Page 3 of Just Joshing
While Bess had fallen whole-heartedly into the role expected of women of our station - embracing the afternoon teas, dinner parties and charity functions - I’d felt a growing disquiet. A stirring of unease. I’d attended college, as all good women do. After all, one must have a degree to prove their intelligence to potential future spouses, and marriage-minded mothers regarded college as a veritable hunting ground for young women looking to secure their first husband.
But instead of graduating into Daddy’s money, I’d thrown myself into the business side of charity work. I had a dual business-event management degree, an economics major and a minor in world politics. I wanted to help people. So, I did. I’d talked or bought my way onto boards, leveraging my parents’ connections. I now chaired three charities, and volunteered four days a week at various organizations across the city.
Growing up surrounded by money and privilege you learn certain truths. I knew I could never change the opinions of those who had everything. Those born with silver spoons, my family included, expected life to hand them opportunities on silver platters. I'd long ago learned that money and connections spoke louder than talent or skill. I'd been born into influence and I wasn't above using it to get what I wanted.
A joyful screech distracted me. Josh and I shifted to watch the happy couple. Bess flung herself around Pete. He caught her; head thrown back as he laughed at her antics. A small part of me sighed in longing as I watched Pete press an exuberant kiss to her lips.Bess' red hair, perfectly curled, waterfalled down to touch the small of her back. Her lipstick, despite the kisses, remained perfect. I took in the whole picture, her gorgeous hair complementing the stunning white dress which dipped between her breasts and ended mid-thigh. Her infectious happiness. His grin. The entire picture was perfectly accentuated by the sparkling diamond on her finger.
I had to go.
I turned away from the gathering, tears blurring my vision as I blindly moved towards the exit. Single-minded in my purpose, I failed to see the waiter crossing my path.
"Watch ou-!"
A hand gripped my arm, wrenching me back against a hard chest. The waiter waivered, hand frantically weaving from side to side as he tried to stop the glasses on his tray tipping to the floor. Finally, catching them, steadying the tray he looked over at me, a relieved smile on his face.
"That was close!"
"I’m so sorry." I gushed, jerking out of Josh’s grip. "I’m such a klutz."
"Don’t worry about it," the waiter grinned. "Drink?" He held out the tray, offering me a glass.
"Oh no, I’m just about to leav-"
Josh reached over, plucking up one of the glasses and shoving it into my hand. He went back, taking another for himself.
"Thank you." He nodded to the waiter, dismissing him.
I looked into Josh’s fiercely dark eyes.
"I have to-"
"Don’t give them the satisfaction." His growled the words, low and angry.
"Excuse me?"
He jerked his head towards the happy couple. "She's a nice girl, but this… production. They're watching you. The vultures. They're waiting for a moment they can use to rub your face in it."
The blush seared away whatever tears remained.
"I’m not in love with him." I retorted, my voice a low hiss, eyes darting quickly about to ensure we wouldn’t be overheard. My back stiffened, finding eyes on me.
While I'd been concentrating on the happy couple, it was obvious that I'd become the subject of whispered conjecture. As I glanced around the room, clusters of guests shot speculative glances my way, heads dipping together conspiratorially.
"Oh my god." I turned my back on the room, facing the buffet table. "Oh my god."
"Breathe, Molly. Don't let them see."
I shook my head. "I'm not even in love with him. Why would they care?"
Josh coughed, "are you sure?"
I shot him a glare. " I'm pretty sure I know my own feelings."
"But at your twenty-first you said—"
" Jesus, Josh. You can’t hold a drunk confession from years ago against me."
Twenty-one and legal. Three shots of tequila, three mojitos and a party I never wanted in the first place. Bess had planned the surprise. I’d come home from the gym, hot and sweaty, to a house full of people I barely knew. I’d been embarrassed and ready to die in my stretched-out yoga pants, sweat stained t-shirt and barely functioning sports-bra. Instead of letting me change, Bess had forced a drink in my hands and escorted me around the room. No one had hugged me, instead offering polite smiles and congratulations from afar. I hadn’t been offended – such was my life.
