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“Don’t be glib, Christian,” she retorts and I continue to wait. “Those finances are for your new girlfriend.” She says the word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth and my eyes narrow. Just a few days ago she was raving about Emma. What has suddenly changed that she doesn’t like her?
This time it’s her turn to be silent and so I reluctantly glance down at the papers before me. “What’s so important about this? Why did you look into her finances?”
“I was curious, Christian. About the woman you’re going to be having a baby with. I wanted to make sure that you weren’t getting in over your head with this girl.”
“Mom, she’s carrying my baby. I think the time for your particular brand of ‘vetting’ has passed.”
“Not necessarily. Not when you see this.”
“I don’t understand why I’m looking at her financials. Why does that matter?”
“Do you see that income amount, Christian?”
“Yes. I see it.” I look up to meet her gaze, evenly. “That’s what I pay her, Mom. She works here.”
“Here? You met that girl at your club? So you knew she was just some gold digging stripper from the start?” She’s furious now but I’m not exactly happy myself.
“First of all, Emma is not a stripper. She’s not even a dancer. She’s a waitress. And second, we’ve discussed this many times, Mom, we don’t have strippers at the club.”
“Of course, they’re not showing themselves off in those skimpy things you call costumes.” Her tone is sarcastic and I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
This is a conversation we’ve had several times before and I’m not interested in having it again. I am interested in the fact that there’s a second set of tax returns under Emma’s. Ones that are significantly lower than hers. And there are other documents too.
Bills.
Past due bills.
An eviction notice.
Then some payments that look like they cleared up the notice.
A mortgage statement that shows a house with a value lower than I’ve ever seen and I flash back to the shabby little house that she went to in West End.
But I’m not going to give my mother the satisfaction of knowing that this is all news to me. That these documents, which are presumably about Emma and her family, are something new in any way.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask, gesturing to the documents.
“That girl is beneath you, Christian. She’s not worth it.”
“Not worth what? Not worth being with? I like her, Mom.”
“You like her,” she shakes her head. “That’s even more unfortunate because it seems obvious to me that she’s using you. Look at this, Christian. She’s poor. Dirt poor. Lower than dirt poor. That house in West End is worth practically nothing. They can barely give it away.”
“I would assume they don’t want to. They’re living there,” I retort and her eyes flash in irritation.
“She’s not right for you.”
“She’s carrying my baby, Mom.”
“Are you sure it’s your baby?” My eyes widen and my mouth drops open at her words. That part I wasn’t expecting.
“What the hell? Yes. I’m sure it’s my baby,” I insist. Even if I hadn’t been with Emma nearly all the time over the last couple months, I trust her. And cheating on me is something I never would even suspect.
“You should get a paternity test. It wouldn’t be uncommon for a pretty young woman of no means to attach herself to a man to pull her out of poverty.”
“She’s not … are you …” I can’t even find the words I want to say because my mind is racing. I’m furious with her for everything she’s saying. And I’m confused about just what all this means for Emma and me.
“You should keep her at arm’s length. If the child is yours you’ll need to provide for it, of course. But we can do that better than she can anyway and any court in the world would side with us on that.”
