What Mother Never Told Me by Donna Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

were good old best girlfriends and led her toward Mira’s, a bistro where students from Columbia University hung out between classes.
    The heavy glass-and-wood door swooshed closed behind them, securing them in a warm vacuum. Voices buzzed and forks clinked against plates at tables populated by bespectacled and studious types mixed in with those who wandered the halls of ivy simply because they could afford to do so.
    The air held the aroma of well-done burgers and fries drowned in ketchup, and there were conversations of politics, unreasonable professors, ski junkets to Aspen, celebrity falls from grace and dreams of summer.
    “Stay or go?” a worn-out-looking waitress asked.
    “Staying,” Celeste said.
    “Right this way.” She led them around the table to a vacant two-seater in the rear, giving them a bird’s-eye view of the comings and goings.
    Parris and Celeste shrugged out of their coats and settled into their seats.
    The reluctant hostess placed two plastic-coated menus in front of them. “Someone will take your orders shortly.”
    Celeste leaned across the table, her voice a pseudo whisper. “The food is much better than the service. I promise. I used to come here when I was an undergrad. Not much has changed.” She opened her menu.
    “You attended Columbia?”
    Celeste nodded. “Yep. Class of ’02. Barely,” she added with a wink.
    “I sense there’s a story behind that.” Parris checked out the menu while waiting for Celeste’s response.
    “Let’s just say that my stay at Columbia was checkered at best. I could have been a good student but I didn’t need to be. My parents paid for one of the libraries, the Shaw Research Center.”
    Parris’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
    “Hmm. So needless to say many of my professors turned a blind eye to my barely passing grades and missing reports, excessive absences…”
    Parris’s sense of perfect pitch registered that the cavalier statement held undertones of melancholy and possibly regret. She angled her head to the side. “Why, Celeste? I mean, so many people would love the chance to go to a university like Columbia.”
    Celeste sighed and put down the menu that separated them. “I’ve asked myself that question a million times.” She raised and lowered her shoulders while slowly shaking her head, the combination an outward display of her inner confusion.
    “Any answers?”
    “What can I get you ladies?” the waitress asked, cutting off Celeste’s response.
    “The burgers are the best,” Celeste recommended.
    “Fine. I’ll have mine medium well with cheddar cheese and a side of fries.”
    “Make that two.”
    The waitress picked up the menus with a promise that the wait would not be long.
    Parris turned her attention back to Celeste, curious about this woman who had so much and couldn’t care less. She didn’t want to believe that she was like so many that floated through life on a pass and on the backs of those who were truly deserving.
    “Tell me why an obviously rich kid is skulking around in depressed neighborhoods peddling property when you could be doing a million other things?” Parris asked, sensing that she wasn’t going to get an answer to her first question.
    Celeste reached for the comfort of her purse. “I wanted to do something meaningful.”
    Parris arched a brow of doubt. “Then why not work in a shelter, or travel to the Sudan, or build a school or something?”
    Celeste huffed. “I do what I do because it makes my parents cringe.” She laughed.
    “What? You’re kidding.”
    “No. Not at all.” She took a long swallow from her glass of lukewarm water. She glanced at Parris above the rim. “What?”
    “Are they that bad?” She couldn’t imagine herself doing something intentionally spiteful to upset Cora or David.
    “My parents are the poster children for ‘upper crust.’ Their entire world revolves around appearances and protocol,” she said with disgust.
    Parris leaned back. “But you benefit from all