make a go of it
with my lingerie. “He called it—” I spat the
word—“my hobby .”
“Right, you’re definitely
about to put Victoria’s Secret out of business,” Brian
began with a chuckle, but my mother shot him a look. I would have
been more mollified if that look had been more don’t mock
your sister and less Brian, honey, remember what Kate did to
the good china last time you made a joke.
“So how is your little
‘business?’” my dad asked, trying but failing to
keep from pronouncing the little quote marks. “People,
uh…liking it?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said, trying
not to clench my jaw. “I have several return customers, and
word of mouth is increasing them.”
“Still,” he grunted. “Can’t
really meet a man that way. Not the right kind of man.”
“Now, now, Fred,” my mother
interjected. “This will all make a nice story someday.
Katherine’s always been rebellious—oh, I remember when I
used to dress her up so nicely for church on Sunday, in those little
pink frocks with all the ribbons, and she would rip them right off
and go streaking through the park in her birthday suit!”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said
sarcastically. “I really appreciate you putting my grown-up
business venture on the same level as embarrassing stories from when
I was four. That really makes me feel like you believe in me.”
“I’m so sorry,” my
mom said, drawing herself up and trying to look serious. “Do
tell me all about your latest—Brian, what on Earth are you
doing? You’ll get whiplash.”
And just like that, we were off the
topic of me and my life, and back to Brian. Not that I’d
particularly enjoyed being condescended to about all my life choices,
but honestly, some days that’s all the attention I can get from
my parents. And doesn’t every kid crave their parents’
attention?
“That’s Asher Young ,”
Brian was saying, and I snapped back to attention. Brian was craning
his neck to watch Asher, who was crossing the room with Brody to
their own table. “I heard he comes here sometimes, but I didn’t
think we’d really get to see him!”
Meanwhile, my parents were hanging on
Brian’s every word, as if Brian were a naturalist who had
spotted a very rare eagle in its natural habitat, and was doing a
David Attenborough style narration of its habits.
“Name sounds familiar,” my
father grunted around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Didn’t
that fella invest in some computer thing? Make millions before he
could legally drink?”
“ Billions,” Brian
corrected in the awe-filled voice he usually reserved for Bill Gates
profiles in Time Magazine. “And he just keeps doing it! They say
he has a golden eye; you remember that Schumacher debacle? Nobody
thought that company would go anywhere after the investors bailed,
but Asher Young had a couple of meetings with the founder and before
you know it, he’s invested ten billion and the sales figures
are off the charts. Any company he touches, you know it’s going
to be a success!”
“It’s funny you should say
that,” I said, turning back to Brian so it didn’t look
like our whole table was gawking at Asher like tourists at the zoo.
“Because Asher offered to invest in my business.”
I don’t think anyone has been the
focus of such intent looks of disbelief since Moses came down from
the mountain with some rocks and said, hey, guys, I’ve got
some new rules.
“Uh, Kate,” Brian said with
an amount of fake pity you usually only saw in celebrity photo ops
with starving children, “that’s Asher Young. If you’re
going to be desperate enough to lie about your business, maybe set
your sights a little lower so it’s actually believable.”
I saw red, every single shade and
variation of it. “Excuse me?” I asked, a jagged buzzsaw
edge working its way into my voice. “Did you just accuse me of
lying? I’ll have you know, Asher has been in my studio twice in
the last week offering me business advice.”
“Business
with my lingerie. “He called it—” I spat the
word—“my hobby .”
“Right, you’re definitely
about to put Victoria’s Secret out of business,” Brian
began with a chuckle, but my mother shot him a look. I would have
been more mollified if that look had been more don’t mock
your sister and less Brian, honey, remember what Kate did to
the good china last time you made a joke.
“So how is your little
‘business?’” my dad asked, trying but failing to
keep from pronouncing the little quote marks. “People,
uh…liking it?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said, trying
not to clench my jaw. “I have several return customers, and
word of mouth is increasing them.”
“Still,” he grunted. “Can’t
really meet a man that way. Not the right kind of man.”
“Now, now, Fred,” my mother
interjected. “This will all make a nice story someday.
Katherine’s always been rebellious—oh, I remember when I
used to dress her up so nicely for church on Sunday, in those little
pink frocks with all the ribbons, and she would rip them right off
and go streaking through the park in her birthday suit!”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said
sarcastically. “I really appreciate you putting my grown-up
business venture on the same level as embarrassing stories from when
I was four. That really makes me feel like you believe in me.”
“I’m so sorry,” my
mom said, drawing herself up and trying to look serious. “Do
tell me all about your latest—Brian, what on Earth are you
doing? You’ll get whiplash.”
And just like that, we were off the
topic of me and my life, and back to Brian. Not that I’d
particularly enjoyed being condescended to about all my life choices,
but honestly, some days that’s all the attention I can get from
my parents. And doesn’t every kid crave their parents’
attention?
“That’s Asher Young ,”
Brian was saying, and I snapped back to attention. Brian was craning
his neck to watch Asher, who was crossing the room with Brody to
their own table. “I heard he comes here sometimes, but I didn’t
think we’d really get to see him!”
Meanwhile, my parents were hanging on
Brian’s every word, as if Brian were a naturalist who had
spotted a very rare eagle in its natural habitat, and was doing a
David Attenborough style narration of its habits.
“Name sounds familiar,” my
father grunted around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Didn’t
that fella invest in some computer thing? Make millions before he
could legally drink?”
“ Billions,” Brian
corrected in the awe-filled voice he usually reserved for Bill Gates
profiles in Time Magazine. “And he just keeps doing it! They say
he has a golden eye; you remember that Schumacher debacle? Nobody
thought that company would go anywhere after the investors bailed,
but Asher Young had a couple of meetings with the founder and before
you know it, he’s invested ten billion and the sales figures
are off the charts. Any company he touches, you know it’s going
to be a success!”
“It’s funny you should say
that,” I said, turning back to Brian so it didn’t look
like our whole table was gawking at Asher like tourists at the zoo.
“Because Asher offered to invest in my business.”
I don’t think anyone has been the
focus of such intent looks of disbelief since Moses came down from
the mountain with some rocks and said, hey, guys, I’ve got
some new rules.
“Uh, Kate,” Brian said with
an amount of fake pity you usually only saw in celebrity photo ops
with starving children, “that’s Asher Young. If you’re
going to be desperate enough to lie about your business, maybe set
your sights a little lower so it’s actually believable.”
I saw red, every single shade and
variation of it. “Excuse me?” I asked, a jagged buzzsaw
edge working its way into my voice. “Did you just accuse me of
lying? I’ll have you know, Asher has been in my studio twice in
the last week offering me business advice.”
“Business
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