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"How about you? What's going on on your end?"
"Nothing much. I have a conference coming up. You know that one dad was always talking about?"
"Oh, right." Her voice drops a notch and I give myself a mental slap. How could I forget the particular event was one of the sore points in their marriage? Mom had to make an appearancewhere she obviously didn't fit in and came back mentally exhausted from all the fakery at the event.
I remember one of those days they had come back slamming the doors, not getting to the room before yelling at the top of their lungs.
"I'm sure you liked the attention." Mom fired at Dad, slamming her bag on the glass table.
"Oh please, you had that old man from Cranny all over you."
"Because my husband kept groveling at the feet of one old woman who was clearly enjoying sucking up all the attention in the room."
"Claire Dawson is a legend at this thing. She carries Hollywood publicity on her back. What you're seeing is people networking and not her seeking attention."
"Yeah, right. Not even the time she made a fuss about wine 'almost' splashing on her?"
"Samantha!" At the sound of my name, I snap from my slight slip into memory.
"How do you just snooze off like that in the middle of a conversation?"
"I'm sorry, Mom. Just kinda got lost in thought."
"I've been shouting your name. I thought the connection went off. Are you sure you're fine? Are you still bothered about the breakup? I thought it was just a casual thing. You didn't describe it so seriously. Are you—"
"Mom," I cut into her ramble, "I'm fine, stop worrying. I just need to get my A-game on. I need to look fabulous for the events. My ex — not sure he qualifies to be called an ex — anyways, he could be there and I can't be caught slacking."
"Hmmm. What's the mood you’re going for? Are we going for chic slut, or Devil wears Prada boss lady?"
"Mom! Chic slut? Who have you been hanging out with?"
"C'mon, isn't that what you guys call it these days?"
"We guys?"
"Young lady, stop giving me grief and let me see your wardrobe. Knowing your sense of style, we might just have to order stuff."
"Please, Mom, my wardrobe is way better than yours. You dress like Professor Umbridge."
"In her defense, she wears the prettiest of colors."
"Whatever. Anyways, I'm thinking cool colors and subtly feminine-ish."
"In other words, chic slutty."
"Mom!"
"Okay, subtle, feminine stuff. How about you add a jumpsuit for the seminar?"
"No, Mom, no jumpsuits. They're a recipe for disaster. Have you forgotten how I'm built? Nothing subtle about this body in this…" I pulled out the jumpsuit and waved it to the camera.
"Hmmm, what about straight pants and jacket, nude tones?"
"Now that’s a good option. I'll get the long cream jacket." I drop the ensemble on the bed. "These beige pants will do."
"See, now who's the best stylist?"
"Oh please, Mom. I still need to pack for a ton of other things, dinner in particular."
"Don't you worry, Momma's got you."
"Don't you have lecture notes to write or something..."
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Okay, okay, let me just prop the phone here." I go in search of a stand for her to see well and we spend the next hour picking outfits for the conference.
