The Anatomy of a Broken Heart //Completed//

41. Caleb

         

Like sharks in a feeding frenzy, the rich flocked to fundraisers to see who could score the best item on the bidding list, and who they could outdo on their hit list. Tonight was no exception, as the wealthiest families in the county gathered round to reach into their bank accounts and cough up their money for whatever charity dad was supporting this year. It was a different one every year. He liked to be fair, he said. All around us were women dressed in expensive ball gowns and men dressed to the nines in their tuxedos. Though they lounged casually, champagne glass in their hands, their laughs were tight and their eyes were sharp. This wasn't a friendly gathering. It was an arena. Where there was money, there was enmity.

I didn't feel as at ease as these people looked, and the vice grip on my arm told me Santana didn't either. When I turned to her, I saw her eying everyone with cautions eyes. They drank everything in, from the beautiful people to the beautiful room. Mom had really outdone herself this time. Everything was pristine and carefully crafted. Even I had to admit the turnout was quite a feat.

"Relax," I told Santana, tugging on her hand a little so she'd loosen her hold on me.

She swallowed hard. "Sorry. I just feel like a sore thumb."

"You certainly don't look like one. You fit right in." I tried encouraging her.

"I'm not one of them." One of them. Not one of 'you.' Maybe she didn't bunch me in with the rest of them. It brought me a little comfort to believe that.

"But you can pretend to be."

She shook her head absently. "The things we do..."

We walked around a little, arms still hooked, playing the part, looking at the works of art dad had managed to get to auction off. One of them, a Pollock, had hung in our living room for years until mom decided it was time to find it a different home. This is how she referred to her possessions, as if they were organic and sentient. "My darling Pollock needs a new home...Let's open the windows; this house needs to breathe...My car is a sick, I think."

"So this is how the other half live, huh?" Santana was admiring the Pollock with reserved fascination. "Must be fun."
"You'd be surprised. It's not all about dressing up and going to parties. These people in here are vultures, just waiting for one of us do drop so they can swoop in and feast." I looked down at her hand, which still clung to my arm. Her black nail polish was chipped, the only giveaway that she, unlike the rest of them, hadn't spent the whole day getting ready at a salon for this.

"Yeah, that doesn't do much to sway my sympathy vote." She caught my eye and quickly let go of me, as if burned.

"Ha. I guess I shouldn't complain, huh?"

She lifted a shoulder slightly, but kept walking along the rows of paintings, lingering here and there when a painting caught her eye. I noticed she was drawn to the portraits more than anything abstract.

"Thinking of bidding?" a voice asked from behind us. We turned around to see my mother smiling sweetly at us, a glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes were zeroed in on Santana.

"Just browsing for now," she replied, smiling back.

"This must be the charming Miss Valencia."

"Mom, Santana. Santana, my mother," I introduced them, narrowing my eyes at my mother.

"Pleasure." Santana extended her hand, but my mother ignored it and walked past her.

"David, look who finally decided to show up." She went to stand next to my father who was adjusting the cufflinks on his jacket.