Astrid froze. Isabel knew exactly who she was. “Jordan Everwood.”
“And why is the woman you’re technically working for in your house dressed like she’s at a slumber party?”
This was not how she envisioned this conversation going. Granted, she hadn’t really envisioned it at all. She knew she’d eventually come out to her mother as... as whatever she was, but she hadn’t thought about the logistics yet. She hadn’t had time. She and Jordan were just starting out. Between the inn and this weekend that had left her in a complete daze, she hadn’t factored her mother into her queerness quite yet.
She wasn’t ready for this moment.
But it was here nonetheless. She could lie, but then there was no way she could face Jordan if she did, no way she could face herself.
“Because we’re seeing each other,” she said before she lost her nerve.
Isabel turned around, one eyebrow raised. “Are you.”
It wasn’t a question. But with those two little words, Astrid felt like her mother had just made some sort of existential declaration.
“And you really think that’s appropriate given the current state of your business?” Isabel went on. “Your reputation in this town as a serious businesswoman?”
Astrid swallowed. “I—”
“She’s an Everwood, Astrid. You are redesigning the Everwood Inn. On national television. How do you think that will look? Do you really think you’ll attract other clients when they find out?”
“When they find out what, Mother? That I’m seeing a client or that I’m seeing a woman?”
Isabel pursed her lips. “When they find out you’re seeing the woman who’s the true designer of the Everwood project.”
Her mother’s words took a second to land, like shrapnel in slow motion.
“What?” Astrid finally managed to ask.
“You heard me, Astrid. And the horrified look on your face confirms it. I was right.”
“How... how did you—”
“I co-own Bright Designs. I have a right to know every move you make.”
“You... you have access to my design plan?”
“I’vealwayshad access to your design plans, Astrid.”
Of course Isabel had access to the cloud, the drive where Astrid stored everything for the business. When they were first starting out, Isabel had overseen every move, everything Astrid spent money on, every spreadsheet. But in the last several years, her mother hadn’t offered her input on anything, so Astrid assumed she was checked out, that she finally trusted her.
Turns out she was wrong.
She’d always been so, so wrong.
“You still check every design I create,” Astrid said quietly. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Isabel said, her tone incredulous. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you, make sure you succeed.”
Astrid nodded, but tears threatened to spill over. When Isabel put it like that, it almost sounded endearing, but all Astrid heard was that she wasn’t good enough on her own. That without Isabel’s micromanagement, she’d fail.
“Which was why,” Isabel went on, “I was extremely shocked when I looked over things today and saw a completely different design than the lovely plan I approved a few weeks ago.”
“Approved? When did you—” But Astrid cut herself off. If Isabel says nothing corrective about a design—about anything in Astrid’s life—that’s approval. Isabel Parker-Green style.
“What is going on, Astrid?” Isabel asked. “That design, which I assume you’re executing, is not yours. You’ve never in your life come up with something so... gaudy.”
Astrid’s shoulders tightened. “It’s not gaudy. It’s beautiful. It’s what the Everwood Inn needs, and I—”
