The Boy She Bought for Twenty Thousand

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Ten years ago, Kayla Vance was fighting with her ex on the street when she kicked over the egg stall I had set up along the curb.

"I could marry any poor kid selling eggs on the roadside and still be a hundred times better off than with you!"

Right there she pulled out a bank card and slapped it down on my stall board. "Twenty thousand. Be my boyfriend."

And just like that, I went from the poor kid selling eggs to the boyfriend of Kayla Vance, high-society heiress.

For ten years everyone called me "the egg boy she bought for twenty grand."

I clawed my way through an online degree earned through self-study, worked project after project, got up at four every morning to drill English, all so that one day I could stand at Kayla's side with my head held high.

On the tenth anniversary of that day, Wilfred Swanson came back from abroad and put together a gathering.

A few rounds of drinks in, he pulled two thousand dollars out of his bag and threw it down at my feet, grinning.

"Twenty grand back then, and now you're not even worth two thousand, are you? This is to wipe my shoes clean."

The whole room roared with laughter.

I looked up at Kayla. She held her glass, the corner of her mouth curving.

"He's been spoiled all these years. He wouldn't stoop to two thousand anymore."

As she spoke she slid a card out of her pocket and tossed it out.

"Take this card, go wipe his shoes for him. Charge whatever you want."

I watched the card slide down slowly and land against the toe of my shoe, and all at once I saw exactly where I had stood these ten years.

...

"Nathaniel Stewart, don't just stand there. The money's yours already."

Wilfred sat with one leg crossed over the other, the tip of his shoe tapping the back of my hand.

Two thousand dollars lay scattered across the carpet, a wide spread of red and pink.

"Wilfred tells you to wipe them, so wipe them. It's not like you've never done it."

"Back when you sold eggs at the night market you crouched by the curb too. You know the drill."

Laughter flooded the whole room.

I stood under the crystal chandelier still holding the fruit plate, wearing a shirt I'd bought new for the first time today, having practiced my smile three times in front of the mirror before leaving.

I'd told myself this was Kayla's gathering, that I had to hold steady, had to be worthy of standing beside her.

Ten years. Hadn't I gritted through all of it so that one day, when I stood next to her, no one would say that line anymore, "bought for twenty grand"?

And in the end, in everyone's eyes, all I had done was turn twenty thousand into more twenties thousand.

I spoke, keeping my voice as level as I could. "I won't."

Wilfred raised an eyebrow and turned to Kayla.

"Kayla, your pretty little boy's grown a temper."

Kayla sat dead center on the sofa and gave me one look, the exact same look she'd had at the night market ten years ago.

From above, careless.

"Then give him something else to do," she said. "Have him mix me a drink."

My fingers curled into my palm.

Ten years. I knew she loved her liquor, so I'd learned it for her.

That first year I couldn't even tell vodka from whiskey, crawling out of bed in the middle of the night to page through cocktail books, my fingers frostbitten by ice more times than I could count.

But every time I brought a drink over, her first words were always the same. "How much? What do you want now?"

She always thought I was fishing for a reward.

Wilfred clapped and laughed. "Not bad! Mixing drinks! Looks like it really is worth more than two grand!"

He jerked his chin toward the bar. "So mix an eggnog, huh? That's your specialty. Egg boy and an egg drink. Perfect match."

Kayla spoke up. "Wilfred."

His grin faded a little. "What, feeling sorry for him?"

"Leave the eggs out of it."

Kayla set down her glass and leaned forward. "He stopped selling eggs a long time ago."

My heart stuttered hard.

Then came her next line. "Mixing drinks pays a lot better than selling eggs now, right?"

The room went quiet for a second.

Someone laughed first, and then it spread into one wave.

Wilfred doubled over laughing, poking her arm with a finger. "Kayla, you're vicious!"

I stood frozen where I was, the laughter surging in from every side, rising to my chest, pouring down my throat.

She lifted her glass and took another sip, not even raising her eyes.

"Aren't you the one who loves mixing drinks? What, not enough? How many more twenties thousand do you want? Just say it. When have I, Kayla Vance, ever shorted you?"

Watching the curve of her throat as she tipped her head back to drink, I suddenly understood—

every dawn I'd gritted through, every wound that cracked open in the cold, every jeer I'd swallowed, all of it, in her eyes, could be converted into a price.

I let out a small laugh.

Then I grabbed my bag, turned, and pushed the door open.

Behind me someone scoffed. "Oh, he really did storm off in a huff?"

"Who's he acting all high and mighty for? Didn't he come running back himself for twenty grand back then?"

"Miss Vance, aren't you going to do something? Your man ran off."

She said nothing. I heard the sound of the glass being set back down on the coffee table.

I didn't look back. I didn't stop until I reached the elevator, where I leaned my back against the doors and tipped my head up, the tears sliding slowly into my hair.

Kayla really believed I'd learned to mix drinks for the money.