.
And the real me doesn’t want to be a trophy wife. Or a CPA. The real me wants to sew and design—to be free to do what I want without the fear of repercussions.
That’s exactly why I moved here… Well, partly why I moved here, away from the hustle and bustle that was my life. Away from the proverbial hell and straight into Heaven.
Heaven, Texas, that is.
Population ten thousand five hundred seventy-one, and home of the thickest, saltiest air in the entire universe. Air that is no doubt doing a number on my overpriced extensions. Normally this would be a problem. Today it isn’t. Because today is my new normal. Today is about letting go, moving forward, and embracing me:
Lennon St. James.
Seamstress.
Designer.
Independent woman.
See? I’ve got this in the bag.
My parents think they’re making me lie low, stay out of the limelight, so to speak, after the media shitstorm my life inadvertently caused. Public embarrassment, that’s what my mother called it. Apparently I shamed my family, putting my father’s campaign at risk. In my defense, I was trying to help someone I thought was a friend. But whatever. My parents are doing me a favor. Little do they know they’re also giving me what I’ve been yearning for: the opportunity to finally get away from it all.
The life.
The city.
Them.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath. “I am strong.”
“Very good,” the narrator says before the gentle music fades. There’s a click through my speakers, and a huskier voice says, “This is the end of session one.”
I’m not typically one to listen to self-help programs. In fact, I’ve never listened to one until today, and it wasn’t really by choice. The people who rented this car before me must’ve left the CD in the player, and considering I’ve probably spent a whopping ten hours in the front seat of a car—ever—I can’t figure out how to take the darn thing out. So, I took it as a sign. A little self help never hurt anyone, right?
“Please insert disc two: Free Yourself of Anxiety and Stress.”
I make a mental note to search for disc two while glancing to my right. I’m momentarily stunned by the most breathtaking coastal view.
