“Oh, thank you.”
He held the umbrella over me as we walked toward the hotel. The second we stepped inside, the stormy weather was muffled, even though we were basically standing in a glorified gazebo. Soothing music played, all flutes and chimes. Scattered between plush white furnishings were various bronze sculptures of elephants and tigers. Candles flickered everywhere, and I had the distinct feeling that someone was about to massage me right there in that lobby.
“Good evening. Do you need to check in?” a woman behind the front desk asked me. To her credit, she gave me and my dirty jeans and sweatshirt only the quickest once-over and managed to stay polite. Who knows how many children of celebrities had rolled in here looking as ratty as me?
“I’m here as a guest of Juliana Choi,” I said.
The woman nodded. “Ah, are you the DJ for the party tonight?”
My eyes darted around. Was I beingPunk’d? “DJ? Uh, no. I’m her daughter.”
“Oh!” Her thick, sculpted eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Please excuse me. I wasn’t told there was a daughter arriving…”
“It’s a surprise,” I said, beginning to feel nervous about this whole plan.
As she typed away, I wondered about this party. Did I pick a bad night to visit? She was hiring aDJ? My anxiety mounted with every tap of her keyboard, and I was about to drop my bag on the floor and text Mãe when I heard a shriek.
“Clara?”
I turned to see my mom running toward me, her arms raised and a huge smile on her face. And like every time I saw my mom, I was startled by how pretty and young she was. Petite in height, like me, but small-boned and delicate. Her long, highlighted brown hair was wavy and artfully tousled, spilling over onto a coral crop top that she wore with matching high-waisted shorts. A long, fringed, cream-colored robe was thrown over it all, and she resembled an exotic bird.
She embraced me in a tight bear hug as soon as she reached me. “I can’tbelieveit!” she shrieked. I caught a whiff of some spicy perfume as she crushed her hair against my face.
“Surprise, Mãe,” I said, laughing at her excitement.
Clutching my arms as she stood back, she asked, “What happened? Did your dad cave as you predicted? He texted me this morning, saying you were coming, but he wouldn’t elaborate!”
I was about to answer when I realized something. “Wait, you knew I was coming?”
She pushed aside a lock of my hair and peered at my face, distracted when she answered. “Yeah, but I had no info on when you’d get here. I texted you to ask, but you didn’t respond. I would have sent a car for you, silly.” It’s true—I had told my dad my plans but had purposely left out the flight info so he wouldn’t try to catch me before I could get on the plane.
I also noticed that she said “sent a car” not “picked you up.” I guess it wasn’t surprising. My mom wasnotthe kind of person to schlep over to the airport. She paid someone to fold her laundry for her. Macrobiotic meals were delivered to her home—her refrigerator was empty save for a few cans of sparkling water and iced coffee.
She nodded at one of the bellhops in the lobby and he came over, taking my duffel bag from me. There was something ludicrous about a well-groomed young man in a polo shirt holding my ten-year-old nylon black duffel with a giant rainbow-patterned patch that said DIE on it in huge letters.
“First, let’s get you settled into your villa. It’samazing. You’re basicallyon the beach, and the whole place is done up insheepskin,” Mãe said as she clip-clopped out of the lobby in her Greek sandals. My mother excelled at speaking in italics.
I followed her and the bellhop out into a courtyard, my wet Vans squeaking on the floors. “Wait, I get my ownvilla?”
Mãe looked back at me, winking over her shoulder. “Of course, do you think I’d make you share a room with me?”
While the idea of having my own “villa” was exciting, I was surprised by the simultaneous disappointment I felt—I had imagined spending tonight with my mom cozied into a giant bed watchingReal Housewivesand ordering room service, our usual hotel combo.
Instead, we approached a little hut with a thatched roof like the rest of the hotel, petite palm trees planted around its perimeter, a hammock swaying in the wind on a closed-off balcony. The bellhop opened the door, and we entered a room that was simply but stylishly furnished—all boho textiles and sheepskins tossed over rough-hewn wood pieces. There was a canopy bed tucked into a corner by a large window, the mosquito netting pulled aside, and a small sitting area with a love seat and coffee table. Another gauzy white curtain separated the room from the small bathroom with its bamboo-and-granite sink and rain showerhead.
It was probably the nicest room I would ever sleep in.
The bellhop left after my mom tipped him, and we were alone, finally. Unexpectedly, I felt shy. But my mom plopped onto my bed and pulled out her phone. “I’m gonna Story this, okay?” Pointing the phone at herself, her chin expertly tilted at a flattering angle as she lay down on the bed with her hair spread around her, she started speaking. “Guys. I had the BEST surprise of my life!” Then suddenly her face turned to its normal expression, and I knew the camera was pointed at me.
It’s not like I wasn’t used to this—my mom had been recordingevery minute of her life for the past few years—but I still felt ambushed. I pretty much knew what I looked like—a bedraggled mop with half my makeup rubbed off. My hands flew to cover my face instinctively.
Mãe laughed and went back into selfie mode. “That’s my daughter, Clara, and she’s feelinguncharacteristicallyshy. Best surprise EVER!” The words echoed back as she watched the video a few times before uploading it. She sprang up from the bed. “So, I gotta get ready for this poolside party thing. Meet me out there in a few?”
“What poolside party thing?” I asked, already staring longingly at my bed.
Her hands fluttered dismissively. “Oh, it’s part of this whole tastemaker retreat.”
“Wait, what? What retreat?”
