My eyes shoot wide. "No, Mom. Richard's at work," I mutter.
"Oh." She frowns, eyes on the robe to the point I check if my lingerie peeks out. I think it doesn't? Then she sighs dreamily. "That man. Does he ever rest?"
I fake a laugh and do what any self-respecting daughter does in a crisis: Turn around and text Ben behind her back.
Me:Mom just showed up. I'm sorry. I'll text you when I'm done. Pray for me.
Meanwhile, Mom walks around our house and offers her best critiques.
The curtains? Too sheer. The countertop? Apparently, it's a petri dish. I should clean daily because everyone knows dust leads to asthma.
I just keep nodding absentmindedly. Believe it or not, thisis her mellow.
It's kind of funny, if you squint, but mostly sick. The day I became Mrs. Lawson, my mother started treating me better, like I'd finally done something right in my life, or like landing a rich husband had redeemed the rest.
She sits on the barstool while I stand by the fridge, hoping that could save me, but now it's my hair.
She points at it. "Why are you curling it like this? I told you a million times that straight hair looks more polished. The curls make your cheeks full."
"I didn't curl it. I just didn't straighten it. Plus, I was born with this hair." I look pointedly at her blow to make her realize my waves are inherited from her, but I know she'll never admit anything is her fault.
At least, over the years, I've learned the trick. If I want her to stop dissecting me, all I have to do is redirect to her.
"How's the boutique?"
Boom. Like magic.
She smooths her skirt and smiles brightly. "Thriving. Thanks to Elaine, we've got women driving in from all over the coast. High-end clientele only. I've really elevated the place."
Mom gifted Richard's mother three custom dresses, of better quality than the rest. Not because she wanted Elaine to wear them to the charity luncheons, but because she's generous, pure of heart. Definitely not strategic.
"Call Rich," she says suddenly. "Tell him I'm here."
I frown. "I don't call him to work. He's always busy."
"He can make time for his favorite mother-in-law," shecounters. Then, a sugar-coated cyanide order: "Call him."
I suck in air. That tone makes my nerves bristle, but I don't want to argue, so I sigh and dial.
Please be in a meeting. Please be in a meeting.
Second ring and Richard picks up, voice slightly worried. "Em? What's up? Everything's fine?"
Goddammit.
Before I can answer, Mom yanks the phone out of my hand.
"Hello, my golden boy!" she sings and tosses me a look, like I should take notes on her maternal seduction.
I drag my hands over my face to cover my eye roll.
She calls him her golden boy not only because he's blond and bankable, but because men like Richard are precious and rare.
And by the way, they don't go for girls like me, so I should worship the ground he walks on. Polish it, just to make sure he stays.
"I am here. Haven't seen you in so long... Oh yes, come for lunch! Make one Foster happy today, will you?" Her eyes run over my robe again. "I think Em was expecting you anyway... Wonderful, see you soon!"Click.
She leans over the counter. "Are these fresh?" She means the tray with Ben's indecent cannoli.
