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“Okay, you know what, Laura? How about we lay off the snarky comments and enjoy this time together, as a family, okay?” He hands me a glass of wine. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
If only.
* * *
“And how is Leon?” I ask as I serve dinner: portobello mushroom ragout with polenta, a recipe I found that I believed satisfied Bronwyn’s dietary requirements. “I’m sorry he couldn’t make this trip.”
“He’s very well,” she says, looking dubiously at the mess on her plate. “He works too hard. I keep telling him that, but it makes no difference.” She sighs. “He’s the best plastic surgeon in the country, so you can imagine, everybody wants him. Everybody. All the time.”
“Mama works very hard too,” Charlie says. I catch Jack flinch from the corner of my eye.
“Only because I’m busy with the new exhibition,” I say quickly.
Bronwyn looks at Charlie, her lips into a thin smile. “Mama?”
Charlie nods, looks at me.
“But her name is Laura, sweetheart. That’s what you should call her.”
I laugh. I’m so nervous, I sound like a hyena. “That’s what she likes to call me. Don’t you, sweetie? I…” I was going to say,I love it, actually,but of course Bronwyn knows that. That’s the point. “And you’re Mommy! Of course you are! I mean, obviously you are!” I laugh again, sort of. I really need to calm down, and I shove my empty glass at Jack so he can fill it up.
Bronwyn raises an eyebrow at me and gives me a quick nod. “Of course. So, tell us about this exhibition you’re working on,Laura.”
“Well…” And I tell her about the Museum of Lost and Found. Or I try to, but it comes out all wrong, like I’ve lost the thread of my own exhibition. When I finish, no one says anything. Bronwyn lifts a forkful of polenta which slops between the prongs and right back onto her plate. She frowns at it.
“I don’t know what went wrong,” I say. “Normally it comes out fine,” I lie.
“I don’t understand,” Bronwyn says. “You want people to send some broken umbrella they found in the back of a taxi?”
I laugh. “Not exactly, it’s hard to explain in a few minutes—”
“And these…things sell, do they?” she asks, looking dubious.
“We’re not selling those works. We got state funding to develop the exhibition, and to tour it, involving local communities to contribute artworks. It will welcome new objects and new stories when it’s on the road.” She’s still looking at me expectantly, like there should be more, surely. “So yes, it’s a departure for us. We got a significant art grant to put the show together, and the touring, and it will bring us new audiences, raise the profile of the gallery significantly.” I choose to finish with that. “So, what are your plans, Bronwyn? While you’re here?”
“Well, Charlotte and I are going shopping for clothes first thing tomorrow! Aren’t we, Charlotte?” Charlie nods, frowns at her food. I’d offered to make her something different—Mac ‘n’ cheese, usually a no-brainer—but she wanted the same meal as Mommy.
“I think you need new clothes. And a new haircut to go with them. What do you say, Charlotte?”
Charlotte nods enthusiastically.
“What does that mean, she needs new clothes?” I ask, forcing a smile.
She cocks her head at me, smiles. “I know how busy you are, it’s hard to find the time to shop for clothes, and it’s expensive too. You’re not very fashion-conscious, Laura, you never have been, and that’s totally fine. That’s you. But Charlotte’s wardrobe…”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing!” She laughs. “Oh Laura, I’m sorry. I forget how sensitive you are. I didn’t mean anything by that.” She smooths one eyebrow with the tip of her finger. “How can I put this?” She thinks about it for a second. “I had a look in her closet, and I think, and please don’t bite my head off, but I think her clothes are a little on the tomboy side.”
“No, they’re not. It’s a style, and it’s what she likes. She’s old enough to wear what she likes.”
“She’s not a tomboy, Laura.”
“Right!” I say, but I’m thinking,You know this how, exactly?I smile. “She’s an adventurer.”
Bronwyn tilts her head forward and slightly to the side so that she leads with her ear, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry? She’s what?”
“An adventurer!” God. Kill me now. I have no idea how we got here so fast, but she’s managed to make me sound defensive and unhinged. “She’s Charlie the Explorer!” I say, digging myself deeper into my own grave. “She adores animals! You know that, right?” There. A little dig at her cleverly disguised as a question. I keep going. “She wants to be a vet and run an animal shelter. Was it an animal shelter, honey? Or an animal sanctuary? Anyway, she wants to be like Jack Hanna or Steve Irwin! She’d wear khaki all the time if you let her!” I laugh. Sort of.
