On the Plus Side (2 page)

At one point during the conversation he asked, “What about the kids? You just gonna walk out on the kids?”

I couldn’t hear her response, but apparently we didn’t matter too much. She gave up on us, and you never get over the pain of losing a mother. It would’ve been easier if she had died.  I wouldn’t hate her as much for leaving if it wasn’t by choice.

I haven’t been the same since she left and I’ve always blamed her for my fear of attachment. Though I’d never talk about it, deep down she’s the reason I have trust issues. She’s the reason I refused to bind myself to anyone. The fear of feeling the way I felt the day she left is unbearable. I would never put myself in the position to get hurt like my dad did.  I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend. 

Jenny’s the reason I stuck around here. I’d die before I walked out on her. She’s the only reason I still work at dad’s shop—the reason I’d do almost anything to get this money and save our home.

“Shit!” I said as I pounded my hand on the steering wheel.

Eight thousand dollars! Where in the hell was I going to find that kind of money so fast? I could always rob a bank.  Bank robbers always get caught, but maybe I could hide the money somewhere for dad and Jenny to find, like in one of those awesome action movies.

After driving around aimlessly for an hour, I ended up in front of Renee’s house. I was in need of a good dose of stress relief.

I spotted her sitting on her front porch gossiping on her cell phone. She ended the conversation and smiled as soon as she saw me.

She’s a pretty girl—tall and lean, the way I like them. I wouldn’t call her beautiful, since most of the attractive things about her are fake—box-dyed blonde hair, false nails, and a rigid smile. It would suck to find out that her blue eyes were contacts.

Physically she’s not perfect for me, since I liked natural girls better, but emotionally, she was my exact match. She was aware of my limits, which made things comfortable. No expectations made for an easy ride.

Thanks to her reputation for being a freak in the sheets, some guys called me lucky to have her. I knew differently.  Her self-centered nature made her active in bed, but as for being a freak…not so much.  

She slammed her slender body against mine and wrapped her arms around my neck. I leaned down and pecked her on the mouth.

“Is that all I get? I swear, Devin, I don’t know why I bother with you.” Her deep southern twang stabbed into my ear drums. “I guess it’s too much to ask for a flirty phone call every now and again? I wish you would’ve called to let me know you were comin’ by. I have a nail appointment then Nicole’s coming over for a movie night. Oh! I almost forgot, I talked to Matt the other day…did you know that Cassie’s brother went Afghanistan?” She rambled on and on until finally she realized I wasn’t talking and stopped. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.

I imagined myself choking her to death and laughing hysterically like one of those crazy scary movie psycho freaks. I almost laughed out loud at the thought. My dad would kick my ass for just thinking a thing like that. I was raised to never to put my hands on a female.

“You talk too much. Let’s go inside and do this,” I said flatly.

There was no need to bullshit her into thinking I was there for any other reason but to get laid.

She leaned in and kissed me, slipping her tongue into my mouth. Before long we were in her small, two-bedroom house falling over things trying to make it to her bedroom. Mindy, her roommate, was nowhere in sight, thankfully.

Afterward, I sat back in her bed surrounded by fluffy pink pillows and lace. She’s definitely the girly type, nothing like my little sister Jenny. I’d probably die if I saw anything pink in her room. Renee quietly slept with her legs wrapped around mine. I felt so much better. Sex was what I needed, sex is the main reason I keep her around. Shit, she uses me, why the hell shouldn’t I use her? I looked over at the pink alarm clock on the side table. It was getting pretty late. I really needed to get up and head home and I seriously needed to find eight thousand dollars…fast.

With that final thought I quickly and quietly got out of Renee’s bed. I slipped on my clothes and slid through the house to the front door. The evening air rushed through my hair as I slammed the door behind me. The entire way home my thoughts were on money. There had to be a way, there was always a way.

Two

Lilly Sheffield

Yesterday, at a charity benefit my mom pretended to be interested in, a miniature man on a massive stage was trying to get everyone to donate to a multitude of charities. I’m usually the biggest donator, mainly because the people who run these things knew me so well—they prey on my conscience and make me feel like a monster for having money. Once they pull out the slide shows of starving children, I’m done for. I leave with at least a hundred grand missing from my bank account.

Anyway, this little man said something that made me really evaluate my world. He asked the group of multi-millionaires what they’d be willing to give up
to make a difference in someone else’s life. It made me think of the things that I’d
never
give up. Money isn’t really a problem, especially for me, but what in my life do I hold dear?

My list is pretty pathetic for a twenty- year-old woman. Really pathetic!

There are few things in my life that you’d have to pry from my cold, dead fingers before they were ever taken from me.  The first thing is my Spanx. Which, in my opinion, are the best man-made contraptions ever, better than electricity or chocolate. The creators of these life changing pieces of cloth should be put on a pedestal for all the chubby girls of the world to worship. Spanx, the body shaping devices of the fatty girl world…I bow down to you.

I don’t know what they’re made of, or who came up with this fantastical idea, but they’re a godsend. If it wasn’t for my
Spanx, every fat roll I own would spill forth like frothy white volcano lava. It keeps the back fat to a minimum, too. Everyone with extra poundage can appreciate that. There’s just nothing like walking around feeling like you have an extra pair of double D’s strapped to your back. 

The second thing I hold dear, is my paid for, but not really nice anymore, ninety-seven black Honda Accord. Yes, I have money to purchase a new car. Yes, I probably should purchase a new car, but
my car’s been with me through thick and thin. Well, not really the thin, more like the thick and thicker.  Referring to anything in my life as
thin
is just wrong in so many ways.

Finally, the third thing that I couldn’t live without is ice cream. As far as I was concerned, ice cream could heal broken bones if applied directly to the skin. Think about it. If you considered how many broken hearts ice cream has mended, it wouldn’t really seem that outlandish. Not to mention, ice cream is full of calcium.

Calcium + bones = good!

I think doctors everywhere should buy stock in ice cream products. It would save a ton of money in health care.

This kind of logic is what gets me through a pint of cookies and cream without the guilt of knowing two more pounds are coming my way. Hey, whatever gets you through your day, right?

Needless to say, the amount of
suckage in my life was mind blowing for a girl with more money than she could count. I should’ve been happy. I should’ve been lying on a warm beach somewhere while my newly liposuctioned body was being massaged by my sexy boyfriend who had a really hot name like, Damon. I wasn’t. Instead, I went to work. I sat behind a jewelry counter working for money that I didn’t need in an attempt to achieve any form of normalcy.

The space between my chin and the heel of my palm started to sweat as I stared out the store window at the people walking by. OK, so today was going to be a bad day. Technically, since my day at work was almost over, it was already a bad day. Not to mention I had a coffee date with my mom that was rapidly approaching. Other than the fact that I’d have a reason to leave work early, I dreaded meeting my mom.  Our little coffee dates rarely ended on a good note.

As much as I’d love to put off facing the dragon, it was time to go.

“Shannon! I’m
gonna go ahead and leave, OK? I’ll keep my cell close in case you need me,” I yelled.

I seriously doubted that anything would happen in the next thirty minutes that would require my excellent management skills, especially considering we may have had one or two customers all day.

“Go ahead, honey. See you when I get home!” She called back.

“Remember, call my cell if you need anything and please don’t forget to lock the top lock. Mrs. Franklin will have a fit if you forget again,” I said as she came from the back of the store.

I watched as Shannon stumbled around with way too many tiny jewelry boxes piled in her arms. She tossed them on the front counter and smiled innocently.  A stray lock of bright red hair attacked her eyes and I laughed at the face she made as she blew it out of her vision.

“I got
ya’ covered, Lil. Have fun with your mom,” she teased.

Rolling my eyes, I walked out of the store and made my way toward my car.

When I got my license, my mom tried to convince me to let her buy me an expensive sports car. I think she was more worried about my sixteen-year-old reputation than I was. As if a girl like me would ever be happy with a car that’s
too
small. I’ve had to deal with things that were “too small” my entire life, why the hell would I torture myself more? Did she seriously think I’d want to stuff myself into a skinny girl car every day? Um…no thanks! Feeling like a sardine was never my thing.

All skinny sports cars aside, things mean more when you buy them for yourself anyway. If I let my mom buy me everything she offered I wouldn’t have room in my life for anything.

Thankfully, my mom moved past the point of trying to live my life. That was only after years of trying to make her understand that I was nothing like her.

I’ve always been the kind of person who likes to do things for myself. I want to work for anything that I acquire in my life. For instance, I love my car, and not because it’s the greatest car ever, but because I paid for it with my own money. Money I earned back before my life was changed forever, before grandma died and left me millions. It’s
my
car. My mom doesn’t understand that. She’s never worked a day in her life.

I’ve never hated her for that, she’s just playing the cards she was dealt. My grandparents were always wealthy, so she’s never known any different. I was raised with money, too, but my dad dumped tons of reality into my life before he ran off to California without me.

Simply put, the money’s mine. The huge amount was dropped on me from my grandma’s will. I received it on my twentieth birthday, but I’d give it all back for just one more day with her.

She was a lot like my mom, meaning she loved to spend money. The difference was she wanted me to be happy with myself—she never made me feel like a disappointment. Her pride in me was evident, while my mom always looked down on me, made me feel like I was just one step below where I should be.

My mom always was a snob, though she’d never admit it. If you removed her impressive bitch mask, you’d see that she has a seriously diluted sense of self-worth. If she had an honest moment, she’d admit that having money makes her feel superior to everyone else. I think she gets off on it.

I’ve never felt the need to make my life less abnormal than it’s always been by being flashy with cash that I never wanted to begin with.

Normalcy has been in short supply for me. My permanent single status ruled the all-girls private school I grew up in, and I was dubbed Large Lilly, a.k.a. the Virgin Mary.  Just call me the president of the twenty-year-old virgins club! The member list includes me and a bunch of unattractive nuns.

When it finally happens for me, it’ll be real.  I have no desire to be in the kind of relationship my parents had before they divorced. They were miserable and hated each other. It was the perfect example
of what
not
to be. I want love…the kind they write books about, but my fear of rejection refuses to make it possible.

A special shout out to all the awesome high school girls who taunted me daily. Thanks for the fabulous fat girl complex.

There’s a sense a comedy surrounding my situation. Technically, I could have anything I want. I could buy anything, but the one thing I can’t buy is the one thing I crave.  It’s not like you could run thru the closest drive thru and grab a relationship.

One hot boy toy to go, please!

My inner ranting was cut short by the bell over the door to Mirabelle’s, my favorite little cafe. My mom was already seated as she sipped her vanilla espresso. I hated the fact that she chose to sit in a booth instead of a table. I’d pull my fingernails out before I admitted that the booths were too small for me.

Guess who gets to play squeeze the fat girl in the tiny booth today?