Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
I’m crushed by his statement
“No, Daddy, it isn’t like that. Peter believes in me and my talent as a pastry chef. I’ve helped him with recipes and he’s investing in my business. That’s what the money’s for. He really cares about me. He likes to help people, especially up and coming young entrepreneurs.”
Maeve jerks her head in a shake.
“Pack your things. You’re coming home with us right now, young lady. I don’t want you to ever see this man again. He has corrupted you, making you lie to your family and turning you into a criminal. This city is bad and has bad people in it.” My mother has now raised her voice and is gesturing around her like there’s poison in the air.
I pause for a moment. I think of all Alvina and all my favorite customers. I think of George and Sarah. And I think of Peter. New York is full of nice people, and my parents are wrong. They mean well but they’re stuck in their New Jersey suburban mind set.
“No Mom, I’m not going back to New Jersey. I’m twenty-five years old, and I have a future here. I may have done something I’m not proud of, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and that original cam girl show is permitting my business to survive. It’s allowed me to help people I care about a great deal. And it enabled me to meet a wonderful man that I’ve fallen in love with.”
My parents look horrified.
“You don’t know what love is,” my dad grinds out. “People don’t pay each other for love.”
My mom jumps in again.
“Don’t kid yourself, Whitney. You’re just a place holder until this pandemic passes. He needed someone convenient and he’s using you, honey, don’t you see? There are so many pretty and accomplished girls out there. Why would he want you?”
Her words are like a knife to the stomach.
“Mama, did you just say I wasn’t pretty enough for someone like Peter?” I ask, barely able to breathe.
She’s by the door now, angry tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Don’t you try to twist my words to make me the guilty party here, young lady.”
Donald steps in.
“No. You know that’s not what she meant, Whitney,” my dad tries to explain as he stands to follow her. His head swivels back and forth between the two of us and I see his eyes turn glassy with unshed tears as he tries to decide what to do next. “Mom said some unkind things, but that’s not what she meant.”
Maeve jerks her chin, refusing to make eye contact with me.
“Donald, let’s go. Whitney will come to her senses eventually. After she gets thrown out the door, she’ll see where she belongs.”
All I want is for my dad to put his arms around me and tell me he loves me. Instead, Donald follows my mother out the door, head bowed, choosing her side. He shuts the door behind him without another word.
I crash onto my bed and sob. Shame for their daughter was written all over their faces. Their words sting like a thousand wasps. Nausea washes over me and I run to my cramped bathroom to vomit. Thoughts I have been pushing out of my mind come barreling back, given shape by my parents’ doubts.
After all, what will happen when life resumes once more? Peter will be able to meet up with all the women from his previous existence. Is he really going to take the curvy girl to black tie events while all his peers have supermodels on their arms? Is he really going to be happy to parade me, with my frizzy brown hair and oversize figure around? I’ve been kidding myself.
My buzzer rings again and I find myself hoping that it’s my parents back to apologize for judging their only child so harshly. But it’s just George.
“Hi Miss Porter. Do you want me to come up and help you with your things?”
I can’t go back to Peter’s tonight. I don’t know if I can go back ever again. I feel too awful, and doubt has seeped into my mind. Maybe Peter feels nothing for me. Maybe I really am just a convenient piece of ass that he pays for. In as normal of a voice as I can manage, I speak.
“George, I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I’m going to be going back to the penthouse tonight.”
Immediately, his voice shows concern.
“Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?”
“No,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady. “I think it’s just better if I’m not around anyone while I’m not feeling well, you know with the virus and all.”
“Alright then. I hope you feel better soon, Miss Porter. Do you want me to tell Mr. Coleman of your illness?”
I pause. I really should tell him myself, but at this moment, I can’t stomach the thought of talking to Peter.