“I’m not taking your money. Besides, don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been spending your inheritance here. The surprisingly low bills barely trickled in.” She flashes me a real smile. “Tonight, I am just so grateful that I’m here with you. And that I’m not your enemy.”
“You’ve never been.”
She gives me a look that makes me roll my eyes in admission.
“Okay, fine, maybe I’ve seen you as one, but that was probably more about me than you.”
“So, we’re calling a truce to this silent war?”
“Yes,” I concede. “Truce. But it was never a war.”
“Oh, it was too.” But she winks. “But one of the smaller wars.”
After we’re both slightly boozy, she curls up in her chair and faces me with an inquisitive smile. “So…Danny?”
“What about Danny?” My shrug is useless because I’m sure that I cannot hide how I light up.
“He was such a cute kid. It’s tragic how he grew up to become so horribly unattractive, isn’t it?”
“Mom!”
“All those muscles and cheekbones. And the dimples? Ick. It must have been impossible to have him working here all summer.”
“Okay, no more vodka for you.”
“Your mother is not drunk—well, not much—or visually impaired. I saw you two when you said good-bye. You’re together, yes?”
This calls for a big gulp of my vodka. “Yes.”
“And he treats you well?”
That’s easy to answer. “Very.”
“I’m glad. He seems like a great guy.” She holds out her glass. “Guys like him are to be cherished. Hold him close and don’t let him get away.”
That’s something I can toast to.
When we’ve finished our drinks, I hope both of us can be brave. “Are you ready to walk back into this house?”
“Not at all. I’ve spent years wanting this and dreading this. Yet you’ve made me excited to see our old place. Let’s do this.”
It’s so strange to feel that my mom and I are now a team, tackling something together, but she’s asking me to help her face her fears.
The next half hour is so similar to my experience when I walk her through the transformation. The kitchen blows her away.
She whirls around and grabs on to me as she smiles and tears up.
“I know. It’s probably too much.”
“Maybe for some, yes. But foryourkitchen? It’s outstanding. It’s cozy and warm and inspiring.” She touches walls, gazes everywhere, compliments the details and design more times than I can count. “This tiny kitchen? I never thought it could feel anything but basic. You’ve proven me wrong. The colors? The textures? Callie, the tiles? Your style is something else. So bold and unique. Okay, and the mixed metals all over? It’s not something I’ve ever seen, but it’s genius. And very you.”
“Just wait until the ceiling and final light fixtures are in.”
Her joy and approval threaten to make me fall apart, so before that happens, I walk her out.
“This living room is something else.” She takes even more time than I did, walking through, touching the mantel, gasping at the framed photographs, testing out the furniture.
We walk toward the stairs with the new iron railings, and she cups her hand over her mouth as we walk up, letting her other hand slide over the sleek feel of the metal. “You’ve done extraordinary work. This house has such character.”
