That might be the first time that anyone in my family has said that to me. That I wasn’t seen as the butt of every joke.
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of her apartment. She’s waiting in the lobby and rushes out when she sees us. I hop out to open the door, and she slides inside. She’s in a hoodie and jeans, and she looks just as delicious as she did all dolled up and professional. She opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger.
“No panicking before breakfast,” I tell her. Her mouth snaps shut, and I smile at her until she can’t help but reciprocate. Eddie takes us to Kim’s, this little family diner that my brothers and I frequented when we were younger. The owner, Marty, sets us up with a private table in the kitchen, and within twenty minutes, we’re splitting a huge stack of pancakes, a fruit bowl, a big plate of bacon, and some sausage gravy. After a little bit, she leans back in her chair, wiping her face with her napkin.
“Wow,” she says. “That’s amazing.”
I smile.
“I know. Never disappoints.” She smiles, but I see it run away from her face just as fast as it came. I lean forward. “Come on.”
I stand up and take her hand, leading her out the back door. Eddie leaves one thousand dollars on the table and follows us out. A few minutes later, we’re on Fifth pulling up in front of Teresa’s, a boutique that my mom fell in love with. I backed the owner with some money up front, in exchange for my mom being able to shop whenever she wanted.
“Where are we?” she asks as we slide out of the car.
“Teresa’s,” I tell her. “She’s a good friend of my mom’s. I called in a favor.” I walk her toward the door, hustling a bit so we can get safely inside. The last thing we need is a picture of us to show up in some tabloid somewhere. She will be the “mystery girl,” and then she’ll be unhirable, and the whole plan will foil. And what’s worse, I’d be dragging her down with the sinking ship that is Brooks Everett’s life.
Even though she’s already doing it voluntarily.
“Sorry,” she says when we get inside the door. “I sort of forgot you’re famous.”
I chuckle.
“You have no idea how refreshing that is to hear,” I say.
“My baby!” I hear Teresa’s sweet voice call from across the shop. She claps her hands together and hurries up to me, clasping my face in her hands and kissing both of my cheeks.
“Hi, Teresa,” I say with a smile as I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheeks back. “It's been way too long.” She puts her hands on my chest and smiles up at me lovingly.
"How is your mom?" she asks, "I haven't talked to her in a few weeks." I smile.
“She's great. I'll let her know I saw you. She will be so jealous.” My eyes flick over to Wren for a minute. I haven't given her a whole lot of information about my mom yet. I never usually do. The world is usually so focused on the baggage that comes with the Everett name that people largely forget about the women that he groomed and tricked and treated like dog shit, but also the woman that he made me with. I feel so much guilt over my mom. My father was so unkind to her, and so was the world when she got pregnant with me, that I do my best to shield her and protect her now that I have the ability to do that. I turn to Wren and put my arm around her. “This is my friend, Wren,” I say. “She has a very important job interview tomorrow with some very important people. She needs an outfit.” Teresa clapsher hands together and then pulls Wren in for a hug just as she's done with pretty much everyone else she's ever met. I don't think she's ever met a stranger.
“It's so good to meet you, sweetheart,” she says to her. Wren smiles.
"It's so nice to meet you," she says. "Thank you so much for doing this."
Teresa smiles back at me.
"I would do anything for my sweet boy," she says. She takes Wren under her arm and begins to walk her through the shop. Then she turns to me. "Make yourself at home,” she says. "We're gonna have some fun." Then she winks at me and disappears farther into the store. I laugh and plop down on the velvet couch.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, flipping through my social media, checking on some stocks, and shooting my mom a text to let her know that Teresa says hi.
What are you doing there?she writes back. Fuck. Didn’t think this through.
Brought a friend in to get some things.
A “friend.” Uh-huh,mom writes back, but I know it’s in jest. She has always warned me about playing with women’s feelings and hammered into my head from a young age that women should be revered. Respected. Cherished.
And despite what the tabloids might print, I’ve stuck to that. I may have had my fair share of female companions, but I was straight with every single one of them. And even after our fun was over, I’d check in. Although I’ve had some wild nights in my life, I’ve never once treated a woman with anything less than respect. Because I think of my father. And the way he treated my mother.
She’s the only person in the world who has never made me feel like the butt of the joke. For having had the richest man in the world’s baby, she sure got the shit end of the stick. When heleft his first wife, my brothers’ mom, for her, the world portrayed her as the homewrecking whore that stole away the world’s richest man with her beauty. When I came along, they said she was a gold digger.
But none of them saw the way she lived when he decided that he was ready to move on. That he took her to court to get full custody of me, forcing her to empty out her retirement and take a second job to pay her legal fees.
In the end, even money couldn’t buy him his way. They split custody of me, but he made my mom’s life a living hell out of spite. And because my trust fund was on lockdown until I was twenty-one, I couldn’t do a thing about it. I’d spend one week in a New York City penthouse or at my family’s estate. Then, I’d spend the next week in my grandmother’s one-bedroom Queens apartment, sharing the pullout couch with my mom while she tried to get back on her feet after he bled her dry.
