She pulled out several options for lingerie that she said would work on Chloe. I picked one that was made from a soft velvet and had a furry white trim.
"She'll love it!" the clerk said and wrapped it up for me.
I hoped so. I was starting to second-guess the purchase. Maybe I should have bought her some baking tools. But then maybe that would imply that I just wanted her to cook for me, and while that was true, that wasn't all I wanted her for.
The subway was down, again, and traffic was backed up. I could walk faster than the cars were moving. People were hurrying against the cold, but it made me feel energetic. It was cleansing, purifying.
"Buying that for a special lady?" someone asked. "Do I see grandchildren in my future?"
My heart sank. I spun around, and another walker cursed at me for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Get lost!" I yelled at him and faced the woman I despised perhaps more than Hartleigh—my mother, Diane.
"What do you want?" I asked cautiously.
"I want to see my son!" she said. "You never call, you never write."
I could feel my blood pressure spike. "After everything you did to us," I hissed, "how dare you try and talk to me?"
"Mrs. Henderson's daughter-in-law just had a baby," my mother said, oblivious as usual to my anger. She was a scientist who liked facts and figures and seemed not to have any real emotion. Oh, she tried; she could play the part well enough to fool colleagues and the neighbors, but I had lived with her and my father for years, and there was nothing behind that façade.
"Did you know that there are approximately 2.7 million grandparents acting as the main caregivers for the grandchildren? Isn't that wild? I can't wait for you to give me grandchildren." She patted the box. "I'm glad to see you're working on it. We should have Christmas dinner like the old days. You can invite my future daughter-in-law."
"We will never have Christmas together," I said flatly. "Especially not after what you did to Belle. You basically stole her life because you were too selfish to be a real mother."
"Quality time with grandkids while they're children improves mental health of grandparents, according to one study," my mother chattered. "That's how I want my old age to be—surrounded by a big, happy family."
"Then you should have been a better mother," I growled. It was as if she didn't even hear me!
"That’s why your father and I had six of you, so we could have a big family!" she continued as if I'd never said a word.
"You never raised us!" I said loudly.
"We did a wonderful job with you!" she said, finally seeming to listen.
"No," I said. "No, you didn't."
"You're a billionaire, all of you went to Harvard. Except Belle, of course, which is a shame." She shook her head.
I was seething. "You can't claim that! You never spent a cent on our education! Belle was the one—" I was yelling now. People were staring, and in New York City, you knew you were acting crazy if people were bothering to stop and turn their attention to you.
I forced myself to relax.I am cold. I am ice, I am unfeeling. This interaction means nothing to me.
"I have to go, Mom," I said and turned to walk quickly away from her.
Hartleigh was waiting for me in the lobby.
"Oooh! Did you buy a present?"
I ignored her.
"Maybe we can do something special tonight?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.
"I'm busy. I have a meeting."
The drunk Santa knocked on the window, and I let him inside. Once she realized what I was doing, Hartleigh scowled and went back upstairs. The drunk Santa didn't seem quite so out of it today. It was still early, though.
"Hey," I said to him, "do you want a job?"
