by Ava Claire
“So where are we headed? There's that delicious steak place inside of Westfield-”
“We're going to Super Burger.”
She came to a hard stop, her eyes widening like a homeless person had actually dared to speak to her. “What?”
I smiled to myself as I looped my arm through hers, my voice excited now. “It's just a block or two away. Their food is amazing. And they're not too expensive.”
She went so rigid that it would have only taken the slightest misstep to break her in two. “Oh honey, we don't have to pinch pennies. You know your father is tenured.”
It was my turn to pause and look at her with wide eyed disbelief. I gazed at her perfectly arranged features: eyes blue and so naive, aristocratic nose tipped so high that she couldn't see that there was a world around us where people were carrying bags filled with expensive clothes while other people were covered in tattered ones. Her lips were covered in a blush pink, and her blonde hair was pulled into a ballerina bun that made me think of the princess junk she forced down my throat as a child. My mother lived in a dream world where she didn't have a credit limit and she was too good to eat among the peasants.
She took the pause as an opportunity to extricate herself from me, pulling out her compact to check her reflection. “Penelope, the burger place sounds adorable, but I'm in no mood for some greasy mess.” Once she confirmed that she was still beautiful, she snapped the mirror closed and flashed me a sympathetic smile. “How about I cover lunch?”
That was so far from the point that it was ridiculous. “You are aware that dad and I are both teachers, right?” My words shook and the little voice I usually listened to that told me to avoid confrontation at all costs was sounding off. It reminded me that raising my blood pressure because of my mother's antics just stressed me out. There was no combination of words or alternate methods of communication that could get through to her. She was an impenetrable fortress of obliviousness, so why bother? But there was another feeling that swarmed in my gut besides helplessness. It was the warmth that spread like wildfire when Xander looked at me like I wasn't a disappointment. Like I deserved respect, but I had to demand it. “You act like what we do is the equivalent of a person that collects trash and the mayor who sits on his throne in City Hall.”
“Your dad is a professor, Penelope.” Her crisp tone matched the rap of her stilettos as she marched forward. “There's a bit of a difference between what he does and what you do.”
I followed behind her, trying to tame the urge to scream. Of course what we did was different, and I knew my father did well for himself, but we both worked in education and it was far from the land of milk and honey. We both helped change lives and inspire our students. “You're right, but we both work hard-”
“You work too hard.” We were shoulder to shoulder and she threw me a despondent look like all the hope had gone out of the world. “You were always such a lovely writer. I wanted you to find a nice man with a good job so you could write the next Great American Novel-”
“That's what you want,” I butted in. “I'm doing what I want. I'm helping kids and living within my means.” I made the last sentence sharp enough that she clenched her jaw. She never talked about their finances, but I'd overheard conversations where my father lamented about her shopping habits.
My mother came from a working class family. Grandma Jo worked at a grocery store until retirement, and Gramps was a mechanic who still worked a couple of days down at the auto shop to make ends meet since they were on a fixed income. Despite the designer dresses and Louis Vuitton handbags, I knew that my mother remembered what it was like to have very little. I was no psychiatrist, but I had a feeling it was one of the reasons she felt the need to overcompensate and flash brand names like she was a seasoned member of the upper class. Expensive things made her happy, but I believed there were more important things in life than money.
That final thought made my stomach flip flop. Considering my current predicament, I was a bit of a hypocrite. What about the 20k check that Xander was handing over in a month? I remembered salivating when he dropped that figure like it was nothing. How could I fault my mom for obsessing over money when I was choosing money and security over the risk of falling for him?
I wasn't ready to answer that question and when I saw the orange sign for Super Burger glittering a few feet away, I took the reprieve. “We're here!”
I bounded through the door, the smell of meat and bread and garlic and onions beckoning me and making my stomach growl.
I stopped at the back of the line and realized that I was standing in the line alone. Two giggling teenagers filed in behind me and I craned my neck to look past them and saw my mother standing outside, wringing her hands like this was the hardest thing she'd ever have to do. Just when I was gearing up to personally usher her inside, she took a breath and slowly worked her way to the door. We locked gazes and the sour look on her face deepened. It was her silent way of telling me that she was making a grand sacrifice and expected to be praised in kind.
I could have made a big deal out of my mother acting like she'd rather chew off her arm than go to a burger joint; point out things like the stools and tables that hadn't been cleared, the name tags, and how we'd smell like fries for hours, but I was never one for rubbing someone's nose in it. I knew this was a victory, however small, and that was enough for me.
I swiped a paper menu for her benefit. I already knew I wanted the biggest, juiciest burger with everything but the kitchen sink on it. “Wanna take a look?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly. She looked pale, like she could see an unfortunate end with every moment that ticked by and she remained in this godforsaken restaurant. “This is your party. I'll trust your judgment.”
I ordered two of my mega burgers and bit back a laugh when she let out a croak, instantly regretting her decision to let me take the wheel. I handed over my debit card and paid for the meal, then slowly guided her to a table closest to the exit, just to put her at ease. “It'll be delicious, trust me.”
She swiped a handful of napkins and scrubbed down our table and chairs. Despite her extra dose of cleaning, she gingerly lowered herself onto the stool. “If you say so, dear.” She slapped a tentative smile on her face and delicately placed her hands in her lap. I had to admit, there was a charm in my mom with her pearls and heels, perched on a stool in Super Burger. I must have been gawking because her brow arched toward the ceiling.
“What?”
“Normal looks good on you, Mom.”
She dismissed that with a huff. “Penelope, you act as if I think I'm the queen of England. I am perfectly capable of eating burgers, I just prefer them at a-”
“Expensive?” I offered.
“Reputable establishment,” she finished with a narrowed gaze. “And before you give me the rundown of Super Burger's most recent reviews, I'm sure it will be an...interesting experience.” She sniffed and spun her pearl earring a few times before she flashed me a more genuine smile. “Since it's just you and I, I'd love to hear more about Xander.”
The sound of his name brought on a flurry of butterflies that wouldn't stop flapping. I couldn't hide the joy that lit up my face. “He's amazing, Mom.” He was always on my mind these days, so I didn't even have to try to pull up his handsome face. That knee quaking smirk that reduced me to a stuttering idiot. The eyes that I wanted to just dive into. “He makes me feel special, and it's like he's not even trying. I've never felt so natural with someone so quickly.” I dropped my eyes go my lap and immediately was bombarded with the warmth of arousal, remembering the last time we were together. The way he told me to come sit beside him and touched me. He'd branded me in such a way that every time I went out to eat, I'd think of him fingering me beneath the table. It was sexy and more than a little distracting considering my mom was beside me. “I'm really happy.”
“And he does well for himself? Your father looked him up on Google and he's apparently very wealthy.”
It took her no effort at all to knock all the air from my sails and plunk me back in reality. I should have known when she asked about him she was really asking for his most recent 1040.
“Yes.” I clenched my teeth. “He's wealthy.”
“That's fantastic, Penelope!” Suddenly, she could care less if we were at a burger place or some hole in the wall with God knows what glommed on the table. I could see the dollar signs in her aquamarine eyes. Me landing a rich dude brought her more pride than any of the other things I'd accomplished. The rage snuffed out all the joy that flickered when she said his name.
“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.
I laid out the black square plates and silver salad bowls, then the forks and knives, and scrounged up some linen napkins. The salad was pre tossed, but I turned it a couple of times so I could put my mark on it. I finished the spread by carefully setting out the lasagna and servingware.