“Oh shit.” Amelia gives me a sympathetic look. “How’d that go?”
“Same as usual. I mean, there’s always a new variation, you know. This time she’s got an opportunity to live at a commune in California but needs $5,000 to get in.”
“Uh huh,” Amelia says skeptically. “And you told her no.”
Amelia knows all about my mom. She’s lived with me through every phone call and unannounced visit. She’s the only one who knows the truth—my mom is still around. I use the term “mom” loosely with her, though.
“How’d she take it?” Amelia asks me.
“Dramatically, as usual. She told me I might as well put a gun to her head and pull the trigger, because I’m basically killing her.”
“By not cutting her a check for $5,000?” She rolls her eyes.
“Yep. She says this commune is her last chance. That it’s all about total wellness and finding your soul goals.”
Amelia snorts out a laugh. “Soul goals?”
I just shrug; it’s so not the weirdest thing my mom has ever asked me for money for.
“She’s a piece of work,” Amelia says, looking over at me. “You know you were right not to give her a dime.”
“I know.”
“But it’s still draining, I know.”
I nod, grateful for her. She may know exactly when I have PMS, but she also knows about my past, and she doesn’t judge me for it.
“Why did you pick up the call?” she asks.
“I don’t even know. I’ve ignored them for the past couple months. She only calls every few weeks usually. And I just…I don’t know, sometimes I’m weak and I worry she’s lying in a gutter bleeding out somewhere.”
“I get that.” After a beat of silence, her expression brightens. “You know what would help?”
“Chocolate?”
“Yeah, that too. But I was gonna say you should agree to meet Jake. What if he really is as great as he sounds?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m just bad at dating.”
“Gravy, listen to me.” Amelia’s blue eyes are round and serious. “You aren’t. Chris was an asshole and he made you doubt yourself. You need to get back out there. Maybe this guy isn’t the one, but you need to at least try.”
She’s probably right. Even though it really sucks that she is. The thought of walking into a restaurant and having a man give me that head to toe visual inspection makes me want to crawl under a rock.
I’m not thin. I decided a long time ago that good food is more important to me than abs. I’m probably a good twenty-five or thirty pounds overweight, and I don’t care. But will this guy Jake feel the same way?
“I’m going on my third date with Paul this weekend,” Amelia says.
“The surgical resident?”
“Yep.”
“That’s good.”
“He’s a total gentleman. I kinda want to tell him it’s cool to jump my bones if he wants to.”
I laugh. “Maybe he really likes you and doesn’t want to rush things.”
“I guess. I’m just not used to it.” She walks over to the counter and picks up my phone. “Message Jake and tell him you’ll meet up for a drink.”
I reach for the phone and open the Love Lines app. He’s a construction project manager with a nice smile. I guess meeting him over a drink wouldn’t hurt.
“Fine,” I mutter as I type out a response. “But I’m not wearing Spanx.”* * *The next morning, Gia sits down on the couch in my office, her trademark glare in place.
“Good morning,” I say to her. “How’s today going so far?”
“I’m still in this prison, so…shitty.”
She got her hair colored and had a facial in prison yesterday, but I don’t mention that.
“I spoke to your parents yesterday and they’d like to come to a session with you soon.”
“They can fuck off.”
I try another approach. “When is the last time you remember things being good between you and your parents?”
Gia scowls. “When I was in the womb.”
“Why are you so angry, Gia?”
“My mood’s none of your business.”
I suppress a sigh. “Do you even want to be here?”
“No, but I have to be. You’re the only thing standing between me and my inheritance.”
I set my pen and pad down on the side table next to me. Gia isn’t going to tell me anything worth writing down anyway.
“I want to help you. If I just put you through the program, you’d go back to the lifestyle you had before.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my lifestyle,” she says bitterly. “I like sex and blow, so fucking what? Rich people don’t have to go to college and work every day like you do.”
“You don’t have to work a job to have more in your life, though. Don’t you have hopes and dreams beyond drugs and sex?”
“Not really.”
I exhale hard, a few moments of silence passing before I say, “Look. I want to help you. I’m doing my best. But if you don’t want the help, we’re both wasting our time. You should just move on.”