“Sure. We have to celebrate. Genevieve, will you be joining us?”
I would rather eat a bucket of nails. “I’m afraid not. I have plans.”
“It’s alright. We’ll organize an office party soon to announce the news to the rest of the floor.”
Great.
I sit there, feeling like a failure, while they talk and joke like old friends. Where did all of this go wrong? When I didn’t do rails of coke with Sinclair in club bathrooms like Ralf did? When I naively thought this professional ladder could be climbed with impeccable ethics and hard work rather than politics and ass-licking?
Or was it when I began prioritizing my love life?
My phone buzzing in my pocket rescues me from this torturous moment. “I have to take this,” I pretend without even checking the caller.
Because it would make me actually vomit, I don’t congratulate Ralf again before I leave. I pull out my phone and see it’s my mother. As always, a surge of panic chills my blood. But we’re past that now. She’s been so kind to me since Gerry’s dinner that I feel ashamed for the guttural reaction.
“Hi,” I say as I pick up.
“Genevieve, good morning. I just booked a hair appointment early in the afternoon. Would you mind if we met for a coffee instead of lunch?”
Some things will never change. I’m so used to coming second to the rest of her life that I barely feel insulted. “Sure, I’ll see if I can free myself soon.”
“I’m actually here now. Doesn’t the lobby where you work have a coffee shop?”
“It does, but—”
“Perfect. We’ll have coffee, then I’ll have lunch with Lilian.”
“You said it was a hair appointment.”
“After Lilian, yes. But I’m here now to spend time with you, darling. So, are you coming down, or did I come all this way for nothing?”
“I-I’m coming down.”
She hangs up before I’ve even removed the phone from my ear, and I stand there, a little dumbfounded. This feels an awful lot like her old pattern, but I can’t believe she’d fall back into it so quickly. Maybe I was too naive thinking she could change.
As naive as when I thought I’d get Mr. Sinclair’s job. Oh, God. I hope Mother doesn’t ask about the promotion now. If she does, I’ll have to tell her someone else got it, and she’ll launch herself into another tirade about coming to work for Father.
Everything was going so well two days ago that I can’t understand how I’m in this position. Looks like I used all of my luck on getting a man as incredible as Jake, and now I’m running out of it.
And the worst part is, I’m not even sure Jake is still mine.
The coffee shop Mother spoke of is a sleek space nested in the NexaCorp building. It’s nothing stellar, but it’s better than what we brew in the break room.
I enter it with my handbag tucked under my arm, seeking my mother’s perfectly styled head. She’s easy to spot, with her blue-gray ensemble and a row of pearls around her neck. The sight of her, sitting rigidly there with her back straight and facing away from me, triggers the same kind of reaction her phone call did. Something cold crawls up my back, and my chest tightens anxiously.
Will this ever go away? If we stay on this path toward bettering our relationship, will I ever be able to see her as something other than a tyrant?
Before I head there, I switch my phone to silent mode, knowing how much she hates it when it rings during these moments together.
When I sit in the empty chair opposite her, she offers me a small and brief smile. “I can’t stay for long,” she explains first. “So I already ordered something for me and a green tea with a slice of lemon for you. Did you know green tea is a great ally for weight loss?”
How could I not know that, growing up with an almond mom? “I know, but I don’t really like the taste.”
“You’ll get used to it. I have a cup every day after breakfast and lunch. It works wonders.”
Her obsession with my weight seems to be at an all-time high, and I can’t help but wonder if she isn’t projecting her insecurities on me. Now that father has a young and pretty mistress, I’m sure Vivienne is scared the woman might get pregnant and steal her lifestyle away.
What a pathetic way to live.
