Never one to shy away from a joke, Dad always brings the hammer for his first day on a new contracting gig. I reply to the picture with a few heart emojis.
The second text is from my other parental unit.
Mom
So excited to see you tonight, sweetheart! I made some peanut butter blossoms, and there’s a whole box waiting just for you.
Ugh. So much for getting out of the party tonight
I’m the only one who even likes those cookies and everyone knows it.
Reluctantly, I nudge Waffle off my chest and get up. Opening the closet door, I flip through the hangers. If I’m going to have to deal with Ryan gloating, I might as well be wearing something that makes me feel like I’m above his bullshit.
I’ve always been drawn to dark colors, but I didn’t make the shift to an almost all-black wardrobe until last year, when I wrote an article about it forBelladonna.Now when I get dressed, I get to be more creative, putting pieces together based on texture and shape. If I’m feeling color, I usually just add an accessory, but my signature red lip is usually all the accent I feel like I need.
My fingers move to a black velvet dress I picked up at a sample sale. It’s soft and clingy, with thick ribbon ties on the shoulders. It’s a little more risqué than I’d usually pick for a family party, but hey, maybe I’ll meet someone tonight. Sometimes, my parents’ friends bring their adult kids or younger colleagues with them, so there should be a few men my age.
And I’d love any excuse to go out with a guy who’s never seen the photo Ryan took.
Even though I’monly ten minutes late for the party, Mom’s driveway is already crammed full of shiny Audis and BMWs, with more spilling out onto the street. I can guarantee I’m the only guest who took the train to get here. As I walk up the long driveway, I count how many cars have a driver waiting in the front seat, playing Candy Crush to kill time.
There are exactly eight. I give each of them a little wave. I’d probably be more comfortable having a conversation with any of them than with every guest inside.
It can be weird, having rich parents and not being rich yourself. Mom and Dad weren’t exactly rolling in dough when I was born, and after they got divorced, money was even tighter. So when Mom married my stepfather, Jack, I was suddenly drawn into an opulent world of mansions, designer clothing, and extravagant vacations.
All with the understanding that none of it would be mine.
It was so the money wouldn’t change me, Mom said. I’d always have what I needed, but I needed to remember that I would never be given that wealth. As if I could forget, especially after being enrolled in prep school, where everyone else was born into wealth. I was just some interloper, whose visa could be revoked at any time.
Every once in a while, a classmate would take me under her wing, with the understanding that I’d never be able to outshine her. They were the main characters, while I was the sidekick wearing jeans from Old Navy instead of Versace. That’s why I’m so close to Cat. She was the first real friend I had who saw me as an equal instead of an accessory.
Laughter and chatter drifts out from my parents’ front door, and I can practically smell the Chanel No. 5. I take a deep breath, steeling myself to join the crowd.
The minute I get inside, a server takes my coat for me and hustles to put it in the makeshift coat room in Jack’s office.Another server tries to hand me a glass of champagne, which I wave off. I’ll get a drink later, but it definitely won’t be champagne. Finding an empty space by the wall, I scan the room, trying to find Mom in the crowd.
She and Jack really went all-out this year. Twinkle lights hang everywhere, and a three-piece band plays Christmas songs in the corner. All the guests are dressed to the nines in designer suits and dresses. I have to smile, knowing that I look just as good as they do on a tenth of the budget.
“Look who finally showed up,” a voice says.
Ryan strolls over to me, a glass of whiskey already in his hand.
I roll my eyes. “If you cared about me being late, you could have offered me a ride.”
Unlike me, Ryan has a car—a Mustang Shelby he won at a poker tournament.
“Nah, you love the train,” he drawls, and I make a sound of disgust, but he’s right. I do love it. Always have. “Why are you always dressed for a funeral?”
“When I’m around you? I’m manifesting one.”
He scoffs and sips his whiskey, eyeing the crowd.
Ryan’s dressed up for once. This might be the only night all year my stepbrother willingly puts on a suit and tie, and actually puts an iron to them instead of just digging them out from the back of his closet. He still sticks out like a sore thumb in the conservative crowd at the party, though, with his silver rings, the tie a little loose, and his dark hair swept back with careless fingers instead of meticulously styled.
“Have you seen our parents yet?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
He leans against the wall. “Damn. I was hoping you could point ‘em out. I’d so love to avoid the inevitableyou’re wasting your lifelecture from Dad.”
