Just thinking about it depresses me. It’s like there’s something in me that’s supposed to work and it’s broken. For the longest time I just thought I needed to find the right guy, but I’m starting to think there’s no such thing.
“No thanks,” I say quietly.
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I know what we can do. My friend works for this super rich guy and they throw the most insane Valentine’s Day party every year for the employees. She said she could get me in, but I’m sure I could bring you too. Come on. It’ll be like a celebration for your trust fund money!”
“I don’t know… It sounds a lot like we’d be crashing the party.”
“And?” asks Scarlett, genuinely looking like she’s waiting for me to explain the problem with that.
I bite my lip. It does sound nice. I have been consumed with my business and one look in the mirror at my frazzled hair and the circles under my eyes can attest to how little time I’ve spent taking care of myself. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Scarlett claps her hands together and smiles wide. “You’re going to love it. I went last year. Just wait ‘til you see the host, Mr. Steel. He’s fucking gorgeous.”
“Mr. Steel?” I ask, feeling a tingle run across my skin.
Scarlett quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see. Anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to head out for the night.”
“Sure,” I say. “Can you be in a little early tomorrow? I was hoping to get at least half of these orders delivered.”
Her eyes scan the room littered with boxes and boxes of clothes. She looks at me skeptically, but nods. “Bright and early. You got it, boss.”
I laugh. “Would you please stop calling me that?”
“Nope,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she gracefully hops over a box only to jam her toe into a table leg nearly toppling onto her face. As usual, she manages to spin out of a near fall and get her balance. She gives me a thumbs up over her shoulder as she leaves.
I find a chair that’s not already occupied by clothes and plop down, checking my phone. I know what I’ll see but I look anyway. A text from my mom.
Mom (5:21 P.M.): me and ronnie were looking at cruises. bahamas would be nice. havnt heard from u. dont be selfish, emm. its a lot of money ur uncle would have wanted u to share.
I start to tap a reply out.
“Sorry, Mom. Right now isn’t good. I have debt and business expenses, but in a few weeks, maybe a month--”
I press and hold the delete button, setting the phone down roughly on the table beside me. Tears threaten to come, but I push them down. I won’t cry over her. Not anymore. She makes me feel like such a shitty daughter, but Uncle Adam left her just as much money as he left me when he passed away. The only difference is that she didn’t have to wait for hers. She blew it before the year was even over. Expensive dinners, clothes, jewelry, travel, and infomercial purchases. And not a dime of it went toward helping me with my college debt or living expenses.
Now that I’m finally about to have my trust money, she’s suddenly texting and calling me all the time. A month ago I could’ve counted on one hand the number of times she reached out to me in the last few years. It makes my stomach sick, partly because I still feel like I should be able to do something for her, and partly because I know she’s using me. My own mom is trying to use me.
The only real surprise in all of this has been that my dad and brother haven’t reached out to me. After dad split with mom, he cut contact completely. My brother, Mark, followed him. The divorce was messy and my mom and dad were both pointing fingers at each other, forcing my brother and I to choose sides. I didn’t want to have to choose, but it was my dad who cheated, so I ultimately sided with my mom, while my brother blamed my mom for causing my dad to want to cheat. We weren’t exactly the Brady Bunch.
Either way, I expected my dad to come out of hiding to try to get a piece of my trust fund, but maybe he’s focusing his effort on Mark, who will be getting his money in two years. Who knows. I would say I don’t care, but it would be a lie. As imperfect and vile as my parents can be, I still love them in a way. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let them take advantage of me, but I still hope someday they will come around and start acting like real parents, as unlikely as that is.