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“Hmmm…” I mumble. She’ll hear what she wants to hear and translate that into, “You’re the BEST! I wish I was YOU! If only I was HALF AS CLEVER AS MY ENTREPENEUR MOTHER!”
“Whatarewe going to do with you?” She pauses. Even a micropause from her stretches out like an eternity, in part because they’re so rare.
“Give me a job?”
She laughs. Not kindly. I can see her eyes rolling back in her overly tight face and her smile quirking at the sides only yea much so she doesn’t develop more lines. “You want a job? With me?”
No, Mother, I would rather chew glass, but I am fresh out of options. I go for the glitter-glass voice. “Yep! With you!”
I hear the rush of breath and can just see her hand clutching at her chest as she savors her moment of triumph. She sets off talking, detailing all the wonderful opportunities she has available and how she’s happy to set me on my path.
My phone buzzes on top of the call. Another text.
TEXTLSTART_. … I’m sorry_TEXTLEND
I shoot back, fast as I can:TEXTRSTART_Not as sorry as I am, trust me_TEXTREND
TEXTLSTART_. … I wish it had gone any other way_TEXTLEND
TEXTRSTART_Trust me, gorgeous, me too_TEXTREND
“You’re going to want to do something with horses, I take it?” For once my mother is talking my language. It’s a kindness I didn’t expect. I have to at least try to meet her halfway.
“Horses are my life, mother. Polo is what makes me happier than anything else. I know it’s not what you imagined for me, but…”
She cuts me off. “I’m thinking the new training stable in Córdoba would be perfect for you. It’s top of the…”
Ugh. Argentina. One of the polo capitals of the world. But alsoMariano’sstomping ground. There’s no way I want to go there. It’s bad enough having to see him swanning around with some rich oldie without immersing myself in the place of his birth. “Maybe not Argentina, Mother. What else do you have?”
Another deep sigh the other end of the phone tells me that was a misstep. “There’s no pleasing you, Charlotte, but seeing as you ask, I’ve got openings in Aspen, Jackson Hole, and Dubai…” She doesn’t wait for me to rank them or tell her what might suit me, but barrels on, describing what each of those spa-retreat-whatever places has by way of enticement to the rich and famous.
Thankfully, Alicia is on hand, blowing up my phone with support messages.
TEXTLSTART_I made a mistake…. How can I make it up to you?_TEXTLEND
Wow! Interesting! Alicia’s ready to admit that my mother’s never really been on my side, not in anyunconditionalway?!
TEXTRSTART_Lashings and lashings of champagne and a dinner at Janitites when I’m next in the Hamptons?_TEXTREND
TEXTLSTART_... done_TEXTLEND
TEXTRSTART_I’ll have the croque monsieur and you can have the croque madame_TEXTREND
Alicia is a veggie, so getting a true gourmet experience for her is almost impossible. Our favorite diner has exactly two options for her, a cheese sandwich and a chef’s salad, “hold the chicken.”
TEXTLSTART_... anything else?_TEXTLEND
TEXTRSTART_I don’t know. Make her stop talking? Give me a job? Turn back time and make Mariano less unscrupulous? Winning lottery ticket?_TEXTREND
TEXTLSTART_. . ._TEXTLEND
TEXTLSTART_. . ._TEXTLEND
“Charlotte, are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t, but I can’t tell her that. “Perhaps England’s the safest bet right now, Mum? That way I can stay with Auntie Dot over at the Dower House and save on rent?” My mother’s sister never married and never moved away from the family seat. If my grandmother were alive, the Dower House would be hers, but when she passed, Aunt Dorothy moved in before anyone could object. And, in all honesty, why would we? She’s the loveliest person alive, even if she is madder than three bats in a cake tin. Better to have her living at the gates to the estate than some stranger. There’s zero chance anyone can get past her.
“As you wish.” The disappointment in my mother’s voice could not be any more pronounced. “When will you start?”
