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This is my mother. I don’t know what else to say. Everyone has a mother. And I love my mother. It’s just so… complicated… and I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be angry or frustrated. I don’t want to sound irritable with her, either. I just wish she had called me, let me know she was coming. I would have at least been… prepared.
Or at least had the chance to advise her on her wardrobe. No bright colors, loud patterns, elasticized waistbands.
No open-toe heels in shades of pink or green.
No oversize purses that don’t match anything.
And I don’t know whether it’s her bright geometric/floral/neon dress, or that she’s sitting in a chair big enough for a pro basketball player, but she looks so much smaller than I remembered. Whenwasthe last time I saw her? Memorial Day weekend? Easter?
Josh’s head suddenly appears in the doorway, his brown eyes extremely apologetic. “Sorry to interrupt, but, Holly, you’ve got a call.” He grimaces. “Olivia…”
Olivia. “Mom, I’ve got to take that call. It’s my boss—”
“That’s fine.” Mom waves grandly. “I’m in no hurry and I’ve got”—she gestures to Josh—“your friend to talk to.”
I look at Josh, smile weakly. “I’ll be right back.”
Olivia’s terse on the line. “I can’t believe you didn’t have those numbers for me.” Her voice is low, clipped, furious. “I’m in the middle of a presentation without any of the numbers I needed. I look like a damn fool!”
I feel little prickles of heat. “Can I give you something now?”
“It’s a little late.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I needed those numbers today.”
“I’ll have them for you today.”
“You’ll e-mail them out this afternoon and then follow up with a FedEx hard copy before you leave tonight. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Olivia slams the phone down in my ear, and I more slowly replace mine.
It’s going to be a long afternoon.
Returning to David’s office, I walk in on Mom regaling Josh with stories of my awkward youth. “First time in high heels and panty hose, Holly slips—”
“Mom.”
Mom ignores me. “Slips in her new heels and falls in front of the entire church congregation.” Now she looks at me. “You were fourteen?”
“Thirteen,” I say flatly, mortified.
“She put a huge hole in her panty hose and burst into tears.”
“I hurt my knee, Mom.”
“I know, but it wasn’t the grand entrance you’d hoped, was it?”
No, Mom, it wasn’t. Tripping and falling in front of three people is embarrassing, let alone in front of a hundred. I was so excited about those shoes. My first real high heels.
I’ve never forgotten that day, and I wouldn’t even remember those shoes, if I hadn’t slipped and gone down the church’s brick steps.
This had been my big moment. New, fashionably short beige skirt, suntan-colored panty hose, and heeled pumps—I was so sure everybody would look at me and think I was beautiful.
Instead old people rushed to help me while my own sister, Ashlee, laughed hysterically.
