Mom
He keeps eating.
“Are you going to answer that?”
“No. She’s calling to hassle me.”
“About what?”
“She wants to meet you.” He rolls his eyes. “They all want to meet you.”
I stare at him. You learn a lot about a person from their family. And I have so, so much that I want to learn. This will give me a true insight into his life and who he really is.
“Call her back. Organize a dinner for tonight with everyone. I want to meet them too.”
“Are you sure? My family is full on.”
“I mean”—I shrug—“how bad can it be?”
He chuckles. “Pretty fucking bad.”
Chapter 23
I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force as we walk down the street. I peer around like a child seeing the world for the first time. A million cars, beautiful people, and I can hardly see the sky for skyscrapers. The shops look like luxury stores, nothing at all like where I would normally buy my clothes. Even the mannequins in the windows are hot.
And tiny.
Does anyone sell anything in normal sizes?
Madison Avenue . . . code for teeny tiny.
I look around at all the women who are buzzing around in a hurry, stylish and gorgeous, groomed to perfection. I catch sight of Christopher and me in a shop window, and I inwardly cringe. He’s looking all suave, in black jeans and shirt, and I’m wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts that I’ve practically lived in for over a year.
They’re worn and faded. My hair is all over the place, and I have no makeup on. I look like a complete wreck, and last night’s crying puffy eyes and face don’t help my cause.
I sure am missing our relaxed backpacking life right now.
We walk past a huge fancy boutique, and the mannequin is wearing a black dress and nice shoes. “In here,” Christopher says.
“It looks expensive,” I whisper.
He widens his eyes.
“Fine.”
He pulls me in by the hand. “Hello.” He smiles.
“Hi.” The shop assistants smile as they look him up and down and then to me with a subtle frown.
Great, I must look like his fix-up-the-hooker project or something.
“Can I help you with anything?”
Christopher goes to open his mouth, and I throw him a look and cut him off. “Just looking, thanks.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t even,” I whisper.
He rolls his lips to keep his mouth closed and loiters behind me as I look around.
I see a nice black dress, and I look at the tag.
$4300.00
“What the . . . ,” I whisper as I drop it like a hot potato and keep walking.
He takes it off the rack and throws it over his arm.
“Don’t bother,” I whisper. “That’s daylight robbery, Christopher. I’m never paying that for a dress. Does it have gold fucking stitching or something?”
“Shh . . . no talking,” he whispers as he fakes a smile at the salesgirl.
I widen my eyes, annoyed.
He gestures to a rack of dresses. “What else do you like?”
“Nothing here,” I whisper. “These prices are ludicrous.”