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The call goes to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I have to go see my mom cause there’s something happening with the building. I might be late. I’ll keep you posted, okay?” There’s a second where the words I love you almost slip out of my mouth and I trip over the blank space. “Bye.”
It seems too soon for I love you. Two and a half months isn’t long. But it feels like so much longer than that. It feels like I’ve known him a lifetime.
My mother’s office is close by, and even before I’m inside I have a feeling of dread. I hate this part. Luckily, her assistant and the receptionist of the building know me, so I don’t have to go through the humiliation of having to spell out the fact that I’m there to ask my mother for money.
Liz asked me the other day if I could ask Glenn. I probably could, but I would never. And he’s never offered. Not because the money would matter to him or he wouldn’t want to, but because I’ve told him that I want to earn it.
When I think it through it sounds silly, because getting a loan from your parents isn’t exactly earning it. But I’ll be earning it while I pay them back. Slowly over time.
My mom’s assistant waves me through, and I give her a small smile. When I push through the door my mom is on the phone, but she gestures for me to come in and wait. I sit in one of the chairs by her desk, feeling more like a client than a daughter.
She hangs up a couple of minutes later. “Hi,” she says, sighing. “It never ends.”
“I can imagine.”
“I didn’t have you on my schedule today, did I?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I just dropped by.”
“Good,” she smiles. “I would have felt terrible if I’d forgotten.”
I keep the smile off my face, ignoring the jab in my chest that tells me that she would have felt bad about forgetting because that might make her appear like a bad mother, and not because she actually forgot about me. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath, my stomach doing a flip flop. “Well, I just got off the phone with my realtor, and there’s another offer on the building.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice going flat. “I see.”
“I was told that if I couldn’t put together an offer by tomorrow that I’ll lose the building.”
Mom nods solemnly. “That’s too bad.”
“That’s too bad?” Dread is dawning in my chest.
“That you’re going to lose the building,” she says, flipping through a stack of papers on her desk.
“I came to ask for—”
“No.” The words cuts across mine, sharp and vicious.
“What?”
She draws herself up to be taller behind the desk. “Your father and I have talked about it, and the answer is no. We will not be lending you money for this business venture.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re serious?”
“You think this is something that I would joke about?” Her eyes narrow.
“Mom, I’ve been asking you both for months. I’ve been good about my PR impact for months. Why didn’t you give me any indica—” This time I’m the one who cuts myself off. “You never planned to give me the money.”
She hides it well, but I still catch the flash of smugness that crosses her face.
“You said you were thinking about it so that you could keep me in line.”
“It’s for the best. You weren’t responsible enough to go to college, and you’re not responsible enough to run a business. We’ve decided to invest the money elsewhere.”
“Oh really?” I start to laugh but nothing about this is remotely fucking funny. “Where?”
She smiles, and I know that I’m about to get punched in the gut. “Lillian and Alex have decided to open an art gallery here in town.”
My mouth opens, and it closes. Eastborough already has several art galleries. I know the people there, I’ve often done hair and make-up for gallery openings. “Lillian doesn’t know anything about art,” I say, patiently.
“She’ll do great. They both are very passionate. That’s all you need when you’re selling something like that.”
Rage clouds my vision, and I stand up, starting to pace so I don’t scream. “Let me get this straight. I ask you for money to start a business in a field where I am already successful and sought after, and you’re saying no and giving the money to Lillian. The girl who maintained a C average in her communications degree at the community college and fucked my boyfriend behind my back so she can start an art gallery in a town of sixty thousand people where there are already five art galleries? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Mom blinks at me, and then she sighs. “This is why your father and I delayed in telling you. You always fly off the handle. Always the foul language, always the anger.”
