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“So let me get this straight. I graduate at the top of my class, get a job less than a month out of college, and am spearheading a statewide initiative on special education reform, but the fact that I have a boyfriend who's swimming in money makes you happy?”
“Lord have mercy,” she sighed, her southern roots rearing its head. “You should have majored in drama because you seem abundantly skilled in turning everything into some Greek tragedy.” She glanced down at her nails, solidifying how silly she thought I was acting. “You know I'm proud of you, Penelope.”
“Right. That's why you can't even look at me.” I felt the heat rush across my face. Anger, embarrassment, and frustration turned me inside out. “Do you know how it feels to only matter based on who I'm dating? My worthiness should have nothing to do with my boyfriend's salary. It's more than insulting, Mom. It's infuriating.” Even with all the chatter around us masking our conversation, I knew that I was embarrassing her and that was a fate worse than death. Honestly, after years of suffering in silence, I could care less if the entire city heard me. “Why can't I be enough?” I spat. “Just me?”
Her eyes scanned our immediate vicinity, her cheeks flushed like she expected everyone around us to be riveted and listening to every word. Judging us. When she realized that we just weren't that interesting, she relaxed and finally met my gaze. “You are enough, Penelope. That's why it's so frustrating when you sell yourself short.” She gestured at my outfit. “Hiding behind oversized skirts and dingy t-shirts.” She reached toward my hair and lifted one of my limp strands. “God only knows the last time you had your hair trimmed. You are such a beautiful young woman. Clearly your genes shined through, because you caught Xander's eye when you were...like this. Just imagine how you'd shine if you took some pride in your appearance! The places you could go in your career-”
“My career?” I didn't need to derail the train to Crazy Town because it was becoming more obvious that my mother just didn't get it, but I couldn't let that fly unchallenged. “I'm a teacher, Mom. Not a runway model. Not a fashion blogger. My appearance has nothing to do with helping kids!”
She peered at me like I was slow on the uptake. “Surely you don't plan on teaching forever? Maybe administration? Or if you play your cards right, maybe you'll snag Xander and you won't have to work at all!” She smiled like there was nothing but blue skies ahead of me. “I can't wait to meet him. He's coming to the wedding, right?”
I blinked at her. I came from this woman's body. She rocked me to sleep every night, kissed my boo boos, and growing up, I could remember moments where I felt loved. They were few and far between, with far more memories filled with her fussing over me, telling me to stand up straight and monitoring my food intake even though I never had a problem with weight. It was very clear to me that appearances meant everything to her, but was she so deluded that she couldn't see that I was hurting? That I just wanted to be accepted in my fun patchwork skirt and dingy t-shirt with my split ends? Would this really be all I'd get? A mom that would only show signs of happiness and pride when Xander's name was brought into the conversation? Xander, a man that would probably put me in the rearview when the month was up? Xander, a boyfriend that was only mine because I'd agreed to accept his money?
It was only a matter of time until I'd go back to being the black sheep. Hopeless and disappointing. Poor little Penelope.
I sprang from the stool when they called my order, swallowing my tears. I balanced the tray of food, pumping ketchup into the tiny container and grabbing condiments. I breathed deep and exhaled. I always told my students to assess the situation and if they could change the outcome, do their part...and if not, let it go.
I decided I had to adjust my expectations. I'd been searching for a mom that never existed. This woman was the mom I had. That would either be enough, or it wouldn't. That realization made the walk back to the table easier, but the heaviness in my chest didn't go away.
She eyeballed the tray like she could feel the pounds glomming to her perfectly maintained body just from being within arm’s reach. “That is quite the burger.”
I slumped on the stool beside her, all the fight in me gone. “If you don't want to eat it, I won't force feed you. Just let me grab a couple of bites and we can bag it up and head to Westfield-” I stopped talking when I watched her pick hers up with all the finesse of a model being directed toward that perfect shot. She opened her mouth and took a big bite, quickly swiping her mouth as she chewed it slowly.
“Not bad.” She lowered it back to the plate like a judge on some cooking show. “I'll have to do an extra hour on the elliptical of course, but no pain, no gain, as they say.”
I knew it was just one bite, and she still didn't respect my career choices, or the me I was struggling to be, but it was a baby step.
I took a bite of my burger and swallowed it along with my resentment. I dabbed my mouth with the napkin and answered her question. “Yes, Xander will be at the wedding.”
She practically squealed with glee. “How wonderful!” She leaned in close, her signature perfume wafting in my direction. “Hopefully your wedding bells aren't far behind!”
I could have easily been annoyed, but I just laughed. I knew that she loved me the only way she knew how. Someday, I hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Four: Xander
Penny was coming over for dinner—and everything had to be perfect.
I had the cleaning service scrub my already glittering loft from head to toe. Everything from the floor-to-ceiling windows, to the spiral staircase, to the granite countertops glittered and shined. I'd almost called in my buyer for a few last minute pieces to make it look a little less like a bachelor pad and a little more homey, but that seemed like a bit much. I was going to ask Penny to date me, minus the price tag. That meant she was signing up for me, not the me I wanted to portray to the world. She needed to know who I was.
And the fact was, I spent so much time living out of a suitcase that my space, while beautiful, was pretty minimalist. It was a two level apartment with an incredible view of the downtown San Francisco skyline. From the door, you were hit by a chef's kitchen that I rarely used, except for a quick bowl of cereal here and there, and a blender that made a mean protein shake. Hardwood floors ran throughout, creating a rustic feel that contrasted with chrome appliances and the exposed beams of the historic building. The living space downstairs was filled with an untouched leather couch, and a modular coffee table that hadn't held a single cup of coffee. An oversized flatscreen TV was attached to the wall, and I could count on one hand the number of times I'd actually turned the thing on. Off to the right, a few steps away from the French doors that led to the balcony, was a mahogany dining room set that I had never dined on. Up the metal staircase was my bedroom. A simple four poster bed was nestled against the wall, with another set of floor-to-ceiling windows that gave me a front row seat to the sun rising over the city. I couldn’t remember the last time I was still in bed to experience it.
Coming home was an appointment I squeezed into my day. But when I invited Penny to dinner, I knew I wanted things to be different. I wanted to build something worth coming home to.
While I hadn't taken massive steps to break in my place and turn it into something more than somewhere I crashed at from time to time, I knew it was still my home, my abode, my space—which was why she was the first woman I'd ever invited over. The suites I'd arranged in the past were because I was scratching some itch, getting something out of my system. It was something temporary. What Penny and I were building had the potential to be something great.
The doorbell rang and I had a moment of panic. The food I'd arranged wasn't here, the candles hadn't been lit-
“Calm the hell down,” I muttered under my breath. She had last minute wedding stuff to do since the big day was tomorrow, and wouldn't be arriving for another thirty minutes at least. I strode to the door to find the concierge, Lindsey, grinning back at me. Part one of the problems that had just raced through my mind was ready to be ticked off.
I pulled open the door, the petite brunette already red as the delivery cooler that stood beside her.
“M-Mr. Wade! I have a delivery from Brick’s Place?” Her dark eyes dropped to the clipboard that was rattling in her hands before she let out a nervous chuckle and thrust it in my direction. “If you could sign for it, that would be awesome.”
I sketched out my signature and roped in the food, giving her a lopsided grin. “Thanks, Lindsey.”
Her eyes widened like she was surprised I knew her name, then she scurried off like she was worried she'd overstayed her welcome. I almost called her back to ask for her help putting all the stuff out, but my pride got the best of me. The hard part, cooking, was done. Surely I could put salad in a bowl and lasagna on a plate and make it look halfway decent.
I wheeled the food beside the bar and tracked down an unopened dish and serving set. After a quick rinse and locating a dusty roll of paper towels, I wiped the chosen few pieces off like I was polishing silver. I fought the urge to Google how to set a table and decided to just wing it.
