Chill out.
Remember your morning yoga meditations—all is well, and I am calm.
I press the receiver to my ear. “Mom, I know thatSex and the Cityis finally streaming. And I will get to it, I promise.”
Skylar snorts, not at all delicately. It’s like a full-bodied snort, and it’s…kind of cute. Because it’s so…bold.
“Darling, I tried calling you. You didn’t answer. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is always okay. You don’t page me in the middle of hockey games. Why are you paging me now?”
“Of course I don’t page you in the middle of hockey games. I know you’re busy then. But right now, you were supposed to be available for our video chat, so naturally, I was concerned. I also have a lunch in a little bit, and Ididn’t want to miss the opportunity. We probably have to switch back to your cell phone though. Did you know you can’t really do video conferencing on landlines?”
I drop my forehead in my hand. “Yes, Mom, I am aware. I will call you back.”
When I end the call, Skylar shoots me anI’ve got thislook. “Want me to show her around?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say, but I’m crossing my fingers. I hope Mom likes her style. She’s been critical of other designers, but I want a win for Skylar.
“Oh, I heard the warning loud and clear,” she says as we retrace our steps. I hit Mom’s name on the phone, then hand it to Skylar as it rings, mouthing, “good luck.”
When my mother answers on video, Skylar flashes her the same determined smile she gave me when she showed up on my front porch with those kale dog biscuits that Zamboni turned up her snout at.
“You must be Skylar,” Mom says, effortlessly professional, temporarily hiding her dragon self. “So lovely to meet you.”
“And you. Also, I’m so glad you called. Ford was getting far too distracted by the billiards table,” Skylar says.
“Seriously?” I mutter, shooting her ahow could you throw me under the buslook.
But Skylar doesn’t even acknowledge me.
“Oh no, I like mid-century, not man cave. He’d better not be looking at moose heads.”
“You have my word, Mrs. Devon. I will never decorate with death…or man cave,” Skylar says.
“Call me Maggie,” Mom says, with a smile just for the designer.
“Maggie,” Skylar echoes. “May I show you the couch I have in mind?”
“Please do,” Mom says, and Skylar guides her through the store to the chocolate brown couch.
“Here you go,” Skylar says, voice bright and hopeful as she spins the phone around, giving Mom a tour of the sofa.
My muscles are tight. I’m bracing for Mom’s reaction.
She’s silent. For a long,longtime. So long it makes my skin feel itchy. Time to sell it to her. I grab the phone and flip it back around as I sit on the couch. “It’s comfortable, Mom.”
Her face is stern, and she sighs—the deep, aggrieved sigh only a mother can deliver. “I despise it.”
Skylar blinks. Steps back, out of view of the screen. Saysohquietly, low enough that Mom can’t hear.
Things were going so well, I doubt she saw the smackdown coming.
“Mom, what is wrong with it? It’s…” I cast about for a word, landing only on, “nice.” Because what else is there to say about a couch?
Mom gives me a look like I should know better. “Ford, I detest brown. Did you not tell Skylar?”
“You don’t like brown?”
