Elliot chuckles. “Maybe I should hit Z when I’m back home. I heard Anthony’s in town, which means all the hot women are going to show.”
My gut clenches at the mention of Anthony Blackwood. We used to be best friends, but things went south fast, partially due to me being stupid. Now Anthony hates me. He’s promised to make me suffer as much as he did.
Elliot keeps talking as though he doesn’t notice my tension. “Come on. Let’s crank this evening up. Otherwise we’re going to get labeled as boring old farts, and I’ve got a rep to maintain. Besides, I’ll be damned if Dad’s gonna hear that we’re sitting here like losers with nothing but overpriced drinks in our hands.”
At that, I get up. I too will be damned if I give Dad an ounce of satisfaction knowing that he’s causing me worry or that he brought a funk on.
Because all this? It’s not me.
Nope. It isn’t.
* * *
Paige
I spend the evening in the suite next to Ryder’s. It’s actually bigger than the apartment I share with Renni. Lots of white and custard cream color decor with blue accents to brighten your spirit and lighten your day.
It’s peaceful to order room service and just laze around in the opulent space, while reading up on what to expect now that I’m expecting, before hitting the stately four-poster bed.
I hug a fluffy pillow and roll onto my side. The D.C. area feels different. It’s slightly cooler and wetter than L.A. More formal, too. Must be all the politicians and their people. You don’t see a lot of flamboyant congressmen on TV.
I can’t seem to sleep. I stare at the ceiling. It’s already after one. A text pops up. It’s Renni, responding to pictures of the suite that she insisted I send earlier.
Holy…!!!
Since I’m not sleeping, I reply: One day you’ll be the one getting me upgrades like this. :)
Blowing out a breath, I shove the phone under my pillow. I should get some sleep or I’m not going to be any good tomorrow, but my thoughts keep drifting to all the craziness of the day.
Ryder’s public bio doesn’t even hint at a “hard to please” mother or manipulative jerk father. It glosses over both parents by mentioning that they’re wealthy and give back to society.
Now I find myself wondering: What else is just a glittery lie in his bio?
Lauren.
I googled for anything connecting him to that name, but came up blank. Maybe she’s a girl he liked in high school and things didn’t end well. High school’s full of ill-fated relationships. And I wouldn’t put it past Julian to mention it just to piss Ryder off. He’s pure asshole, and he makes my blood pressure rise.
He’s never sent a single congratulatory text or email or gift to Ryder for the string of hit movies his son starred in over the last four years, although that man has never had any trouble forwarding a nasty review. When he couldn’t find a critic who’d panned Ryder’s latest film, Julian clipped negative remarks from Amazon reviewers and turned them into a scrapbook, then sent it to Ryder on his last birthday.
Happy birthday. Don’t want you to get too arrogant.
How any father can be that petty, I’ll never understand. It’s not like he had to struggle to provide for Ryder or anything. The man is loaded.
Even though I’ve seen first-hand proof that money isn’t everything, I can’t stop thinking about how little I have in my bank account. The Wall Street Journal article I read before bed says it costs a cool quarter million to raise a child to the age of eighteen, not including college tuition, and college tuition’s rising at over ten percent beyond inflation.
A lack of money forced my mom to do a lot of stuff she’d rather not. She lived with men who weren’t the nicest because it was either that or become homeless, and she was determined to provide at least a roof over my head. She also endured a lot of abuse from such men, who thought providing the bare necessities meant they had carte blanche to be total douchebags.
So yeah, I know firsthand that being alone can be hard on a woman with modest economic means. I have family and friends, of course, but I don’t want to rely on them too much. A little too leech-like for my taste. Besides, my stepsister Bethany and her husband have their own careers and busy lives. I can’t dump a child on them while I keep Ryder out of trouble.
There has to be a way to make this work. I just need to be serious about looking for support programs and help. It’s not like I’m the only single mother in the city.
What about Mom and Simon? I don’t know what I’m going to tell them. The only thing Mom wants for me is that I don’t make the same mistake she did—which mainly means not getting stuck with the child of a man who doesn’t want either of us enough to hang around and do the right thing. Simon wants me to be the best that I can be. Unlike so many others, he thought I was smart and amazing, that I could be anything I wanted. Without his encouragement, I don’t know what I would’ve become.
Just the idea that I could be pregnant in this situation would crush Mom and disappoint Simon. And I’d rather eat broken glass.
Suddenly the door to my suite crashes open. I jackknife in bed, a scream welling in my chest.
The light comes on, blinding me for a moment. Ryder is leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom.