Page 107 of The Redheads

Amanda was mean, petty. She meant to hurt me because I’d yelled at her. Well, she’d done it. I was this shallow. She’d called me ugly on a vlog that was picking up thousands of watches by the minute.

And it mattered.

I had to get dressed. If I’d known this was going to happen today, I’d have made a hair appointment and used a professional makeup artist. I knew how to put myself together, and I was going to be stuck with the job I could do on an evening when everyone would be looking.

I didn’t read Bridget’s text. I just sent her one back.It’s fine.

Only it wasn’t.

I sank to the ground. I could be proud of myself for all the times I’d managed not to cry over the last twenty-four hours, but I wasn’t winning that war at the moment.Hope cries—that was what the nannies used to tell my father.

How were the kids?he’d ask, not really caring.

They’re fine, mostly.I’d heard a rendition of this over and over during my growing up years.Layla is flunking school. Bridget is too quiet. Justin is sneaking out at night. Hope cries.

Yes, I did. I’d always been a marshmallow. I’d always been unable to be one of those tough, strong women that I saw in memes.May we know them, may we raise them. Well, I wasn’t that. I could survive terrible things. I proved it, but I hadn’t stood up, back straight, and marched on. No, I was a mess, and it was never going to be any other way.

I wasn’t strong.

I put my head down on my knees and just sobbed. My shoulders shook, and my body vibrated. With my ears ringing, I was unable to even breathe, let alone think. I pounded on the floor with my fists. This was mean girl, high school shit, and it was never going to stop for me. I would always be at the mercy of what others thought of me.

And it turned out, I was lacking in a million ways. Inside and out.

8

Eventually, I stopped crying. I washed my face and applied enough makeup that no one would guess I’d been crying. I put on the outfit I’d picked out and checked it five times to make sure that while it was attractive on me, no one would think I looked like a stuffed sausage. Yep, I’d let Amanda that far into my head. It wasn’t pretty in my mind at that moment.

But my black dress was fashionable, my hair was pulled back, and I had diamonds that I almost never wore in my ears to make me feel like I was wearingfuck youjewelry. We were raising money for cancer, and I was ready to throw a hell of a party.

Or so I thought.

It turned out that being called fat and ugly publicly by Amanda Hill meant that people weren’t going to show up for my party that evening. It was sad, really. I did my usual head count again and again, sure that the numbers had to be wrong. There should’ve been twice as many people there as there were.

And I was hardly the only one who noticed.

My client was pretty pissed. I walked to the corner to ignore her heated looks. I was sure I’d be taking abuse for this later. Itwasn’t that she wouldn’t raise money for her cause. She would. It was embarrassing for her. Hell, it was the same for me.

I looked down at my phone

You know that you’re gorgeous, right?Bridget’s last text made me smile.

Well, I may need to sell my body to make a living, so I hope so.

That bad?Her texts were fast.

Apparently being fat and ugly means I’m suddenly on a list for people not coming to my parties.

You know you’re better than your job, Bridget answered me.

I stared at her answer. Unreasonable rage rushed through me, and even as that happened, I knew that nothing Bridget texted deserved my anger. I took three deep breaths before I texted back, but still, when I did, I knew I was going to make her upset. Right then, I didn’t care. I could really do without the holier than thou right now. Not all of us can be investment bankers.

My temper had risen. Between the crying and the anger, I was really worked up for me. Most of the time, I tried to just maintain. This was a lot of emotions for me to have all at once.

I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I can see how you read it that way. I just mean you’re amazing. You shouldn’t be doing something that requires you to stay on the good side of such small, miserable people. I love you. You’re amazing, Hope. The only one who doesn’t know that is you.

I put away my phone. I wanted to cry again. Instead, I went to my client—the woman I was afraid that I might be some day. I tried to smile, but before I could say a word, she shook her head. “Well, don’t feel too bad, dear. You’re just done. It happens. Find a husband before you’re not pretty anymore.”

Yes, tonight sucked.