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Chapter Nineteen
“You shouldn’t wear shorts, Olivia. You don’t have the thighs for them.” Eleanor Tang surveyed her younger daughter with a critical eye. “Have you tried working out?”
Olivia pressed her lips together. “Yes, Mother. I work out every day.” Sex counted, right? At Stanford, she usually went for a morning jog, but the streets near Sammy’s house were too hilly. That type of cardio was above her pay grade.
“Interesting.” Eleanor reached for her water glass, her tastefully sized emerald ring flashing in the light. “Perhaps you should step it up. You don’t want to get fat.”
Eleanor Tang, the Queen of Political Correctness.Not.
“I think her thighs look great.” Richard winked and stared at Olivia like he could see right through her clothes. “Men like a little meat on their women’s bones.”
Ugh.Their food hadn’t even come yet, and Olivia already wanted to hurl.
I should’ve taken Sammy up on his offer.While she didn’t want to subject him to her family’s company, she could use a friendly face. As it stood, she had to deal with the terror of Tangs on her own.
“What are you trying to say?” Alina asked playfully. She, of course, was a perfect size zero and had been her entire post-pubescent life.
Olivia was slim by any standard except Eleanor’s, but she wasn’t a size zero and had no desire to be one. She liked her hips and thighs, thank you very much.
“You know you’re beautiful.” Richard kissed Alina’s cheek.
Alina giggled, Eleanor beamed, and Olivia rolled her eyes.
“How’s the house hunt going?” Olivia changed the subject.
“It’s not a hunt per se, because Richard and I don’t know if we’re moving here for sure yet, but I have to say, I’m loving San Francisco.” Alina leaned back to allow their server to set their food on the table. “We saw some great houses yesterday. Didn’t we, Mom?”
“They were acceptable,” Eleanor acknowledged. “But not perfect. Keep looking.”
The meal dragged on. Olivia was convinced she’d been sitting there—downing mimosa after mimosa to soothe her nerves—for days, but in reality, brunch lasted less than two hours. Their conversation topics were the same as always: Alina’s wedding, Alina’s job, Richard’s job, Eleanor’s social obligations, etc.
Olivia’s dad had left them when she was less than a year old, but Eleanor had gone through three more marriages since then—all to wealthy, successful men who were the polar opposite of Olivia’s deadbeat father and who left Eleanor a good chunk of their money in their divorce settlements. Say what you want about Olivia’s mother, but she was a master at manipulating men into forgoing a prenup. Her last husband had parted with several million dollars and his summer house on Lake Michigan.
“Olivia, where are you living right now?” Alina asked, finally realizing that none of them had asked about Olivia or her life since the discussion about her thighs. Not that she minded—the less her family knew, the better. They were more critical than Simon Cowell in his worstAmerican Idoldays. “Maybe we should look into that neighborhood, too.”
Olivia gulped down another mouthful of orange juice and champagne. No way was she telling them she was living with Sammy. Her mother had a steel-trap memory, and she’d definitely remember Sammy as the guy who threw away a NASA career to be a baker. Sammy may be successful, but Eleanor’s tolerance for creative types hovered near the same level as her tolerance for public transportation and white after Labor Day. AKA, close to zero.
“You don’t want to live there,” Olivia said. “The place isn’t, uh, in the best neighborhood.”
Sammy lived in an excellent neighborhood, but her family didn’t need to know that. The thought of any of them coming within a mile radius of him made her stomach churn. She wanted to protect him from the Tangs at all costs.
Alina’s eyes widened. “It’s not in...” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The ghetto, is it?”
“No,and don’t use that word. It’s offensive.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think it’s offensive,” Richard added.
Olivia sighed. There was no use in explaining. She’d tried multiple times in the past, but it always fell on deaf ears and led to heated arguments.
“By the way, I meant to tell you earlier, but it slipped my mind with everything else I had going on.” Alina sipped her drink. “I received an invitation to speak at a conference the weekend of my bachelorette, so I moved the celebration up. My bachelorette is now the weekend of September nineteenth.”
Olivia’s French toast turned to ash in her mouth. “What?”
“Is that a problem? I thought that was a suitable alternative.”
“That’s the weekend of Kris’s wedding.” Olivia strove to maintain control. “I’ve talked about it for months, and I already bought my tickets for Italy.”
