came home and found this mixtape thing from him…”
“He made you a mixtape? How sweet,” she coos.
“Of sorts…Anyway, he just came in to my room and thought he would just fuck me without so much as an explanation.”
“Well…” She teeters her head from side to side, as if weighing out options.
“Well,” I mimic the gesture, “what?”
“Well, Lacey, I mean, you guys are just screwing, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She turns toward me, as she usually does when she’s about to smack me with the truth. “Could it be that you like him and want more?”
“Are you crazy?” I peer at her, as if she really were fucking nuts. “Could you imagine what my mother would say if I brought Gunnar home? Plus, he is so not the marrying type. It could never go anywhere.”
“You know, that’s exactly what the heroine says before she finds her happily ever after.” She smirks at me smugly.
“This is not a book, Gwen. This is my life, and there’s no such thing as happy endings. Besides, I never liked that. The end is truly the beginning. They just never show you the part where reality sets in.”
“Wow!” She feigns shock. “Where is this coming from? Grumpy Lacey.” She sighs. “Fine. Then maybe you’ll have your happy beginning.”
“Maybe,” I mumble, staring back out the window, focusing on the crowded streets of Manhattan.
We arrive at the new, posh restaurant, finding my mother already seated. She’s wearing her pastel pink vintage Chanel dress suit with black trim, her dark red hair perfectly upswept in a French twist. We look and act nothing alike. I’m more like my father’s side of the family. I swear. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even related.
“Hello, Mother,” I greet as we make it to the table.
She looks up at me, giving me the usual, scrutinizing onceover before commenting, “That dress really doesn’t flatter your figure, Lacey. You should have worn the blue one I sent you last week.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mother.”
Gwen shoots me a look like I just poked the bear in the cage. “Hello, Cassandra. It’s good to see you again,” she addresses my mother with her best dazzling grin. She uses it when she does go-sees with designers and others in the industry.
“Good afternoon, Gwendolyn.” She puckers her lips. My mother knows how much she hates her proper name, but she insists on referring to her by it every time.
We sit, picking up our menus and skimming through them, avoiding more awkwardness than absolutely necessary.
“I already ordered the duck with a nice salad,” my mother informs us. She always does this. She knows I detest duck. It’s far too greasy.
“Thank you, Mother,” I murmur, but you can hear it’s anything but genuine. “It sounds delicious.”
The waiter walks up to our table, pouring each of us a glass of Pinot Noir.
“Have you heard any word from Holden?” Cassandra asks, barely giving me a chance to settle before going for the throat, shooing off the waiter. She can be very inconsiderate of those in the service industry.
“No, I haven’t.” I take a long breath. “I left him, Mother. I don’t think I will hear from him again.”
“You never know.” She swirls the wine in her glass, taking a sip and holding it in her mouth for a second before swallowing. “He could come to his senses and try to get you back.”
She can’t be serious.
“Mother, I don’t want him to come to his senses,” I state.
“You don’t mean that.” She shakes her head, completely dismissing what I want. “You’re hurt, but that will pass.”
“I’m sure he will,” Gwen agrees, attempting to appease her and get her off my back. “Or, she could meet someone even better.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“As long as it isn’t one of those animals you write about.” I shoot a side-glance to my big-mouthed friend, wishing she hadn’t mentioned that second part. “I think I would just about die of humiliation.”
Well,
“He made you a mixtape? How sweet,” she coos.
“Of sorts…Anyway, he just came in to my room and thought he would just fuck me without so much as an explanation.”
“Well…” She teeters her head from side to side, as if weighing out options.
“Well,” I mimic the gesture, “what?”
“Well, Lacey, I mean, you guys are just screwing, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She turns toward me, as she usually does when she’s about to smack me with the truth. “Could it be that you like him and want more?”
“Are you crazy?” I peer at her, as if she really were fucking nuts. “Could you imagine what my mother would say if I brought Gunnar home? Plus, he is so not the marrying type. It could never go anywhere.”
“You know, that’s exactly what the heroine says before she finds her happily ever after.” She smirks at me smugly.
“This is not a book, Gwen. This is my life, and there’s no such thing as happy endings. Besides, I never liked that. The end is truly the beginning. They just never show you the part where reality sets in.”
“Wow!” She feigns shock. “Where is this coming from? Grumpy Lacey.” She sighs. “Fine. Then maybe you’ll have your happy beginning.”
“Maybe,” I mumble, staring back out the window, focusing on the crowded streets of Manhattan.
We arrive at the new, posh restaurant, finding my mother already seated. She’s wearing her pastel pink vintage Chanel dress suit with black trim, her dark red hair perfectly upswept in a French twist. We look and act nothing alike. I’m more like my father’s side of the family. I swear. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even related.
“Hello, Mother,” I greet as we make it to the table.
She looks up at me, giving me the usual, scrutinizing onceover before commenting, “That dress really doesn’t flatter your figure, Lacey. You should have worn the blue one I sent you last week.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mother.”
Gwen shoots me a look like I just poked the bear in the cage. “Hello, Cassandra. It’s good to see you again,” she addresses my mother with her best dazzling grin. She uses it when she does go-sees with designers and others in the industry.
“Good afternoon, Gwendolyn.” She puckers her lips. My mother knows how much she hates her proper name, but she insists on referring to her by it every time.
We sit, picking up our menus and skimming through them, avoiding more awkwardness than absolutely necessary.
“I already ordered the duck with a nice salad,” my mother informs us. She always does this. She knows I detest duck. It’s far too greasy.
“Thank you, Mother,” I murmur, but you can hear it’s anything but genuine. “It sounds delicious.”
The waiter walks up to our table, pouring each of us a glass of Pinot Noir.
“Have you heard any word from Holden?” Cassandra asks, barely giving me a chance to settle before going for the throat, shooing off the waiter. She can be very inconsiderate of those in the service industry.
“No, I haven’t.” I take a long breath. “I left him, Mother. I don’t think I will hear from him again.”
“You never know.” She swirls the wine in her glass, taking a sip and holding it in her mouth for a second before swallowing. “He could come to his senses and try to get you back.”
She can’t be serious.
“Mother, I don’t want him to come to his senses,” I state.
“You don’t mean that.” She shakes her head, completely dismissing what I want. “You’re hurt, but that will pass.”
“I’m sure he will,” Gwen agrees, attempting to appease her and get her off my back. “Or, she could meet someone even better.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“As long as it isn’t one of those animals you write about.” I shoot a side-glance to my big-mouthed friend, wishing she hadn’t mentioned that second part. “I think I would just about die of humiliation.”
Well,
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