Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,72

accent, and those eyes. Wow.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle when she says this, her eyes wide. “That’s a good-looking man. You need to find yourself a man like that.” She looks to me and then to Tessa.

A little tiny metaphorical knife makes an incision into my heart with those words. For a brief moment, that very man could have been mine. Not even one like him. Just . . . him.

I sigh. “Let me know if you see one wandering around out there, Mom. Maybe snatch him up for me.”

She eyes me. “You know, if you just lost those last pounds, men like that would be falling all over you.”

And just like a record scratching, all my hopeful and happy thoughts for her come to a screeching halt. There’s the mother I was expecting.

“Mom,” Tessa says, a roughness in her tone.

“I’m only trying to help,” my mom says, holding out both hands, palms toward Tessa.

“That’s not helping. Helping would be telling Quinn that she’s worthy of love, no matter what.”

I know Tessa coming to my defense is a good thing. In the past, I’m not so sure she would have, except that with her extra pounds she’s now gotten a taste of what I have to deal with. But her use of “no matter what” rubs me wrong. Why is there even a “what”? Shouldn’t it just be that I deserve love, period?

Our mom turns toward Tessa. “Of course she’s worthy of love,” she says, frustration in her tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying, then?” Tessa asks, folding her arms, her chin lifted.

We’re all silent for a moment, Tessa and me watching my mom, waiting for her response.

She swallows. Then she slowly turns toward me. “I’m only trying to help.”

I don’t say anything. I just turn away from both of them and go back to working on my cabinet.

I hear my mom take a few steps before saying, “Tessa, your father is looking for you.” Then I hear the door open and shut and only emptiness filling the space.

Chapter 19

Date number two is underway, and a familiar feeling washes over me as I peek in the window and watch Henry at the same table he was sitting at last week with Kristin with an i.

This time it’s Brenda. With her long, dark, perfectly curled hair and naturally tanned skin, she looks a lot like a goddess, and I want to hate her . . . a lot. Brenda has curves and she rocks them, and I feel infinitely jealous of her confidence. It oozes from her like a festering blister. I can’t even bring myself to give her a kinder simile.

I should have been more honest with Henry the other day in his office. This is weird. And uncomfortable. And I’d like to be anywhere else but here. Even in the garage listening to my mom’s latest diet idea would be better than this.

“Would you look at those two,” Moriarty says as she comes and stands next to me, peering in the window at Henry and Brenda. “They make a beautiful couple. This idea of mine is going to kill it with the ratings. It already is.”

“You mean idea of mine,” I say, pasting on my best fake smile.

“Well, if I hadn’t brought Henry in, this would have been a bust. What was your idea? Date our intern?” She laughs obnoxiously. “How boring would that have been?”

I so badly want to say something petty like “Your mom’s boring,” but then I realize how dumb of a comeback that is. Instead I say, “I’m sure it would have been great, and you’d have figured out a way to claim that one as your own as well. It doesn’t matter; Henry and Dwayne know differently.” I give her my best puckered-mouth smirk.

“You’ve got mascara under your eye.” She reaches up and points to my left eye.

I reach up and rub, pulling my hand away to see flakes of black on my finger. Perfect. Just perfect.

She wrinkles her nose, her brow staying perfectly in place. “And you should really get your clothes professionally laundered. That jacket could use some starch.”

I gasp, looking down at my jacket. Sure, there are some wrinkles there, but it’s not terrible. Also, I do send my suits to the cleaners. It’s just . . . been a while.

“Thanks so much,” I say, tugging on my jacket, my voice a combination of irritation and sarcasm.

She gives me a closed-mouth smile. “Just trying to help,”