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 was usually the biggest donator, mainly because the people who run those things knew me so well—they preyed on my conscience and made me feel like a monster for having money. Once they pulled out the slideshows of starving children, I was done for. I left 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 wasn’t really a problem, especially for me, but what in my life did I hold dear?
My list was pretty pathetic for a twenty-year-old woman. Really pathetic!
There were 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 was my Spanx. Which, in my opinion, were the best man-made contraptions ever, better than electricity or chocolate. The creators of those 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 didn’t know what they were made of, or who came up with the fantastical idea, but they were a godsend. If it weren’t for my Spanx, every fat roll I owned would spill forth like frothy, white volcano lava. It kept the back fat to a minimum, too. Everyone with extra poundage could appreciate that. There was just nothing like walking around feeling like you had an extra pair of double Ds strapped to your back.
The second thing I held dear was my paid for, but not really nice anymore, ninety-seven black Honda Accord. Yes, I had money to purchase a new car. Yes, I probably should have purchased a new car, but my car had 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 was just wrong in so many ways.
Finally, the third thing that I couldn’t live without was 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 had mended, it wouldn’t really seem that outlandish. Not to mention, ice cream was full of calcium.
Calcium + bones = good!
I thought doctors everywhere should buy stock in ice cream products. It would save a ton of money in health care.
This kind of logic was what got me through a pint of cookies and cream without the guilt of knowing two more pounds were coming my way. Hey, whatever got 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 some 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. Okay, 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, okay? 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 might 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 was too small. I 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, then I wouldn’t have room in my life for anything else.
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 had always been the kind of person who liked to do things for myself. I wanted to work for anything that I acquired in my life. For instance, I loved my car, and not because it was 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 was my car. My mom didn’t understand that. She had never worked a day in her life.
I had never hated her for that—she was just playing the cards she was dealt. My grandparents were always wealthy, so she never knew 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 was 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 had a seriously diluted sense of self-worth. If she had an honest moment, she’d admit that having money made her feel superior to everyone else. I thought she got off on it.
I never felt the need to make my life less abnormal than it had always been by being flashy with cash that I never wanted to begin with.
Normalcy was 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, aka the Virgin Mary. Just call me the president of the twenty-year-old virgins’ club! The member list included me and a bunch of unattractive nuns.
When it finally happened for me, it would be real. I had no desire to be in the kind of relationship my parents were in before they divorced. They were miserable and hated each other. It was the perfect example of what not to be. I wanted love… the kind they wrote books about, but my fear of rejection refused 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 was a sense a comedy surrounding my situation. Technically, I could have anything I wanted. I could buy anything, but the one thing I couldn’t buy was the one thing I craved. It wasn’t like you could run through 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 got to play squeeze the fat girl into the tiny booth?
“How was work?” Mom asked.
My presence didn’t even warrant her to look up from her daily newspaper—the financial pages, no doubt.
“Good,” I said. “How was the spa?”
I held my breath as I sucked in my stomach and slid into the seat. The table dug into my mini-muffin top.
She ignored my spa question. “Your father called. He says it’s been nearly two weeks since he’s heard from you.”
“Yeah, I know. I need to call him. I’ve just have been so busy at work. We got a brand-new shipment in for the fall. Shannon and I have been killing ourselves trying to get it all set up. You should come by, Mom. We have tons of stuff I know you’d love.”
She looked up at me like I’d lost my mind. Her newspaper rattled to the table.
“Honey, no offense, but you know I don’t shop at those kinds of places. I wish you’d quit that awful job, or at least consider working somewhere more appropriate. Your grandfather’s probably turning in his grave at the thought of his angel working countless hours. You weren’t bred for that, Lilly.” She blew on her espresso, sending the scent of vanilla my way.
“I know, Mom, but I enjoy it there. Mrs. Franklin’s talking about making me area manager over all three stores. I hope I get the job.”
“If we’re being honest with each other, I hope you get fired from that pitiful place.” She sniffed.
A mocha latte was placed in front of me. Going to the same café almost every day had its benefits. They always knew what I wanted. I walked in, and they got it ready for me.
“Here you go, Lilly. Having a good day?” Joey smirked at me.
He was the only male worker at Mirabelle’s and a joker to boot.
“Oh yeah, today’s been a fabulous day. It’s getting better, too,” I said, sarcastically.
It was an inside joke between the people that work at the café and me. Since Mirabelle’s had always been my meeting place with Mom, they’d figured out how well our little meeting was going by how many lattes I ordered. One latte usually meant it was a pleasant conversation, quick and to the point. Two lattes meant things didn’t go so well. Three meant I was probably about three minutes away from pulling my hair out and hanging my mother by a makeshift napkin noose.
“Mom!” I said in a hushed tone after Joey left the table. “Why would you say that? You hope I get fired? I can’t believe you’d wish bad things on me like that. I have to have that job for sanity purposes. I’m so sorry that I refuse to live like you, but that’s no reason for you to say mean things to me.”
I rolled my eyes, nursing my latte and wishing I had told her I couldn’t get out of work.
Mom continued on and on about me not needing to work. I tuned her out. It was always about money with her. Normal families argued because the children constantly asked the parents for money. In my case, we argued because I refused to blow it.
There have been a few times when expensive name brand handbags and shoes would mysteriously show up at my door—brand names I couldn’t even pronounce. Normal people didn’t wear twelve-hundred-dollar shoes. Needless to say, Shannon had a pretty impressive closet.
As I continued to tune my mom out, I noticed a cute couple at a corner table. They were gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Their elbows were rested on the table for balance as they each leaned in to get closer to the other. It was adorable to watch as he smiled at her and softly rubbed her hand. Her cheeks were turning pink as he whispered sweet nothings to her from across the table.
I smiled secretly to myself at the love story that was unfolding in front of me. Their love for each other was evident. It was written in their smiles and seeped out of their eyes. I couldn’t look away. I hated myself for being a crazy, romance stalker, but the longing that crashed over me was paralyzing.
“Lilly! What’s gotten into you? Are you even listening to me?”
I snapped my attention back to my mom.
“Of course I’m listening. I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Sweetie, you know you can talk to me about anything. Go ahead, exactly what’s bothering you?”
The couple in the corner caught my attention once more. “Mom, did you love Dad?”
She straightened her body as if reflecting the awkward question with her chest. “I loved your father very much. Unfortunately, my love wasn’t enough for the both of us. Why do you ask such a strange question?”
“No reason,” I said. “Just curious what it felt like.”
She looked at me sadly as she proceeded to pat my hand in an attempt to be motherly.
“Okay, enough with this nonsense. Let’s do something fun. Let’s go shopping! We can buy whatever you want, anything that’ll make you happy. Just tell me what it is and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Growing up, anytime some skinny girl at school would laugh at me or we had a school dance that I never had a date to—Mom was always the first one to blow it off as no big deal. She’d buy something fun and after a while, I’d get over it. It was her way. The only way she knew how to show affection was to buy things. Instead of the sweet words and motherly hugs, I got gifts.
“Money can’t buy everything, Mom,” I said, as I looked back to the cute couple now making out in their little corner.
Mom looked at them, too. She knew right away what I meant. “Are you lonely, sweetie? Because I’ll be the first to tell you that you do not need a man to make you happy. Trust me. I had one for twenty years, and I was miserable.” She laughed at her little joke.
I smiled at her, and then gave a forced laugh. “Just forget it, Mom. Let’s go shopping. I could use a few new shirts and a pair of shoes,” I said, hoping she would forget what she had just witnessed.
I hated shopping for clothes. Trying to find something decent to fit me was my idea of hell. I’d gladly go through hell if it meant my mom would forget the conversation we just had. The last thing I wanted was her trying any stupid matchmaking schemes with a bunch of idiot men who’d rather be celibate than touch me. Of course, it worked.
I listened as she went over all the stores she wanted to visit and the things she wanted to buy. I followed her out of the café, barely paying attention.
Today wasn’t my day. All the mushy love thoughts and the “no one wants me” whining was starting to get on my nerves. Aunt Flo was definitely knocking at my door, and she brought the bitch triplets P, M, and S with her.
I stood in the first store we went to and daydreamed of a hot bubble bath, candles, and Christina Perri on low volume. All this shopping for expensive crap that would never fit, when all I really wanted was a nice bath and a naughty threesome with Ben & Jerry’s. So much for that idea!