The Encounter

The bathroom fills with silence as she lets her words sink in. Ten years. Has it been ten years? Visions of my mom swim in my head.

Pain.

I run from it. I have to. I can’t go back. Can’t change the loss and anger of losing my mother at sixteen. Just like that, I was forever changed. I tried to make it in the cutthroat world of modeling, but the sharks were all over the place, and the day she died was the day I stopped caring. I take a deep breath. I can’t do this. If I think about the past, I’ll go mad. I did what I had to do to survive: I became my mother.

I clear my throat and hot tears sting my checks. “I don’t like him, or me. Do you get that?”

She smiles at me, and I wonder why I would tell her this. Ashlee’s committed to never looking back, no matter what…

“Ava.” She smiles like all this is nonsense, like I’m some drama queen. “I told you years ago to fuck someone on the side. It’s hard to like sex when all you’ve ever had is an old man, sweetie.”

If she calls me sweetie again, I may kill her. I wipe the tears away more aggressively than I need to. Sniffing, I accept the truth. I’m not mad at Ashlee. She is who she is. I hate myself.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am, babe. Now chin up. It’s your birthday, and we haven’t even opened your presents yet.” I must look more stable because she hands me her lipstick. Considering how red it is, it’ll match my poor swollen eyes.

“There. All better. And tomorrow just have Christian fuck you.” She says this so matter-of-factly. Like, boom, fuck Christian, all cured. If only. I rub my lips together, not caring what I look like at this point.

“Here.” I hand the tube back to her. “Christian is my trainer. He’s also married with two kids.”

“So?” She rolls her eyes and unlocks the bathroom door. “That’s perfect. Trust me. Two kids? He needs it as bad as you.” She winks, somehow ignoring the woman who glares at us as we leave the restroom.

“Unbelievable.” The woman shakes her head. She reeks of money, so my usual apology freezes on my lips. Yeah, she had to wait a little bit. Deal with it. I hold my shoulders back as I glide past her and into the packed restaurant.

Our table is in the corner, where Phillip sits laughing with one of his friends. Our waiter passes me.

“Excuse me, Chad?” He stops. “Chad is your name, right?”

“Yeah, can I get you anything?” His perfect white teeth and fake tan scream out-of-work actor, but hey, at least he has a job.

“This is going to sound weird, but are you guys hiring?” The look he gives me makes me want to take it back.

“For you?” Knitting his brows, he turns to look over at my table. I’m mortified. What am I doing?

“No.” I start to laugh. “I was wondering for a friend.” My face burns.

He laughs. “Sorry, of course not for you. Yeah, just tell your friend to drop off a résumé.” He starts to walk away. I nod, take a step, then turn.

“Can you bring another bottle, please?”

He grins, saying over his shoulder, “Your dad beat you to it.”

“Thank you.” But he’s gone, doesn’t hear me, and I’m so lost that I just humiliated myself asking a waiter if they’re hiring.

Dad. I start to smile. It sounds so much better than the truth.

“What took you so long?” Phillip’s demanding voice makes me slant my eyes at him as I drop into my leather chair.

“I started my period.” The whole table stops laughing. In fact, I think the couple to my right look over, not that I care.

Phillip’s eye twitches—well, as much as it can since he gets Botox.

“Don’t be uncouth, my love.” He laughs and the whole table laughs with him.

My eyes take in the small group that’s here to spend my birthday with me. Besides Ashlee, they’re all his friends, either through business or the golf club.

Rich. Entitled. Pigs.

I smile and reach for my champagne glass. “If you don’t want the truth, don’t ask,” I mumble, crossing my legs and looking down at my fantastic black suede boots. My black silk tights shine beneath the restaurant’s lighting.

Chad, the waiter, returns along with another waiter carrying a dessert with a candle in it. If they sing “Happy Birthday” to me, I might snap.

He sets it in front of me. Cold, soft hands caress my arms and Phillip’s overpowering cologne engulfs me. It takes all my willpower not to shrug his hands off me.

“Friends.” He leans forward, and I blink at his appearance. Did he dye his hair again and I’m only now noticing?

For seventy, he’s in good shape, I guess. I mean, Christian trains him also. He has a gut from eating this rich food, but at least he doesn’t have a double chin like Donald.