But then Mrs. Francis asked for my opinion with regards to a few things. Those few things turned out to be dinnerware, silverware, crystal, linen, and a ridiculous amount more. Rachel sent over a sales specialist (not Selah thankfully) along with a bevy of people to carry things back and forth from the vans parked downstairs. A household of this size apparently requires a lot of shit.
And I don’t ask for prices and nobody offers the information either. So there.
Beck must not have an opinion regarding any of it or he would have remembered it was happening in the first place. One of these days, when he yet again fails to warn me about something, I’m going to slap the boy right upside his handsome face. Or not so accidentally kick him in his sleep.
I’m helping Mrs. Francis with unpacking all the boxes when my mother arrives. Mom is tall with long gray hair pulled back in a braid. In all honesty, she’s sort of a mix of suburban mom and hippie. Worn leather boots, jeans, and a plum-colored twinset. She’s staring in either horror or wonder at the vast array of luxury homewares spread across every available surface. Maybe a mix of both.
“Hi,” I say, pasting a smile on my face. “You’re here. I thought you were going to text me your flight details so I could pick you up?”
Nothing from her.
“Mom?”
Her gaze moves to me. “It was fine, honey. A nice man from that hotel you were staying at drove me over. What is all this? Do you live here now?”
“Yes, we just moved. I’m choosing some things for the house. It came with furniture, but there’s still a lot we need apparently.” So much stuff. It’s overwhelming. And now Mom is here. This day isn’t going well.
Smith gives me a nod once it’s obvious the woman is who she said she is, most likely isn’t a hostile threat (at least physically), and I’m okay with her being here. Then he confers with Mrs. Francis before heading for the stairs with my mother’s carry-on suitcase.
“It’s great to see you,” I say. Still in stunned mode, she doesn’t react to me kissing her cheek. “Mom, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Francis. Mrs. Francis, this is my mother, Heather.”
Mrs. Francis smiles in welcome. “Mrs. Lawrence, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello.” Mom’s voice is faint. Even worse, she looks at me as if I’m a stranger. Like I’ve grown a second head or tentacles or something. A bit unfair considering I didn’t even dress up today. My hair is in a low-slung ponytail and my makeup is minimal. I’m wearing skinny blue jeans, a flowing white silk blouse with long sleeves by Veronica Beard that makes me feel like I’m a heroine in a book from the fifties (though I’ve already managed to spill a drop of coffee on the front), and blue point-toe Iriza Half d’Orsay Louboutin flats. With the diamond stud earrings, of course.
All right. So maybe I look a little different. But I’m still light years away from being Real Housewives material. I smile. “Beck has gone to Boulder, but he should be back soon.”
Meanwhile, two gentlemen carry in what looks to be crystal ice buckets. How beyond extra. The sales specialist, Toya, spreads out a selection of linen napkins. My mother’s frown deepens with the arrival of every new luxury. This is so fucking awkward.
“Can I get anyone a drink or something to eat, perhaps?” asks Mrs. Francis. God bless the woman.
“Mom?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Why don’t we give you and your mother a moment alone to catch up?” Mrs. Francis ushers everyone out of the room apart from my mother and me.
“I haven’t joined a cult,” I say. “But I have discovered what a salad fork is. Useful information, that.”
Mom pulls out a dining chair and flops onto it like a ragdoll.
“How was your flight?”
“What on earth is going on here?” she asks, her brows arched high. “Who are you? What happened to my daughter?”
“Now that’s harsh.”
“Look at you!”
“I thought I looked nice.”
“You don’t even look like yourself anymore,” says Mom, voice rising in volume.
“You’d be amazed what a keratin treatment can do.” I pull out the seat beside her and sit down. “Mom, please, just calm down.”
“This place…it’s insane. I never…”
“Can’t you be happy that I’m happy?” I snap, losing my cool. “Because I am, you know?”
She stops and stares at me. At least there’s less horror in her eyes this time, more questioning. The lines of tension bracketing her mouth ease a little.
“I love this house. It’s crazy, don’t get me wrong. But I love it and this city too.”
“Alice.” The amount of judgment she manages to pack into one little word is impressive.
“As for the NDA, they just want to make sure no one attacks their family in the press or anything. It’s honestly not a big deal.” I take a breath. “As happy as I am to see you, I don’t need saving.”
She sighs.
“I chose these clothes, Mom. Along with the hair and the shoes and all the other stuff,” I say. “But most of all, I chose him. And I chose him before I knew he had a black AMEX or had bought me so much as a bunch of flowers.”
“Honey…”
“If Beck and I had to live together with no money back in that shitty little shoebox of an apartment in LA then that would be fine with me. It’s true we’ve only known each other a few weeks and this is all moving fast. And it’s true that I’ve been hurt before. But, Mom, that’s not what’s happening here.”
She sighs one more time. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I really am.”
She reaches for my hand.
“I know that you love me and you worry about me,” I say. “Thank you for that. But you need to ease up a little.”
At this, she sniffles. “You look so grown up.”
“I’ll still need your help now and then.” I smile. “For instance, right now, I’d dearly love for someone to help me choose a gravy ladle and canapé knives.”
She gives me a glum smile. The woman is beyond unhappy and not even vaguely convinced. And I was so pleased with my speech too. However, Mom still looks vexed. “But aren’t you lonely here without your family and friends? Moving halfway across the country like this with no warning.”
Which is when Selah walks in, looking around the room with a faint frown on her face. Like she smells something bad. However, she meets the criteria of being both human and breathing so she’ll have to do. I know it’s a mistake before the words are even out of my mouth. Talk about making bad choices.
“Actually, Mom,” I announce. “You can meet one of my new friends right now.”
Selah freezes.
“Selah, what perfect timing. Come and meet my mother.”
The petite brunette socialite’s face changes from disenchantment to delight so fast it almost gives me whiplash. Fortunate, though, since I had no idea if she’d play along. “Hello.”
“You’re a friend of Alice’s?” asks my mother. And sure, the woman in question is polished perfection, but there’s no need for Mom to sound quite so skeptical.