Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
It wasn't the first time I've realized that my father had power over every single second, every single situation in my life, but it was the time it cut the deepest.
Finding out that someone you cared deeply for was only in it for the thrills of sleeping with a student has the power to affect a girl. It has the power to demoralize her.
I guess most would dig their feet in. They'd fight for change, to insist on being able to make their own decisions.
They'd ask for more, but I'm not allowed. My father would have a coronary if I voiced a different opinion than the one he gave to me.
I shake my head at my reflection. I’m just in one of my moods. Another thing my mother never falters at pointing out. I guess I should just be glad that she hasn’t traveled down that path of complaints yet today.
It's not all bad. I have the material things that I want. I have some acquaintances that I don't just completely despise. There are people in my life I don't mind spending time with.
It doesn’t negate the fact that every decision I make has to be carefully analyzed.
I've gotten very good at assessing a situation. I'm quick to determine whether it would be something that my parents approved of, or something that could be construed in a poor way by any news outlet.
“This is why I didn't want you to go,” my mother says, pointing out the redness on my shoulders. “You know how that's gonna look in pictures, and tonight is a big deal for your father. Tonight is very important.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I understand, Mother.”
She nods, knowing that I'm trained well enough not to argue or fight back. I know not to give an opinion.
I'm like a puppet, and she and my father control the strings. She's so sure of my behavior, so sure of my responses, that she doesn't even notice the sarcastic way I've been calling her mother instead of mom for the last couple of years.
Raya isn't allowed an opinion.
Raya is a good girl.
Raya does what she's told.
Raya thinks of her family above all others.
And I do.
I think that I would be the same even if this wasn't the life that I've been told I'm going to lead.
I'm a nice person.
I'm a kind person.
I do care about the welfare of others.
The unfortunate thing about all of this is that it doesn't seem like there's anyone out there who cares about me, other than how I can help, how I can benefit someone else's career.
It's not only love that keeps me obeying. It's the hope that after my father makes it into the White House, he'll have what he wants.
I have no ideas of grandeur.
I know that he's going to make a run for reelection four years later, but I also know that most all presidents are hardly ever in the news after they leave office.
I can give it eight more years. I've given it twenty-two already.
Women these days aren't getting married or having children or serious relationships until their thirties. I can be just like one of them. I still have time to have a life after my father’s political career comes to an end.
I refuse to think of some of his plans I overheard—how my husband will be selected for their own political trajectory. He envisions my husband also becoming president, and if he chooses right, he’ll have even more time in the White House.
Mother walks across the room, her fingers skating over the row of clothes brought in for tonight's event.
“I was thinking about the black one,” I tell her, trying to shift her attention away from the mistake she feels I made by spending a little time with my toes in the sand earlier today.
“The venue is open air to the beach. I'll wear that cute, lacy, black shawl on my shoulders and no one will be the wiser.”
Mother nods in acceptance.
“And by the time we're in Houston on Tuesday, the redness will be gone.”
“Don't forget,” she says as she crosses the room to the door that joins mine and my parents’ suite. “Jackson Smith will be there tonight to meet you.”
I drop my eyes to my feet, not wanting her to read the irritation in my eyes. It would only end with her complaining about my attitude once again.
“I look forward to meeting him,” I tell her, lifting my head and giving her the same practiced smile I give everyone.
She’s either tired or a little off her game tonight because normally, she would never miss an opportunity to chastise me for something else before walking away. It doesn’t mean she won’t, eventually. It just means I’ll get twice as much of a lecture at another time.
***
“I've already taken up too much of your time,” I say with a gentle smile as I touch Emily's arm. “I'll let you get to the rest of the party.”