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His is filled with what I like to call “Bro” shots. There are a lot of pictures of him at various hot spots around the world with his friends. #guytime #workhardpartyharder
He doesn’t work very hard, so it’s pretty easy for him to party harder.
I haven’t posted anything interesting lately. I’ve been hiding. Which is probably why Nick thinks he can text me out of nowhere. He thinks he has the upper hand.
“In my day if a man treated me like that, I would have never spoken to him again,” my mother announces.
Everything was easier back in her day. Until she needed things to be harder to prove I’ve had it easy. She’s flexible about history and very good about putting me in Catch 22s. “I’m not planning on speaking to him. All I have to do is exist in the same space without murdering him. Can you see the tag?”
My mother eyes me critically. “Only if you lift your arm, but do you honestly think you can get through a whole cocktail party without spilling something on it? You should have picked black. I can get anything out of black.”
The dress is a bold shade of pink. It’s not a color I wear often, but I’d been drawn to it and when I’d put it on, I’d felt…pretty.
My mother stares at me for a moment. “I thought you never wore anything but black, white, or beige to these parties.”
“I’m trying something new. I did the masculine femininity thing for years.” Businesswomen do it all the time. They wear versions of dresses and suits that are really only women’s wear because of a skirt or where the button is on the jacket.
There can be no doubt that the dress I’m wearing is meant to accentuate my curves. There’s nothing utilitarian about the flouncy skirt or plunging neckline. It’s a sexy dress, one meant to catch the eye of anyone who swung my particular way.
Had I bought this dress to show Nick Stafford what an idiot he is? I don’t want to think about the other, far more dangerous possibility. I did not buy this dress to impress Heath Marino.
There’s a knock at the door, but then I immediately hear a key in the lock and it opens.
“Hey, Mrs. Jensen. It’s just me,” Anika calls out.
When I’d first come home, I’d learned that Ani now has a key to my mom’s apartment and has for a couple of years. Ani, it seems, checks up on my mom regularly and has dinner with her sometimes.
My mom smiles, a genuine expression I rarely see directed my way. “We’re back here, Ani, darling.”
I’m pretty sure my mom wishes Anika was her daughter instead of me. I shove that bit of psychological drama to the side. I’d asked Ani to come over for more than one reason.
“Come and look at Ivy. She’s dressed like a bridesmaid.”
Shit. Was I? “Maybe I should wear the Chanel. Who cares if he knows?”
Ani is suddenly standing beside my mom, and her eyes go wide. “Wow. You look great. That is totally not a bridesmaid dress. No bride would let your boobs look that good.”
I have to admit, they do look good in this dress. “Is it professional? I’m not professional.”
Ani shakes her head. “What will CeCe be wearing?”
Likely something worth a couple thousand tacos. Ani is right. Whatever CeCe is going to be wearing this evening wouldn’t be boring. She wouldn’t look like she could easily throw a jacket over her dress and walk into a board meeting. “Something wildly sexy. But she’s CeCe Foust. She’s kind of earned that right.”
“How?” my mother asks. “From what I understand she married money and then he kicked it, and she married more money and he kicked it, too. Are we sure she didn’t kill them?”
I’m sure CeCe would simply tell my mother she has very good instincts at telling when an old dude is on his way out and wants a younger wife to make that transition more fun. She would ignore the fact that my mom is completely rewriting history in favor of being sarcastic. “It was one husband. He left her with a hundred grand and a small investment firm. She built everything she has from there. She’s now worth ten billion, and she will never remarry. Also, George was only twenty years older, and she loved him very much.”
“All I’m saying is I don’t think she’s done anything beyond being luckier than you,” my mom says.
It’s almost the nicest thing she’s said since I came home. “Wow. I don’t agree with you, but thanks.”
Mom shakes her head. “You misunderstand, child. Luck is everything. You should get a real job. I have to go back to the office for a couple of hours. Lock up when you go. And if you’re not wearing that dress for a man, I’ll be very surprised. Ani, convince her she has terrible taste in men and that you won’t talk to her if she takes that fucker back.”
