Page 68 of Power Play

Her face brightened as soon as she saw me.

“There’s my girl.”

I smiled and bent to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

She caught both of my hands before I sat and looked me over with such immediate affection that guilt moved through me before she said anything else.

“You look beautiful.”

The compliment landed automatically. Then her fingers rose to the side of my hair.

“The humidity is winning near your crown again.”

My shoulders tightened while she gently smoothed a loose strand.

“I thought it looked okay.”

“It does, sweetheart.” Her smile remained warm. “We should schedule the keratin treatment before the cotillion, though. Formal photography can be terribly unforgiving.”

I sat across from her and placed my purse beside the chair.

“I kind of like it wavy.”

“So do I. It’s pretty for everyday.” She reached for the teapot waiting between us. “Your aunt hired the same photographer who did Meredith’s wedding, and he uses such sharp lighting.”

The correction disappeared inside information so smoothly I almost felt unreasonable for hearing it.

Crystal poured tea into my cup.

“I ordered the jasmine.”

“Thank you.”

“You always liked it here.”

“I do.”

She smiled, pleased that she remembered, and the guilt became heavier.

My mother remembered everything. She remembered which tea I preferred, which fabrics irritated my skin, the perfume that gave me headaches, every critique date I had ever mentioned, and the names of professors she had never met. She loved through attention so thoroughly that admitting the attention sometimes suffocated me felt cruel.

“We have eleven-thirty at Valentina’s and one-fifteen at Maison Claire,” she said while opening the menu. “Gabriella already pulled several dresses for us.”

“For the cotillion?”

“And the dinner afterward. Your father thinks the cream gown from the Foundation gala would be fine, but photographs from that night were everywhere. Repeating it this soon would look careless.”

“I liked that gown.”

“It was gorgeous on you.” She smiled. “We’ll find something better.”

A server approached, and my mother ordered sparkling water before glancing toward me.

“What are you thinking?”

I looked down at the menu.

The lemon-ricotta French toast caught my attention first. Beneath it sat eggs Benedict with roasted potatoes.