“I’d rather you didn’t. Who knows if I’ll actually get a call back.” I can hear the ice in her coffee bash against the side of the BPA plastic cup she got from Alfred’s. It’s seven in the evening here, so it must only be eleven in LA, putting Maxine on her third coffee of the day.
I place the phone on speaker, pull up the website for an Indian restaurant around the corner, and put in a rush order before my stomach tries to eat its way out of my body like an evil baby Renesmee.
Maybe I’ll watch Twilight tonight while I finish up some extra work.
She spends the next fifteen minutes droning on about a list of brands that have reached out for partnership deals,but I tuned her out halfway through because when would I even have the time?
“Hello?” She’s mad, I can tell by her tone and the general distaste that always seems to be directed at me.
“I’m here.”
“Did you shoot for the Autumn capsule today? You need to make sure you start teasing those products on your socials now.”
“Yes. I told you I would, and I did.” I had to drag myself out of bed at five in the morning after falling asleep only four hours prior, but I knew if I didn’t do it, I would get a call from her to remind me of my responsibilities. As if I could ever forget them.
“Don’t take that tone. I’m the one holding everything together. I’m the one stroking egos and reminding our many investors why you’re still a good gamble while you have this quarter life crisis of yours.”
A date with my toaster and bathtub is looking pretty romantic right about now.
My door buzzes, and I rush over to grab my food from the delivery driver, tipping him and saying a silent thank you as my mother continues her tirade of disappointment. I may have come to London for this new business venture, as well as for Dad—a thing she likes to ignore— but the distance was certainly a bonus.
I don’t even bother plating up my food. I just grab a fork, head into my living room, and plop down on the floor, setting everything on the coffee table in front of me.
“Why do you sound so out of breath? Are you at home?”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Yes. Why?”
The bell rings again.Did the restaurant forget something?
My back and feet both bark out in pain as I stand and hobble to the door, body protesting every move.
When I open the door, I’m met not with the delivery driver, but with Maxine, and my fight or flight immediately kicks in. She’s immaculately dressed in a boatneck Chaneldress, dark hair perfectly coiffed, and not a spot of makeup is smudged after a long travel day. Most unsettling though is the same unfeeling stare I’ve come to expect is in her dark eyes. I almost forgot about that. Is that what I used to look like to people?
My mouth hangs open in shock, my body going through the early stages of total shut down. “What are you doing here?”
“No hello for your mother?” She steps over the threshold, and my previously peaceful, modest flat—my safe haven—feels like a hand grenade was just tossed inside, and there’s nowhere for me to duck for cover.
“Hello, Mom. What are you doing here?”
Maxine surveys the cozy flat with barely-restrained disapproval. “Your meet and greet is tomorrow. It’s normal for the talent’s manager to attend, is it not?”
My stomach grumbles. “Yes, I just didn’t realize you would be there because you live five thousand miles away and didn’t say you were coming.”
“Well, here I am. I thought some face time would be good so we can talk about your…” she picks at the blanket draped over the back of my couch before dropping it as if catching some disease on contact, “priorities before I fly out after tomorrow's event.”
“Lucky me.”
“You could have chosen an apartment that was a little bigger, Jade. This place is the size of my closet. It’s not very ideal to show off to your followers. You have to show them the life they want; you have to tell them what to desire.”
“I like the size. It suits me.” My career shift was something I was prepared to defend, but my home wasn’t, and anger rises like a tide within me. I like that it’s cozy, with charming details, and the fact that it doesn’t feel too big—too empty. I like that I have neighbors I can hear, ones who make me feel less alone. Why can’t I just have something the way I want it? Why does it have to bebecause I think others will approve of it? Does my opinion not matter?
“I’m sure Brendan would take you back?—”
“Mom.”
“—then you could move into the lovely Spanish Colonial he’s renting out in Calabasas.”
“Mom, stop.”
