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“What are you more excited about, your birthday or the panel?” He asked.
Olivia and I had been asked to present on a panel about working mothers for the Dover Chamber of Commerce. We’d recently swept our perspective “best of” categories for the Dover Gazette.
“Don’t make me pick! That’s not fair! What are you most excited about?” I asked as if Sebastian could be any more excited. The way he was acting, you would think he was winning an award. Instead, he was gunning for hype man of the year.
We heard a knock on the penthouse door.
“I’ll get it,” Sebastian said.
“Happy birthday, Becca!” My mother called from the doorway. She entered the penthouse in a cloud of gardenia-scented perfume and made a beeline for the babies.
After Ophelia and Ralph were born, my mother and I mended our relationship. She said she wanted to try and be a better grandmother, and she made good on the promise. During my early days postpartum, I was grateful to have her support and too exhausted to hold a grudge. Something about not sleeping in weeks after a major surgery humbled a person.
She scooped Ophelia out of the playpen and let her play with the necklace she was wearing. Then, she let Ophelia scoot along the floor as she grabbed Ralph.
“How are my favorite grandchildren?” She asked.
“They’re fine, just like they were yesterday when you saw them last.” At this point, I could even say she was becoming too involved.
“Becca! Yesterday wasn’t your birthday! You can’t blame me for coming over to celebrate you and with your panel.”
I paused mid-sip. “You’re coming to my panel tonight?” I asked. Now this was a surprise.
“Of course! Your father and I will be there in the front row.”
“Who told you about my panel?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Guilty.”
I shot him a look.
“It seemed like something your parents should know about! My parents will be there!”
“If the twins were on a panel, you’d want to know about it,” my mother added.
“They’re six months old!”
“The sentiment’s there.”
“I’m surprised,” I admitted.
“Speaking of surprises, open this.” My mother slid a small box across the table toward me. I opened it to reveal a thin, sterling silver choker.
“It was your grandmother’s. I found it the other day when I was going through some of her boxes,” my mother said.
Sebastian walked over and helped me fasten the chain around my neck.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you so much,” I said, and I meant it.
When Olivia and I arrived at the Dover High School auditorium, we were both in shambles.
“My nerves are shot,” Olivia hissed, running a lint roller over the skirt of her black silk dress. I chose a power suit, a blush pink silk suit with high-waisted trousers, and a sheer crop top beneath the blazer. I fiddled with my grandmother’s necklace.
“Same here,” I said. I re-did my bun for the millionth time.
“You look great,” Olivia said.
“So do you! Do you need anything?” I asked. We were sitting in what appeared to be the dressing rooms for the high school’s theater department.
