“It’s through those doors and to the right.” He stands and points then kisses my cheek. “Don’t escape out the window or anything. We’re just about to get to the super boring part. You won’t want to miss it.”
I try to laugh but nothing comes out. The bathroom is a welcome relief, and I shut myself into one of the stalls and try to wrap my brain around what just happened. Xander thinks I’m rich. He thinks I come from a rich family. This is why his dad had no problem with me once he found out my name and his brothers act like I am their equal. A sob escapes and I muffle it with my hand.
“Rich boys are stupid,” I say, forcing myself to get angry because I can’t afford to be hurt right now. I still have to get home with my dignity.
I start to leave the bathroom and almost get a door to the nose when it flies open so fast I’m barely able to step out of the way.
“Sorry,” the girl says, rushing past me. She turns on the sink and starts scrubbing at a spot on her white button-up shirt. When I notice her black skirt I realize she must be on the waitstaff. She looks close to tears.
“Are you okay?”
“I just got red wine splashed on my shirt and I don’t think it’s going to come out.” She scrubs harder then reaches for the soap dispenser. “My boss will make me go home.”
“Wait. Don’t use soap. Here, I have something.” I reach into my purse and pull out a little bottle of peroxide solution. We don’t get a lot of stains on the dolls in our store, but every once in a while a little kid with sticky hands or a coffee drinker will do some damage. This solution is a miracle worker. I dab some on her shirt and then blot it with a cloth towel from the counter. “See, look at that. Magic.”
She inspects it and then pulls me into a hug. Probably realizing she shouldn’t maul guests, she pushes away from me with a red face. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Thank you so much.”
“It’s just a bottle of stain remover.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looks down at her clean shirt one last time. “I better get back.”
“You better.”
She leaves and I lean against the tiled wall. Her “crisis” distracted me for a moment, but it didn’t erase what is waiting outside the door.
I have to get out of here. I can’t face Xander when I tell him the truth. I head back to the ballroom and nearly trip over a lady with a headset in the hall holding a clipboard.
I start to walk around her but then stop. “Are you the event planner?”
She smiles like she is obviously trained to do to guests, but I see the obvious signs of stress behind her eyes. She probably thinks I have a complaint. “Yes, can I help you?”
“Xander Spence said my grandparents are here and I can’t find them. Could you tell me which table they’re sitting at? Meyers.” I point to her clipboard as if she doesn’t know where the seating arrangements are located.
“Of course.” She flips through the pages, runs her fingers over a sheet, and then says, “Ah. Here they are. Table thirty. I’ll point it out to you.”
“Thank you.”
It feels like I’m walking underwater. My legs move in slow motion; my head pounds with pressure. Once inside I back up against the nearest wall and she follows suit.
“They’re right there. She’s in the turquoise top. Do you see her?”
I follow the line of her finger to the lady in turquoise. “Yes. There she is. Thanks.”
“No problem.” The event planner walks off quickly, probably responding to the tiny voice I heard yelling in her ear.
Their backs are to me, but the woman in turquoise has shoulder-length dark hair and the man next to her, a distinguished silver. I stay on the edge of the room and walk slowly around, waiting for the moment when I will see their faces. I finally do. I wait to get hit with instant recognition, with a feeling, but nothing happens. A small amount of weight lifts from my shoulders.
The woman looks up and we lock eyes. She gets the look on her face that adds the weight plus another two tons of it back on: recognition. Her mouth forms the word “Susan.” I can see that all the way across the room where I stand. My face burns to see my mom’s name on her lips.
Mrs. Dalton wasn’t confused. These Meyers are my grandparents.
The woman grabs on to her husband’s forearm and he looks at her in confusion. I don’t wait to see how that plays out. I spin on my heel to make a beeline for the door—but run straight into Xander’s chest.
“There you are. The appetizers just arrived at the table. It’s caviar and crackers with some sort of Greek salad. Do you like caviar?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.” What he had said earlier today about my mom being extreme and the “living-above-the-doll-store thing” hits me. He thinks my mom has done this on purpose. To show me how the other half lives. And I’m just now realizing that in a way she has. My mom grew up rich. This is why she knows way more than she should about the ins and outs of wealthy living. My mom . . .
She lied to me. My life is a lie. No. Her life is a lie. Mine is the truth. We are broke. We are living breath to breath. One extra bit of oxygen consumed could be the ruin of our store.
“What’s wrong? What have I done?” Xander asks.
I must be shooting death rays because I’m so angry. “You only liked me because you thought . . .” I can’t even finish the sentence. I’m too angry. Not just at him. At everything. At my mom, the situation, the grandparents I don’t even know. “I have to go.”
I whirl around in time to see another familiar face standing there. One I don’t care to see. Robert. Seeing his face makes me wish I had poured soda on it last time.
Xander has grabbed my elbow. “Wait. Talk to me.”
“I don’t think I ever caught your name,” Robert says.
“I never gave it,” I growl.
“Where is your boyfriend tonight? Mason, right? He’s a really good singer.”
Xander’s hand on my elbow tightens. “Robert, now is not a good time.”
“I just saw her at the concert last week. I hadn’t realized she and Mason were together.”
“We’re not,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Xander drops his hand from my arm.
“They were all over each other.”
“No. We weren’t.” Out of the corner of my eye I see my grandmother about to reach us. “I have to go.”
“Caymen.” Xander’s eyes look hurt, but I’m hurt as well. Too hurt to think. Too hurt to defend myself against his jerk of a friend. I just need to leave.
And I do.
Chapter 37
I have competing feelings battling for my attention as I walk into the store. One is the extreme amount of anger I feel toward my mom for lying to me my whole life about everything. The other feeling is an intense broken heart that makes me want to rush into my mother’s arms and tell her she was right about rich guys and I need her to make my hurt go away.
She’s sitting like a statue behind the cash register, like she’s been waiting for me. The lights are off with only a few glowing shelves. The look on her face is almost as lifeless as the dolls that surround her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been unfair.”
“They were there tonight,” I croak. My throat still hurts.
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
Shock, followed by devastation, makes her face crumple, and she leans her head onto the counter in front of her. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself to feel bad for her. I walk by her, up the stairs, and into my room, making sure to shut the door firmly.
I’ve seen lots of broken dolls in my life. Some with damage as small as a missing finger but others with dislocated limbs or cracked skulls. None of that compares to how broken I feel right now. It’s my own fault. I always knew he was part of an entirely different species. Why did I let myself think I could be a part of that?
I change out of my clothes and into some sweats then curl up on my bed and finally let the tears that have been building up inside my head come out in heaving sobs.