“Honey, we’re here! How cute,” I hear next, pitched lower for her audience. “I just love how darling you both are.”
What in the actual fish cakes ...My mom is here?I guess it figures that she’s already decided Oliver is the man of my dreams. She wouldn’t even come to my wedding—she hasn’t even seen us together, not that any of that would matter to her!Like attracts like, she would say.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I try not to sound accusing as I find her, my stepfather, and Oliver cozied up on the couches.
“There’s my girl!” She rounds the coffee table, her arms outstretched, though not for a real hug. Hers are more of a let’s-not-let-our-bodies-touch gesture, accompanied by a superficial peck on the cheek. On this occasion, there’s also a high-pitched squeak. “Oh, there’s a doggy here too.”
“This is Bo,” I say, redirecting his nose from her tasteful cream pants. “He’s kind of friendly.”
“Some might say a littletoofriendly,” Muffy murmurs as she edges away. I can feel her eyes running over me as I settle Bo by the chair, pulling an emergency distraction chew from my jacket pocket.
“You look well.”Wellis a pass in her book. Hell, it’s almost a compliment. “Have you been to the gym?”
Do I look like I need to?No, I decide. That wasn’t a jibe. This time.
“No, I was at work. I stopped off for a coffee with a friend on the way back.” She glances at Bo as though she’s not convinced. “When you’re a vet, bring-your-dog-to-work day can be every day.” And when you don’t want to keep annoying the chef in the hotel belonging to the man you’re in a ...whateverwith, you take him with you.
The cardinal rule of diners? Never piss off the server or the kitchen staff.
“Oh.” Her gaze drops. “It’s just leisure wear?”
It’s just that she can’t help herself.
“Activewear is the new day wear.”Mrs. Stepford.
Margret Elizabeth Hadley Winthrop—was Carrington for a while (that husband was old money but too tightfisted with it) and before that, Fairfax—is an absolute gas.Or maybe I mean that she makes me want to gas myself.She’s gorgeous in a way I’ll never be. Where I inherited my dad’s auburn cast, Mom’s hair is like liquid gold. Her delicate beauty will never fade, thanks to a host of regular tweakments. Sadly, her outdated attitude is here to stay too. I love my mom. I do. It’s just easier for us both that I love her from afar.
“So, what are you doing here?”Unannounced and uninvited—surely that’s a social sin on your antiquated planet.
“Todd surprised me with a trip to Paris.” She twists away, her hand swooping around like the host of a dating show.
Meet my stepfather, Todd Winthrop, a sixtysomething self-made millionaire and an old money try-hard. And boy does he try hard.My nerves, mostly.Despite being married to my mother for almost seven years, he hasn’t picked up on the fact that people in her set aren’t slaves to designer labels. Meanwhile, old Toddy boy is dressed from toe to toupee (or maybe hair transplant) in Loro Piana, Canali, and Cole Haan. Quiet luxury that screamsI have money!very loudly.
“Hey, Todd!” I wave, then trudge my way over to him like a dutiful stepdaughter. One not in the mood for his conceited bull. “You know, it’s still technically summer here in London,” I tease, tweaking his cashmere sweater. I bet there’s a Moncler gilet lying around here somewhere too.
“I found the weather a little cool,” he says, wiping a palm over his sullied threads. “How are you, Evelyn?”
“Just peachy.” And waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Sweetheart.” Oliver takes the pause as an opportunity to remind me he’s here with a kiss to the cheek.
“Sorry.” The smile I send his way is genuine, my heart doing its usual pitter-patter in the face of all that handsome. But I wish he wasn’t here, because these little meetings rarely end well.
“How was your day, darling?”Handsome and domesticated. What a catch.
“Busy but good.” I apologize with my eyes.Make no promisessurely included no meeting of the parents.
“How about a drink?”
“Yes, please.” Make it a bucket.
“Muffy?” Oliver turns, but she cuts him off, holding out her glass. It would be highly unfitting for my mother tohaveanother drink, but she will allow her glass to berefresheduntil the cows come home. Vodka, club soda, and a twist of lime. She swears it’s what keeps her trim and once suggested it was a tipple I shouldadopt. At the time, I felt the same about cookies.If you weren’t opening a new box, then surely one more didn’t count.I suppose the only issue with her dieting advice was I was fifteen years old at the time.
Drinks are poured, and we settle, Mom and Todd on one couch, separated by her beloved ten-year-old Birkin purse. I sit next to Oliver on the other couch, Bo at my feet, and the coffee table a line drawn between us.
“So, when are you guys off to Paris?”Please say soon.These family meets are always as comfortable as a pelvic exam.
“Tomorrow,” Todd says. “We flew into London just to see you.”
