“Doyou?”
“Only all the time.”
“Ha.”
“I’m serious, though,” he said. He very much wanted to hear her answer.
“I think I’m more of a facilitator of the arts than an artist myself. There is perhaps a certain art in producing, but it’s different from making something out of nothing.”
“What about acting?”
“I don’t really do it anymore. But I think acting is more of a craft. Something you can learn. I was good at it, or good enough, but it wasn’t some deep soul calling. Don’t get me wrong, I think there are some great actors for whom itisan art, their lives’ work. Those people are either completely instinctual or they’re smart as hell—academic smart, I mean. Like you.”
“So you’re never going to act again?”
“Never say never. I am not above taking an obscene amount of money for a cameo. But I like producing a lot better.”
“What about the initial pull to LA? What about loving being the center of attention at the debutante ball suggesting to you that you wanted to be a performer?”
“I think that was just immaturity. Self-centeredness.”
“Really?” He was surprised to hear that. Blair was a lot of things, but self-centered didn’t strike him as one of them.
“I’m not saying that to put myself down. It was just being a teenager.”
“Hmm.”
“Why are you asking this? What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I did call my mom the other day, after you told me I should, and she said that being my mother was the greatest honor of her life and that it had nothing to do withIn Time. It threw me for a loop.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It is, right?”
“I get it. You know your kids. And if you like them, you can fall down the rabbit hole of wondering how they turned out so well. It feels a little mystical.”
“It isn’t, though, is it?” he asked. “By which I mean, don’t you have to take the lion’s share of the credit?”
“Some of it, sure. But I also think kids make themselves. That’s probably what your mom meant. She thinks you’re amazing; she thinks you wrote an amazing book. She probably feels lucky to be your mom.”
Speaking of mothers and kids…
There was no way to make this subtle, but here was the perfect opportunity to put on his secret-agent hat. Esme thought she could just slide in and surprise her mom the day before Thanksgiving. She didn’t realize that Blair would want to be prepped on the whole feast-the-next-day front.
It did occur to him that this level of manipulation was above and beyond the call of duty.
Well, out with it. “Do you… want to do a Thanksgiving dinner?”
Blair’s face lit up. “Yes! Oh my stars, yes!”
“My intention here is not to trap you into hosting a dinner.” No, her daughter was going to accomplish that. “I’ll help.”
“I don’t need help. And it’s not a trap. It’s an excuse to do a great dinner. Tiffany is single and mad about it, so we can invite her, too. A Thanksgiving for strays.”
“The Island of Misfit Toys.”
“That’s Christmas. But the vibe is correct.” She clapped her hands in glee.
