Page 16 of Embrace Me

“I heard your voice,” she says, “so how could I resist? And I assumed you wouldn’t mind. I’m your mother, after all, and I—”

“Excuse me!” Marge’s sharp voice rings out down the hall. I hear footsteps, then see the woman herself in the doorway, looking more harried than usual. She shoots me an apologetic look, then scowls at my mother. “Ma’am, I asked you to wait in the reception area.”

She turns her attention back to me, shaking her head. “Ms. Fairchild, I’m so sorry. This woman said that she was your mother, and I asked her to wait. I was bringing Bree’s mother back, and we stopped at the ladies room. I intended to tell you she was here and ask if you wanted me to check her driver’s license, but now—”

I hold up a hand, seeing how frazzled she is. Beside her, Bree’s mother slips into the room, shooting me an apologetic glance as she goes to Bree’s side, then holds her daughter’s hand.

“It’s okay, Marge,” I say. “Believe me. I know how hard it is to control my mother.” I shoot a glare towards my mother, then look back at Marge again. “Really. It’s fine. You can go back to the front. I’ll buzz you if I need anything.”

Marge looks like she’s about to argue, but then she turns and disappears down the hall, but not before narrowing her eyes at my mother. Marge rules the reception area with a firm hand, and anyone who breaks those rules is immediately on her bad side.

My mother straightens her back and sniffs, paying no attention to Marge, her eyes only on me. “I’m your mother, Nichole. I should have certain privileges.”

“It’s Nikki,” I say, plastering on my most polite smile. “And you have no privileges at all.” I’m certain she expects me not to draw attention to our estrangement. That is how a polite young lady would behave, after all.

Of course, she’s wrong. I glance over at Bree and her mother, holding hands in familial solidarity. I don’t have that. And I will never have that, not with Elizabeth Fairchild, anyway. But just seeing them together, makes me more empowered. More certain of the relationship I want with my own children.

I roll my shoulders back, look my mother in the eyes, and say very clearly, “I need you to leave.”

Instead of snapping out a criticism, she surprises me by dipping her eyes down, as if in remorse or apology. When she lifts her head, I can’t read my mother’s face. It’s as smooth as glass. “I’m sorry to get off on the wrong foot,” she says simply. “The truth is I came because I wanted to thank you.”

I shift my weight, feeling unbalanced and ungainly, and not just because of the pregnancy.

“I know that when we last met, I wasn’t the woman I should have been. I wasn’t the mother you needed or the grandmother I could be.” She’s been holding a shopping bag, and now she sets it on the ground between us, as if presenting some sort of gift to a monarch.

“These are for your little girls. And I would love to sit down and have the chance to talk with you. To see them. You’ve done so much for me, you and your husband. The house, the bank account. I know I never said how much I appreciate it, but of course I do. And I would very much like to meet the girls.”

I draw a breath, trying to stay calm. Her voice sounds so even, so reasonable. And yet I don’t trust it. I can’t trust it.

But oh, God, I want to trust it….

“No.”

I practically bark the word, the sound surprising me as much as her. I reach out for my desk, suddenly unsteady on my feet, and I’m not sure if it’s because of my mother’s presence or lightheadedness because of my pregnancy.

I take a step backwards and sit in the chair. Bree and her mother are still standing on the other side of my desk, and I see Bree’s brow furrow, concern painted on her face. On her mother’s as well.

My mother’s face remains unreadable.

“Please,” my mother says. “I’m in town with a friend from Dallas, but I will make whatever time you want for me. I so very much want to ease back into your life. I know I made mistakes, Nichole. I was so scared of being poor when I was younger, and the truth is I’m so grateful to you and to Damien for everything you’ve done for me.”

She looks toward Bree and smiles. “I’m so glad you’ve built friendships here in Los Angeles. That you have a good life now. And perhaps I should just leave you to it, but well, the truth is that I’m a grandmother now. I never thought I would be, but I am. And I would really like to learn how to be a good one.”

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or to cry. If I want to pull her into a hug or push her hard away. All my life, she’s been a manipulative bitch, and I can’t believe that she’s changed so quickly. And yet….

And yet, she’s saying all the right things.

I need time, I know that. I need time to think. To not react rashly. To not push her away because of all the horrible years between us, and to not pull her close because she puts on a good show.

I close my eyes, and I count to three. And when I open them again, I feel stronger. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but no.”

I expect her temper. I expect her to tell me I’m the ungrateful little bitch I’ve always been. Instead, she inclines her head, and says, very softly, “I understand.”

And then to my surprise, she turns and leaves.

Chapter Nine

“No way,” Jamie says, her voice coming through Coop’s sound system loud and clear. “No way in hell is your mother sincere. Not unless she had a personality transplant, and the last time I flipped through the pages of a medical journal, that still wasn’t something they could do.”