“My mother is the chairwoman at the hospital, and was wondering if you could paint a mural,” I said, trying to speed things up.
“A mural?”
“I know you’re busy, but if you could consider it...you have no idea how much your work means to me. Eli doesn’t really understand art, so he thought I was crazy for buying your Whispers of the East piece. It brought me to tears.”
“That’s why he called me Con Artist.” She laughed.
My mother shifted her gaze to me. “Con artist?”
She just had to bring that up. Saying nothing, I drank my coffee.
“I can’t believe you bought that.” She sat up straighter. “I was shocked when it sold, I really didn’t think anyone would understand it but me.”
“I read that you drew it after the death of your grandparents? You said it hurt to breathe for a while. I saw the date; my husband actually died a week after that, and looking at it, I understood.”
For a brief second, I saw an expression on my mother's face I hadn’t seen in over two decades…since my father died. She had always done her best to stay upbeat and happy around us. Growing up, I often wondered how she could get on so well with her life, and now it seemed like that was not the case at all.
Guinevere shifted in her seat, gripping the cappuccino. “My grandparents meant more than I could put into words. Painting that was really therapeutic for me. I’m so happy it’s found a good home. As for the mural, I will talk to my agent, and I will have to look at the space, but I would be more than happy to do it, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Truly?” My mother smiled and took her hand. “Thank you. Eli can show you the space whenever you are free.”
“What?”
Guinevere kicked my foot under the table. “Great, I’m sure we will work out a time.”
“I have to run to a meeting, but please have your people contact me on the logistics.” She stood, as did I, pulling back her chair. “Oh no, please finish your coffee, I will see you all later. Oh, and Eli, call your brother.”
“Yes, Mother.”
She waved, already on her phone. Her driver appeared at the door, holding it open for her and giving me a short nod before leading her out.
When she was gone, Guinevere fell back onto her seat and took a deep breath. Her posture completely changed, and she placed her elbows on the table.
“Why were you so nervous?” I asked.
“I always get nervous around parents, or anyone over the age of 50, really. I don’t know, I always want them to like me.”
I fought back a laugh. “Why?”
“Do you want to be the person hated by old people?”
I wasn’t even sure what to say to that, other than, “You are an odd one, Guinevere Poe.”
“Please, just call me Gwen, and do you want this? I’m allergic to coffee.”
You’re what?
“Why did you take it?”
“Your mother bought it for me, so I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Guinevere, I’m sure if you told her you couldn’t have coffee, she wouldn’t have been offended. How bad of an allergy is it?”
“I just can’t digest it and drinking it gives me a small headache sometimes or my face swells. But it’s no big deal. And just Gwen.”
But it’s no big deal?
“No,” I said, leaving a bill on the table and throwing the coffee in the trash as she followed me onto the street, her heels clicking as she caught up to me.
“Why won’t you call me Gwen?”
“Three reasons,” I answered as I walked to the corner.
“Which are?”
“One: calling you Guinevere seems to seriously bother you.” I smirked.
She smacked my shoulder as we walked across when the light changed.
“Don’t you want to know the other two?”
“I already do. You're an ass, and you’re an ass.”
Ignoring her, I continued. “Second: calling you by a nickname would mean we have a closer relationship than we do. Third: if I did, you might just fall for me, and I wouldn’t want to break your heart.”
She paused once we reached the opposite sidewalk, looked me up and down, and laughed. “Ha! That would be the day.”
“What do you mean, ‘ha’?”
“I mean what it sounds like. I mean maybe, from a distance, if I squint and you aren’t speaking, you might look attractive. But other than that, I don’t see it.”
“Yes, because you are definitely a catch, especially with the drool pouring out of your mouth this morning.”
Her eyes widened. “I do not drool!”
“I was there, and you do. Even your dog didn’t have that much saliva coming out of his mouth.” It hadn’t been that bad, but seeing the horror creep onto her face was just so amusing. She was really easy to bother.