My palms are flat on the slick leather bench, and I wish I could fist the material to keep myself from wanting to rip the cloth from the table.
I should have known something was up when my mother suggested this restaurant. It is the very first fancy restaurant she took me to when we moved to the city and the restaurant she took me to before she moved back to California. I thought she’d selected it tonight because she knew how much I loved the Waldorf Salad and Onion Soup Gratinee.
Talk about wrong.
It was totally more of a comfort thing.
“Honey,” she reaches for my hand, “don’t look like it’s the end of the world.”
“You’re never moving back to California?” I ask, just to clarify.
Yeah, that little revelation came after the one that Cam is closing the women’s division of Simon Warren. The same one my mother runs, or ran, I suppose.
She gives my hand a little squeeze. “Never is a long time, Maggie, but for now, I’m going to stay here in the city.”
I take a swig of my wine, more than ready for a shot of something much stronger, and set the glass down a little sternly. “Tell Cam to demote Keen and give you his job. You’re more experienced.”
She gives me a raised brow. “Margaret Elizabeth.”
I lift my chin, although I can feel my lip wobbling. She never calls me that. “Mom, why not? You’ve been with Simon Warren since the doors opened. Cam can’t can you just like that.”
Okay, so I do feel slightly bad for running over Keen with a bus, but in my mood right now it could have been a tractor-trailer.
My mother sets her knife down on her plate and pushes it aside. The steak only half eaten. The potatoes untouched. “Camden did not can me. I will be transitioning to the corporate level and continue to work for him in a consulting capacity.”
I’m in the middle of punching my salad with a fork until it submits to being eaten, when I jerk my head up in surprise. “Then why aren’t you moving back to West Hollywood?”
Her entire being changes. Everything about her lights up. “Maggie, I met someone. His name is Winston Trust and we’re in love.”
I jump to my feet and rush around the table to hug her. “Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”
She squeezes me tightly. “I wanted to tell you in person, about everything.”
I squeeze her right back. “What does he do?”
“He’s an international diamond broker.”
“Oh my God, diamonds! When do I get to meet him?”
“Soon, very soon.”
I pull back. “You’re in love. Really?”
She nods, and a slight blush coats her cheeks. I’ve never seen my mother blush.
The waiter returns to our table and I scurry to get out of his way. Once we tell him we are done and the check is taken care of, I look over to my mother. “Have you ever been in love before?”
She waves a hand. “Oh Maggie, I’m an old lady. It’s not like I’m drawing X’s and O’s all over the pad of paper at my desk.”
Picking up a clean knife in front of me, I find myself doing just that. XOXO, I spell out and then look up. “First of all, you are not old. And second, that doesn’t answer my question.”
Her smile fades. “I was in love with your father, and after how badly that ended, I never thought I’d be able to love again.”
Visions of those damned white horses blind my sight for a moment. But that’s my sorrow, not hers. I refocus. There’s a deep sadness in my heart and a happiness at the same time, so I focus on that. “So tell me, when exactly do I get to meet this Winston of yours?”
Role reversal is so fun.
She puts her napkin on the table. “Tomorrow night. Bring Keen over to my apartment.”
“You’re not coming to the hotel for drinks?”
Bending over, she puts her purse in her lap and digs around in it. “Winston is waiting for me, and I don’t want to be too late.” Then she looks up. “I hope you don’t mind?”
I wave a hand. “No, not at all.”
“I’ll have my driver drop you at your hotel,” she says, standing up and smoothing her skirt.
I stand too. “You know what, Mom, I think I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”
“You sure? It’s cold.”
I nod and glance down at my phone on the table, at the text Keen sent me a while ago.
The one I refuse to answer.
Maggie
Peacock Alley is such a gem.
While I sip on my whiskey at the bar in the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, I consider getting a room at this hotel. It’s just that the whole moving-my-things-from-the-W-to-here seems like a real pain in the ass.
Sure, I wouldn’t get to see Keen’s clean-shaven face, which by the way is just as hot as his unshaven look. And I wouldn’t get to gawk at his gray slim-fit three-piece suit that looks every bit as hot as those jeans he wore last night. Still, neither is why I don’t change hotels.