“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”
She actually did though. It was annoying and inspirational at the same time. Her white-blonde hair was tucked into a bun low on her nape, makeup minimal and on point, beige linen dress classic and somehow with nary a wrinkle in it. I didn’t know how she always managed to look so effortlessly chic. Even when dressed for a black-tie event she somehow looked natural and at ease in a gown that cost as much as my rental car.
“Where’s Cal?” I asked, gazing around the spotless living room that looked out over the water.
“He was tinkering in the garage,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. Liliana Flynn didn’t roll her eyes, but one could hear the roll in her tone of voice. “He’ll be up shortly. Tea?”
We drank tea and then dinner was served. A salad made from vegetables in the garden my stepfather lovingly tended to, grilled chicken, and freshly baked bread (for me and Cal). For dessert we had a small scoop of lemon sorbet garnished with a mint leaf and a single raspberry, served in crystal parfait glasses with small silver spoons.
Life with my mother had always been like this. Perfect. Clean. Quiet. And masking a dozen or more issues one didn’t talk about because to do so was unsavory. I’d always hated it. It wasn’t me. It was a falsehood just asking to be stripped away to reveal the messy underbelly. How many times as a kid had I fought back? How many times had my pushing and arguing failed? Lillian Flynn didn’t and wouldn’t react. Her life was a façade and she was perfectly happy living with her mask firmly in place. Which had made her the perfect model. She lived the notion of being someone she wasn’t… until that’s exactly who she was. And while I had tried it myself, it turns out it wasn’t for me. And that realization was what had led me to where I was now: wanting out.
While we ate, I could feel my mother’s eyes on me. Her restraint was impressive, but I could feel the pull of her desire to comment. Cal must’ve said something before my arrival to stop her. Perhaps he mentioned I might visit more if she weren’t so critical.
I hadn’t known if they’d been aware I’d been in town twice recently. Not until she called the day before I was heading back to Seattle to see Addie and asked when I’d be returning. I figured she’d either lowered her usual standards and checked out my Instagram page, or someone in her circle had casually mentioned seeing my pictures. Lying was futile. So I’d promised to stop by.
“What’s next on the docket?” she asked me as our dishes were cleared and a pitcher of white wine sangria was brought out. I raised an eyebrow at Cal and he suppressed a grin, turning his head so as not to let his wife see him trying not to laugh. A simple glass of wine was her standard. Anything more fun was a telltale sign she was trying to keep from being her usual too-uptight self. Unfortunately, her use of the word ‘docket’ indicated the alcohol had arrived a moment too late.
“A Vogue shoot,” I said.
“For?” The tension in her voice could’ve been cut with one of her fancy rose gold-handled steak knives. I wanted to ask, does it matter? It was Vogue. But to her it did. She was modeling royalty. And she wanted her only child, who was part of her legacy, to be dressed only in the best.
“Daniela Rossi,” I said, taking a large sip of my sangria. “You probably haven’t heard of her. She’s new to the?—”
“Of course I’ve heard of her.” She sniffed delicately as if I’d offended her knowledge. “I actually quite like her work. Delicate, but with an edge.”
I almost laughed out loud. I could feel what she wasn’t saying. She was imagining herself as a good fit for Daniela’s clothes. I would not be the one to inform her that, for once, I was the better fit, because I understood and exuded delicacy, and she was always all edges.
“Cover?” she asked.
I quietly sighed. “Yes, and a ten-page spread.”
At that she looked up, her icy blue gaze meeting my eyes straight on. Was that… was she impressed?
“Ten pages?” she asked. “Well, she’s certainly proved something with Anna.”
Of course. She wasn’t impressed with me landing such a coveted number of Vogue pages… she was impressed with Daniela. As she should be, but still.
“Congratulations,” Cal said, leaning forward and patting my hand.
“Thanks,” I said. I could always count on him to give me credit. My mother waved a hand though, dismissing my accomplishment.
“Of course she got it. Look who her mother is.”
I downed my drink and pushed back from the table.
“Hate to cut this short.” I didn’t. “But I have to get back.”
“How is Addie?” my mother asked. “Did she get the flowers we sent? I don’t recall seeing a thank you card.”
“Probably because she could’ve died and was concentrating on not being dead,” I said, leaning over to air kiss her cheek.
Cal stood and gave me one of his warm, bear-like hugs. As always, it soothed the sharp edges of the visit. I hugged him back, letting my shoulders drop and eyes close for a moment. If not for him, I’d no longer have parents at all. I’d have cut off communication long ago. It was an unspoken understanding we both acknowledged through this simple form of affection.
“Walk you out?” he asked, letting me go and taking the only warmth to grace this house with him.
“Yes, please,” I said. “See ya, ma.”
She blinked at my casual use of words, clearly trying to decide if she should acknowledge them or not, then waved a limp hand my way and topped off her glass.
