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Shit!
* * *
Afew hours later, I’m sitting at a table covered in pristine white linens at the country club my parents have belonged to longer than I’ve been alive. I was ordered to attend brunch with my mother and little sister, Penelope, in yet another old building, filled with stuffy-ass kissers that all want a chance to talk to my mom.
I guess I’m a little pissy right now and am directing it at everyone else when I should only be mad at myself for my behavior.
Years of listening to my mother tell me to be careful around guys—because they all have an agenda and will want to use me to further that agenda—came back in a big way this morning. How could that amazing man who was lying in my bed actually want me? I’m nothing special. Even as I think the words, I picture the look of hurt on his face and want to cry.
I fucked up. All I want to do is find the words to apologize to Murphy. I don’t need to be sitting here, pretending to listen to whatever my mother is lecturing us about now. Dad is in DC this weekend, but Mom insisted I meet Penny and her because we need to discuss the schedule for the last big push of Dad’s campaign.
It’s the final six weeks before the election, and it always gets hairy around this time. Dad is running on a family-values platform. The image of the perfect family will apparently help him get more votes. On the outside, we look like that family. The reality is very different. My mother is a cold woman who treats her children like an extension of my father’s staff and sees no real value in us as individuals. My father is a pretty good dad, but his ambition runs neck and neck with his family for top billing. I played soccer and joined every possible club and activity through my life just to get me out of the house, and Penny has already started doing the same.
My mother is droning on about some fundraising function she was at last night, but I’m not paying any attention. She loves this: being a senator’s wife. I’m not sure if she loves my father, but she loves who she gets to be because of him. Her chestnut-brown hair is styled in an elegant chignon. The light grey sweater set, piped in white with gorgeous white wide-legged pants she’s wearing cost more than most people make in a week. I do, however, wish I could steal the grey Mary-Jane Manolo Blahniks she has on today.
Great shoes.
Most of the women have stopped by to say hello like she’s the “Godfather” and they need to kiss the ring.
I wonder if this is what Bash feels like?
This entire brunch emphasizes to me how much I don’t want my mother’s life. It makes me physically ill to think of being as shallow or vapid as she is.
I want to be a power player, not married to one.
I want to be a kingmaker, not a king or queen.
Behind the scenes, quietly pulling the strings.
Someone else can be the public figure.
I want to find a candidate I believe in and be their chief of staff. Help take them from being candidate to congressman, senator, governor or more. I don’t want to be window dressing.
Penny kicks my leg under the table. It’s like looking in a mirror when I see my sister. She looks exactly like I did at her age. Long, gangly legs and knobby knees she hasn’t grown into yet. Long, thick dark hair and dark eyes. Wishing desperately she could do something to make our mother love her for her. Not just for what she can help her accomplish.
When I glance up, my mother fixes me with her glare. “Are you listening to me, Sabrina?” She’s well aware that I’ve tuned her out and is not happy about it.
Folding my hands in my lap, I straighten. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I was thinking about what I need to study when I get back to my room today. I have a big test tomorrow in my Media Usage in Campaign Strategies class.” That should buy me a little lenience.
Total lie, but I’ll chalk it up as something I mention next time I go to confession. It’s been a few months...I’m due.
“As I was saying...” My mother places her knife and fork on her nearly full plate. God forbid any of us actually eat more than a few bites of the food we’re served. She pushes the plate away, before continuing, “There is a photo op I will need you for Thursday night in the city. I’ve switched stylists again, and the new one, Carolina, will have everything ready for you. I need you to stop by Tuesday morning for the fitting.”
My head jerks back to her. “Mom, I have class until ten on Tuesday and then again at twelve thirty.”
“Perfect. You can run home in between.” She signals the waiter.
Just what I want to spend my free time doing. I need to find time to talk to Murphy, not to run home and get fitted for clothes I’d never pick myself.
Grabbing her black AMEX out of her wallet, she hands it to the waiter, never once making eye contact. “Your father’s big fundraiser is in a few weeks, and I expect you to be there. And if you could manage to bring a suitable plus one, that would be best, dear. We can’t have the voters thinking you’re a lesbian.” Picking up her phone, she starts scrolling through messages like she didn’t just say that to her daughter.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
“No, Mother, we can’t have that.” If she can hear the sarcasm in my tone, she doesn’t acknowledge it. But Penny and I smile at each other.
“Am I going to the fundraiser this year, Mom?” Penny is eleven and doesn’t have to attend most of the functions I do.
Never looking up from her phone, she answers, “No, Penelope. You will be staying home with Nanny for the night.”
