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“If you say so, dear. Tell me more. Where are they going to get mistletoe in spring?”
Bridget shrugged. “Magazines shoot holiday features months ahead. I’m going to let them figure out the details.”
“Will Molly be in the photographs?”
Bridget permitted herself a proud smile. “Yes. If I can wrestle her into a velvet dress and hair ribbons.”
“I see. Well, congratulations. That is exciting news. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Aarghh! I can’t win with you!”
“Well, why didn’t you? Any mother would want to know.”
“Because I just found out myself. Now can we talk about something else?”
“Of course,” Margaret said. “Are you going out tonight?” She began arranging the tulips in the vase Bridget had handed her.
“Yes, with Jim,” Bridget replied. “I can arrange the flowers.”
“Okay,” her mother agreed, “I’ll wash the lettuce and the scallions.”
“There’s no need for you to do that, Mother.” Bridget was determined to stay calm. “I will.”
“But you’re going out this evening, you can’t have your hands smelling like scallions.” She turned on the cold water tap at the sink. “Where do you keep your knives, Bridget?”
Counting to ten, Bridget opened the silverware drawer and handed a paring knife to her mother. “Here you go.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you kept the knives in a separate drawer? There’s too much risk of accidentally cutting yourself when they’re with other utensils. Of course, it is your house and you’re entitled to keep them where you please.”
“Right. Thanks for helping.” The faintly caustic remark sailed right over her mother’s head.
“Jim is a good man. I like him,” Margaret Harrison continued, not missing a beat. “He’d make an excellent father for Molly. Nice-looking man, even if he is short. Dependable, and intelligent, too. He isn’t still working on that highway crew during the summers, is he?”
“Actually, he is.” Bridget tried to concentrate on the tulips. Just opened, the colorful blooms nodded on stalks that curved a little. There wasn’t anything she could do to make them prettier than they were.
“That’s such a shame. He should spend the summers furthering his education instead of doing manual labor,” was the sighing reply.
“Jim is still trying to pay for the cost of his first education,” Bridget pointed out dryly.
“Of course, I understand that,” her mother said, but Bridget doubted that she did. “But I just know that he could do so much better than teaching in our little college. I—”
“The Technical College in Randolph Center is an excellent school, Bridget said, annoyed enough to defend him.
“Yes, but Jim could do better. With an advanced degree, I’m sure he could be a professor some day in some Ivy League college. Hmm … maybe Princeton or Dartmouth. It would be so much better for you and Molly.”
Just what it took to make a career move like that, not to mention the difficulty of getting academic tenure, wasn’t worth explaining to someone who wouldn’t listen anyway. “Isn’t anybody good enough for me as they are?” Bridget demanded, thoroughly irritated by her mother’s constant meddling. “Do you have to keep trying to change people and mold them into what you think they should be?”
“I am not trying to interfere.” Margaret Harrison looked sincerely stunned by the accusation. “Your father and I only want what’s best for you.”
“Don’t bring Dad into it,” Bridget protested, “I have a feeling he only thinks and says what you tell him.” She regretted the words the moment she said them, but her mother could be impossible.
Sure enough, Margaret Harrison fixed her with a steely glare. “Bridget, you know very well we talk things oyer—”
“Until he finally agrees with what you decide.” Bridget turned away. She was losing her temper, and it was pointless.
“We always think about what would be best for you. And that includes the men you see. We want you to have the best, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Her mother smiled. “Molly is going to be a teenager soon enough. Kids grow up so quickly these days—too quickly.”
Bridget braced herself for a lecture on that subject. Fortunately or not, her mother returned to the general subject of ingratitude. “You’ll find out for yourself what your father and I went through with you. Speaking of Molly, where is she? Out riding?”
