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Her hand lingers for a second, before she slips it free to adjust her dress. She looks stunning. Her dress is a bright yellow with thin straps over her shoulders. The top cuts across her chest just below the top of her breasts, giving me a beautiful view from above.
The material hugs her around her torso, flowing out just after her hips. Her heels are silver, strappy, and the tips of her well-manicured, pink toenails make an appearance with each step.
I watch her change instantly. Everything about her morphs right before my eyes as if she's slipped into a different body. Her shoulders pull back, her arms dangle with precision at her sides. Her chin juts forward and her neck seems to elongate as we get closer to the front doors.
Like a chameleon, she puts on her rich skin, and floats through the doors wearing the money that emboldens her. She strolls through the room with me at her heels, heads turning and eyes growing wide.
They know exactly who she is like she's royalty.
I come from a world that knows you because your parents grew up there, and so did theirs, and theirs, and so on. People stopped to ask you how you are, how the crops have been that year, and what the Farmer's Almanac is predicting for the winter.
They know your great aunt Betty who's ninety-two and how she's always loved her rose bushes and won three blue ribbons for them at the local fair. They know your cousin got in trouble for stealing a street sign when he was fourteen, and they still talk about it today.
Here, in Siobhan's world, they know you for entirely different reasons. They see money. They see a name. They see power and fame and recognition. Dollar signs draw the wrong kind of people, and I can smell all the sharks here.
Charity event or not, these people didn't come here to help, they came here to gain. One name follows another, one hand washes the other. It's makes me sad that a place like this even exists.
I've been here one day, and I can see it boldly, like an orange vest during hunting season. It gives me a new perspective on Jenna and what world she lives in. How the people around her can manipulate, and how easily a child can get swept up in this world.
Sia nods at a few people, giving them a smile and a wave. Walking into the main hall, I'm met with another grand, eye catching mirage. It's all a show. And it sickens me.
Giant crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, glittering all over the walls with their lights. Lavish tables are decorated with fancy china, and silverware that fans out in front of swan folded napkins. Navy blue linen covers the tables, and in the center of every table is a glass vase filled with white stones and floating candles. Between the candles are buds of flowers, the edges painted with gold flakes.
“We're right here,” she says, walking to a table up front. “Don't be nervous,” she says in a whisper. “You'll be fine.”
“I'm not nervous,” I say matter fact. And I mean it. I promised myself I wasn't going to pretend anymore. It's not disrespectful to her parents or anyone else for me to just be me. “I am hungry, though.”
She eyes me curiously, and I can see the truth on her face. Sia is nervous as hell. She looks petrified, like she's waiting for the explosion of a bomb she knows is about to go off.
“I think you're the one that's nervous.” Smirking, I pull out the chair for her to sit down. “Your seat, Miss.” Holding my arm behind my back, I bow like the gentleman I am.
Country doesn't mean chivalry is dead. I might not be rich like these people, and used to expensive things, but I know exactly how to treat a lady.
“Thank you.” She sits down, giving me a smile. A real smile. It's not nervous, it's not terrified, it's just a simple smile that isn't being forced.
Taking the seat next to her, she leans in so only I can hear her. “I can't wait for this to be over. See,” she says, tipping her head to a table a couple over from us, “my parents will sit there, they'll work their magic, making all these people open their wallets for a cause that none of them probably care about at all.”
“What's the cause?”
“Bras.” Her voice is flat, but serious.
“Bras?”
“Yeah, bras. My mom does this bra charity drive once a year to give bras to the homeless women in the city that needs one.”
“No boob left behind. I like that.”
“I know it sounds silly, but you'd be surprised how many women need them and can't get them. People donate all kinds of clothes, but bras aren't one of them.”
“I like it, I think it's a great cause.”
“I'm glad you do, but all these people are just here for the press.”
“At least your mom is doing something good for others.”
“You're right, she does a lot of good for other people. I know it might sound childish or downright selfish, but I sometimes wish she wouldn't. I mean, she puts so much into this type of stuff, and I'm left feeling like a third wheel.”
“That's not selfish to want to have a relationship with your mom. That's just called being human.”
