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He walks away, his dress shoes clicking on the Italian Marble floor. I breathe in the scents of honeysuckle and Peonies from the flower arrangement in the center of our table and adjust my tufted leather seat so that the sunlight isn’t in my eyes.
I don’t know why this swanky restaurant is Hilloria’s favorite place to eat. The meat is undercooked, they don’t serve enough food to feed a toddler, and they charge enough to feed a city in a third-world country. If this is where Hilloria wants to meet, and if it makes my ex-stepmother happy, I’ll do it. Especially since I’ll likely never see her again after today.
I check the time. She’s thirty minutes late. Typical.
I’ll give her another fifteen, and then leave. I don’t have time for these games anymore.
Except, I do have time for these games. I’ve sold the house, and received my portion of Dad's life insurance. I have no children, no job, and no Ryan. I have nothing but time on my hands and absolutely no idea what I’m going to do with myself now.
The smell of Hilloria’s signature perfume floats through the air and reaches my nose first, tickling it with a unique blend of amber, rose, Mahogany, and saffron.
I clasp my hands in my lap to keep from itching my nose, then I raise my chin and force a smile. Hilloria comes into view wearing wide flared and pleated silk pants that flutter as she walks, a matching silk shirt, massive black sunglasses, and a scowl that makes Victoria Beckham look like a giddy schoolgirl.
“Hilloria, I’m glad you made it.” I incline my head upward as she bends down and presses our cheeks together.
“I see you’ve been eating your feelings,” she says as she straightens, looking down her nose at me.
I stifle a sigh. “Please, have a seat. The server will be by in a few minutes.”
Hilloria drops her massive ten thousand dollar purse on the chair next to her, sits, then snaps her finger at the nearest employee. When the blonde busser locks eyes with her, Hilloria says, “I’d like a carafe of French water, and a Ramos Gin Fizz.”
“Right away,” the busser says, then scurries off toward the kitchen.
I watch the busser disappear behind the swinging door. Does this restaurant actually possess French water, or do they pour something from the tap and call it good?
Hilloria crosses her legs, tilts her head, and folds her manicured hands in her lap. She doesn’t acknowledge the menu on the table in front of her. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral, Carrie. How are you holding up?”
“As good as can be expected,” I say, sipping my water.
The gentleman server returns with Hilloria’s drinks, placing them in front of my stepmother. “Are you lovely ladies ready to order? Or would you like more time?”
I wait for Hilloria to go first. As the matriarch of the family, it’s understood that she always goes first. And she called the shots when Dad was sick.
She stares at me as she says, “I’ll have the Gargouillou de Jeunes Légume, but without the flageolet beans and with elvish rose honey on the side.” She raises a brow, indicating it’s my turn to order.
I look up at the server and smile. “I’ll have the eggs benedict, please.”
He nods and then quickly slips away.
Hilloria rolls her eyes in disgust and shakes her head. “Carrie. How many times have I told you that eggs benedict has way too much fat and calories for a woman with your bone structure? Honestly, don’t you care about your appearance at all? Look at your outfit. Why don’t you put some effort into yourself? I don’t know how you got married in the first place. I certainly understand why you're divorced.”
Gritting my teeth, I take a long, deep breath through my nose. If I play my cards right, I will never have to see this hag again.
I lift my hand and catch the waiter’s attention. He returns to our table. “Would you like to add to your order?”
I flash him a dazzling smile. “Actually, I would. Can I double my eggs benedict, please? I’m feeling especially hungry, and they are to die for here.”
He raises his brow and grins. “My, aren’t we simply sinful today? I will gladly add them to your order. They’ll be up in a few short moments.”
With that, he disappears again.
I turn my attention back to Hilloria. Her pale look of disdain is replaced with bright red splotches and an expression that makes me think she’d fillet me alive if she didn’t think she’d get the blood on her designer shoes.
I lift my glass and sip my water, staring back at her for the first time since we met several years ago. So many times I’ve wanted to tell her what to do with her comments, but Dad always placated me, or guilted me into saying nothing. Now Dad isn’t here, and I have nothing to lose.
After taking one long pull of water from my glass, nearly emptying the glass in one breath–something that also gets her teeth grinding–I set my glass down. “I invited you to breakfast because I have something to discuss with you.”
Hilloria puckers her lips and looks away. "Obviously."
