I’m glad so many people drove because it gives me three excuses not to ride with my mom and brother, and ultimately, I choose to ride with Charleigh and her boyfriend, Brandon, who does look surprisingly young.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I just thought—”
I wave a hand dismissively. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have distracted me.”
“We don’t have to go.”
I’ve never told Charleigh much about my mom. The sordid details of our past are so meager and infrequent that I know what others’ thoughts are when I share them. Still, she seems to recognize my discomfort, and always has when it has anything to do with her.
“It’s okay. She never sticks around for long anyway.”
“You were awesome out there, Lauren. Focus on that. You were so beautiful and confident. Everyone was watching you out there.”
“I don’t want to model.”
Charleigh swings her head to look at me twice and then releases a deep breath. “That’s what she wants? Why you’re bothered? Just tell her no.”
“Watch how well that goes.”
She turns to look at me as she slides the key from the ignition, but I’m ready to get this over with. I slide out of the car and find King waiting for me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and with the tightness of his grip, I can tell he knows something is off.
“So, King, I was reading an article about you online that says you’re starting to compete just like your brother, Kash,” my mom says as soon as pleasantries are completed again, following another round of compliments from my friends. I wish Allie were here to accept some of them, but she had other plans with her family.
“I am,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He’s dressed in a pair of dark slacks and an olive-toned shirt that is once again rolled to his elbows. I think he feels suffocated in them, and the small gesture somehow makes him feel less restricted. The small gauge in his left ear catches the light, dancing across the starched tablecloth. I don’t stare at him long because my brother is on his other side, and he has been staring at me with a look of disdain that I refuse to acknowledge.
“What kind of span is one generally able to compete? I noticed many in the field are in their teens.”
My back bristles. She has always known how to take the upper hand in a conversation.
King’s hand tightens around mine and then tightens even more, bringing me to look at him. I’m expecting to see the fury I’m feeling in his expression, but he’s relaxed, his eyes looking lazy, his lips twitching with a grin. “That depends on so many variables; there really isn’t a clear answer.” He wets his lips with his tongue, and leans further against his chair, looking almost relaxed. “I plan to do it until I’m either tired of it or it’s not a safe risk.”
“Is it ever a safe risk?” she asks.
I can only see King’s profile, but I’m certain he’s sharing my favorite smile with her. It angers me even more. “Without risk, you will never find reward.”
“Death is a reward?” Josh asks.
King’s head turns slightly away, but his thumb strokes along mine, silently assuring me. “Only for some.”
I glance to Mercedes, seeing her eyebrows are raised over wide eyes that are volleying between King and Josh.
“I assume you travel a lot with the profession,” my mom continues.
King threads his fingers through mine, stretching and then clamping around my hand that continues to flex with irritation. “Some.”
Her response is a smile that’s tainted with malevolence.
“It’s really great to meet you guys. Lauren has become very dear to us all.” Apparently Charleigh senses the malice also.
My mother’s eyes flicker to her, calculating, measuring. “We’ve been waiting to come for graduation, and then I heard Lauren got accepted to a program that requires her to go to Europe for the summer, so I thought we’d come and see how things were going. This modeling certainly seems far more promising than painting. You guys all thought she was really great. I think it’s a very promising possibility.” Her eyes turn back to me. “You’ll need to start toning and drinking more water because your skin is visibly dry. Are you using a moisturizer? You aren’t wiping your makeup off with a towel or your hands, right? We’ll need to find an agent. Tomorrow we can start calling.”
“Mom, I’m glad you got to see the show, but only because it will be the only time I walk down a runway. I don’t want to model. I was uncomfortable and nervous, and feeding into an image that I don’t believe in.”
“Of course you were nervous! This was your first time. And the clothes weren’t professional grade. You haven’t been properly conditioned. Once you lose some weight and have some training—”
“I’m not modeling,” I say firmly, my eyes wide and fixed on hers.
A waiter appears looking clearly uncomfortable as he clears his throat and asks us if we’re ready to order. Fearing someone will ask for another minute, I confirm we are.
Nothing on the menu sounds good, though my stomach is growling from not eating all day. I order a salad without even thinking about it. This is the only meal my mother and I have ever ordered when out together since I turned ten.
Old habits die hard.
King orders manicotti, extra garlic bread, and two tiramisus that he requests to be delivered with dinner. His gesture is sweet, thoughtful, and manages to fracture the dread that’s been silencing the group since I heard my mom was here.
There’s an unavoidable silence that follows our waiter that has everyone reaching for their napkin or glass.
“Lo did an amazing job tonight. Really, she was spectacular, but with all due respect, it pales in comparison to her art. Nothing compares to what she’s capable of when she gets a piece of charcoal or a paintbrush in her hand. Hell, we’ve seen her create art with a feather.” I want to give Summer an appreciative smile, but my mom’s eyes are locked on mine, awaiting my response. If I look away, it will appear that I need the help. Whether I do or not, I can’t show her.
My mom swallows, waiting.
“She’s created a logo for my marketing campaign that people are amazed by,” Kash adds, not realizing that right now the best way to help me is to simply be quiet.
“Lauren, you’re not going to Italy.” Her words are said with an authority she for some reason believes she still possesses.
“This is stupid,” Josh mutters. “This whole thing is so you, Lauren. Always needing attention.”
Their words don’t bother me. Growing up, my personal tormentor who teased and mocked me relentlessly was my own blood. My brother and I have been at odds since I was born, and nothing over the years has managed to do anything but intensify it. However, the fact that King, Mercedes, Kash, Summer, Charleigh, and Brandon are hearing them being said to me, bothers me a lot. I’m fairly certain everyone’s back has just gone straight, but I’m looking at Josh, noticing his flexed jaw, and out of the corner of my eye, King’s breaths coming faster, stronger.
“This really isn’t a conversation to be having here. Clearly you both have concerns about Italy and art as a whole, and we can discuss them later. At my apartment.”
“You’re so selfish! God, you’re so stupid!” Josh says the words so quietly, I’m not sure who can even decipher them.
King clears his throat and sits forward, turning visibly as if in a silent threat to continue.
“You don’t think about anyone but yourself. Everyone else is working their asses off, and you’re here doing what? Doodling? Walking around for guys to think you’re hot? God.” Josh closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re so dumb.”
King’s chair goes back and my hand squeezes. “You’re so out of line right now. So. Far. Out. Of. Line. You need to apologize.”
My heart is beating so hard and fast, it’s difficult not to focus on it as my entire body warms with anger. These verbal wars do nothing but end ugly.
Josh looks at King and then rolls his eyes before leaning back in his chair so he can see me through the barrier King is trying to create. “You need to stop calling. You’ve already left the family. You think you’re so much better than everyone else. Woo hoo, my name’s Lauren, and I did good in school. Look at me!” His hands dance and wave in front of him and his voice goes ludicrously high, making me temporarily fear that I might sound that ridiculous. “You want to be some independent, failing artist, then do it. Don’t expect us to be there for you when you fail.”