Page 11 of Faking It
It doesn’t matter what I say, the woman is a hardcore romantic and she won’t listen.
“Like I said, Mom. Somehow I’d end up with a broken neck.”
Why am I talking myself out of it when I have no intention of going?
“Pshaw. You are beautiful. One look at you and . . .” She waggles her eyebrows.
“And what? He’ll add me to his dating app so he can make sure to put me on his roster of possibles? No thanks.”
“You’re going and—”
“No, I’m not—”
“And I’ll give you an aspirin to hold between your knees to make sure you don’t fall to his no good ways.”
My laugh echoes around the living room. “Mom, I could fill a whole prescription bottle with the amount of aspirin I’ve dropped.” I duck when she swats my way and fall back onto the cushions laughing.
“Harlow!” Swat. “Don’t you say that.” Swat. Our laughter echoes off the living room walls and she keeps at it until I hold my hands up in mock surrender.
“I’m joking. I swear. I’m joking.” She stops and presses a loud smack of a kiss to my forehead.
“You better be.”
“I am. I meant two bottles.” The look she gives me is one I love and hate. It says she knows I’m joking, but that her little girl is all grown up and able to make choices—good and bad—on her own.
She shifts back to her seat on the couch. “Go, Low. What does it hurt? We could borrow a dress if you don’t have one. Get you all fancied up. Maybe even find you a new job. Who knows, maybe this is the event you need to find that one job that will launch the career you’ve been working so hard for. You just have to keep trying.”
“I have been trying.” I laugh but self-deprecation is loaded in its tone. “I’m just not getting any big breaks.”
“Victoria’s Secret was—”
“I did a catalog shoot. Just like so many others did. Hell, if go-sees paid, then I’d have no problem paying the bills. I’m going on all of them, just not booking any jobs. It seems curves are out and heroin chic is making a comeback.”
She tsks and shakes her head. I can already see her trying to figure out how to bear the burden of our bills. “I know your independence is important to you, but we could always move back in together until things look up. Between the balloon payment on your student loan coming due and the transmission going out in your car, you’ve been hit hard. I could help you. I could work extra shifts. I—”
“Thank you, mom, but—”
“Don’t let your pride get in the way, mija. I’d love having you back under my roof.”
I laugh and it feels good to. “Technically speaking, we are under the same roof.”
She squeezes my hand. “You know what I mean. Just say the word.”
“Thank you. I know you would . . . but I’ll figure it all out. Something will give soon.” I hope.
“What about pursuing the spokesmodel thing you used to talk about when you graduated? With your communications degree, your intelligence, and your ability to talk about anything, I’m sure that—”
“Spokesmodel jobs are even fewer and farther between than modeling jobs.” Frustration rings through my tone as I think of yet another week of ramen for dinner.
“You’re prettier and more talented than all those other girls trying to be noticed. . . the right person just has to see it.”
Spoken like a true mother.
“Thank you for believing in me . . . but I told you, maybe I’m just not cut out for modeling or show business. Maybe I should just drop out of the game.”
“Nonsense.” She places her hand over mine. “Sometimes the best things in life are a result of the unexpected. Zane doing what he did . . . maybe that was your unexpected. A sign, and you should see where it leads.”
“A sign, huh? Seems more like a warning.”
