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Alice
I’ve never been to the ocean before. But if I ever went and was then unfortunate enough to be caught in the undertow, I think the feeling would be comparable to spending the day with Emily Elizabeth Moore.
‘I only got a few things when I was here this morning.’ Emily speaks to me as she holds up yet another item of clothing worth more than my smartphone while I sink lower behind a rack of leather coats. ‘Some fun stuff for Mary. You know, dress up things.’ Finding some flaw in the clothes, Emily shakes her head and hangs it back up. ‘So it’s great you mentioned needing your laptop. Now we can get a few more things.’
While Brian drove us to my apartment, I made the mistake of checking my email on my phone and mumbling about wishing I had my laptop. Not only are the new marketing department hires starting tomorrow, but I got a confirmation email that the lights Thomas approved are being delivered as well.
Seeing as I’m not sure if I can go to work tomorrow since I have Mary, I thought getting some work done today would be helpful. What is not helpful is Emily’s insistence that she and Mary accompany me to the store since we were ‘already out’.
I check my phone for the millionth time – still no response from Thomas to my many texts and calls to both give him a heads up and ask him if he has any ideas on how to contain Emily once we arrive.
Mary skips over, her princess heels clacking. She’s come to Moore’s in full royal regalia. After putting on the ‘fun stuff’ that Emily brought to Thomas’s this morning, she hasn’t taken it off. ‘Is there a bookstore in here? I wanted to read Prince a story.’
And by Prince, she means His Royal Highness Michael Hunt, who is being led around on a lavender velvet ribbon leash while dressed in his finest purple cashmere hoodie sweater, the hood folded back in such a way that it looks like a cape.
Mary and Mike are living their best lives this morning.
‘Of course, dear!’ Emily brightens as if the thought of spending more money is an excellent idea. ‘Why don’t we head there after your aunt finally agrees to let me purchase a few things.’
Mary smiles. ‘Thanks, Queenie!’
And by Queenie, Mary means Mrs Moore. After Brian drove us over to my apartment so I could pack some more things to take to Thomas’s, Mary and Emily had a discussion in the town car about the differences between princesses and queens. Most of which I didn’t pay attention to as I was busy trying and failing to come up with a reason for both of them to wait in the car while I grabbed my computer.
Despite my recently caffeinated brain power, the discussion between my niece and my boss’s mother concluded with Mary calling Mrs Moore Queenie and Mrs Moore exclaiming how much she loved her new nickname all while directing Brian to Moore’s main entrance while I open and closed my mouth like a fish caught in the proverbial undertow.
‘Mrs M—I mean Emily, you don’t need to buy Mary any books.’ I’d only conceded on the items Emily brought with her to Thomas’s house this morning because Mary does need clothes. I only have an extra nightgown at my apartment and as we don’t know which shelter Kayla has moved them into, I can’t get any of Mary’s things.
True, she doesn’t need designer clothes, but I’m focusing on battles I might have a small chance of winning. Obviously the battle of returning to Thomas’s instead of going to Moore’s was not one of them.
‘You can’t honestly argue about books, can you?’ Mrs Moore weaves through the racks of clothes toward the dressing rooms, following in Mary and Mike’s wake. ‘You should always encourage reading in children.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I follow, nearly knocking over a mannequin in the process. ‘But Mary has a library card. I can take her there this weekend.’ Shifting sideways, I turn my back on the sales counter as I pass a saleswoman on her phone.
She’s been hovering around and asking if she can be of assistance since we ascended the escalator. Her name is Brynn. And while she and I have had multiple conversations over the past few months about the various displays in the women’s department, she has failed to recognize me. I hadn’t thought I was so forgettable.
I’m both hurt and grateful.
Earlier, I’d been right – it had been a Chanel blazer in the bag Mrs Moore gifted me.
And against my better judgment, I’m wearing it. My acceptance of Emily’s morning gifts was the price for her silence on her eldest son’s marriage.
I had to make up reasons like ‘I didn’t want to be treated differently by my co-workers’ and ‘Thomas and I want to tell everyone ourselves.’ I felt like the worst kind of temporary daughter-in-law, lying to her while standing in my new designer outfit. In the end, though, she agreed. So I guess the pretense was worth it?
Worth. Just thinking of the monetary and emotional cost makes my blazer feel as if it’s made from acrylic instead of delicate, hand-cut strands of white, blue, lavender and peach tweed, bouclé and silk woven together in an iconic fashion statement I never, not in a million-ca-trillion years, ever thought I’d wear.
Added to the blazer were rag & bone straight-legged jeans, Tori Burch flats, a Laguna Smith long-sleeve cashmere underwire bodysuit and last-minute hairstyling and make-up application by one Ms Emily Moore.
Emily stops and turns, her emerald studs flashing under the recessed lights – an unusual and yet perfect complement to the silk turquoise blouse she’s wearing with wide-leg cream wool trousers. ‘Why can’t we do both?’
‘Both?’ Lost in my thoughts, it takes me a minute to remember what she’s talking about. ‘Oh, the books.’
‘Yes. I’ll buy her a few books now to tide her over until the weekend. It’s only Monday, after all.’ Emily waves Brynn over.
Brynn speed-walks toward us in her Moore’s black blazer and pencil skirt uniform. ‘Yes, Mrs Moore?’
Emily gestures to me. ‘She’s ready to try things on.’
