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“Diligence and a strong work ethic will always get you far.”
“We tend to agree.”
Foster glares at me across the table, like he’s urging me to say something.
“Have you ever seen Evelyn’s work?” Foster asks my father.
My mother perks up, giving Foster her full attention.
“Yes,” my father states, wiping his mouth. “Evelyn has been creating beautiful things since she was a child.”
“She’s very talented. Wouldn’t you agree?” he says, insistent.
“Yes. I’ve always enjoyed seeing her pieces.”
“Her pieces?” Susan questions.
“Evelyn is an artist, and she has quite a unique way of seeing things. I’ve never seen anything like it. She takes some of the simplest subjects and puts a new twist and perspective on them, telling an unseen story. I’ve been helping her with a project over the past few months.” He turns his focus to me. “She’s even inspired me.”
Susan shifts her eyes between Foster and me, expressing affection.
The server returns, clears our plates, and refills our drinks. My father begins a new conversation at the table, engaging everyone on the casual topic of their favorite vacation places.
“Foster is enamored with you,” my mother echoes softly, only for my ears. “You really should consider getting to know him better.”
I close my eyes, stifling out her constant meddling. There’s no doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t even give Foster a second thought in regard to uscourting, if it weren’t for the fact that his billionaire family has…well, billions.
“And he even likes your artwork,” she adds. “Not that it has as much value as an MBA, but I’m happy it was able to grab his attention. I might have underestimated its draw.”
Mortified by her words, my jaw goes slack, dropping open.She’s happy about my art hobby, as she would put it, in the process of landing a man, but she still finds it beneath anything she deems of importance.
Foster releases a tentative grin in my direction and then returns his attention back to our fathers, who are in deep conversation about their golf handicaps and the possibility of a future game together.
My mother gawks at Foster likes he’s some sort of gift that’s been handed into her lap, and my stomach goes ill.
He circles his long fingers around the water glass, and I’m drawn to the clear substance contained within the crystal. I become lost in the small ripples creating a tiny tide within the brittle shell.
Daydreaming.
“Stanford is impressive,” my mother repeats again, as a reminder to me, while everyone is engrossed in their own discussions.
I need to escape this moment.
I dive deep into the fluid, allowing the bubbles and thickness to surround me in my mind, clouding out the noise of my mother’s encouragement toward a man she knows absolutely nothing about, other than his favorable prospects and bank account.
“I was upset about Gerard,” her shrilling voice echoes in my ear, “but there might be hope for you yet.”
My body morphs into a clear stream and becomes one with the cool substance, drowning to the depths.
“Foster and his family are fine people,” she adds. “And they already seem to like you so much.”
Gasping, I try not to let it consume me.
“Did I mention you look very pretty today?”
Enough!
I carry myself upward, breaching the surface of what everyone sees, ignorant to the fight below. Everything is calm and clear through their one-dimensional perspective. They see nothing—only what they want. They know nothing.
