“Thank you. I’m so excited. I told the girls to dress for a luau. They’re probably thinking I’ll just hand out leis. I think they’ll be surprised at how much I’ve pulled together.” She looked around and said, “Where’s Drake?”
“Kitchen—”
“Chloe, sweetheart!” Their mother hustled out of the kitchen wearing skintight cropped jeans, a snug beige tank top with ruffles under her breasts, and sky-high heels. Her blond hair framed her pretty face, and her bangs made her look younger than her fifty-two years.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mom,” Chloe said as her mother hugged her. “I got tied up with work and lost track of time.”
Drake walked out of the kitchen looking handsome as ever, pushing his fingers through his wavy dark hair. His eyes moved to Serena, a silent loving message passing between them, before he turned an amused expression to Chloe and said, “Hey, Chloe,” then mouthed, Your mother is wired.
Their mother had a tendency to get overly dramatic when she was introducing them to a man, as if she could make everything perfect with her bursts of energy. The problem was, Linda Mallery had no concept of how to be a mediocre parent, much less a perfect anything. In her eyes, the idea of perfect was catering to a man’s wishes, everyone else be damned.
“Let me look at you.” Her mother took her by the shoulders, smiling brightly.
Chloe never felt like her mother really saw her, no matter how much she pretended to look. Other mothers hung their children’s drawings on the refrigerator and kept family pictures in the living room. Their mother hadn’t done either. When Chloe and Serena were in grade school, Chloe used to hang up Serena’s drawings in her bedroom so Serena would know someone cared. When Chloe was in fifth grade, Drake’s parents, who lived around the corner, had given her an inexpensive camera. It was the biggest gift she’d ever gotten, and she’d treasured it for all she was worth. Their mother had claimed not to have enough money to buy their school pictures—probably because she’d spent it on man-seeking clothes. Chloe began taking pictures of Serena, and when her mother would leave money for them to pick up groceries, Chloe had used a little each time to develop her film. She pinned a special picture each year on the wall by the kitchen calendar. Serena had taken pictures of Chloe, too, and at Serena’s urging, she’d hung up her picture next to her sister’s. That was the year Chloe began making scrapbooks for Serena. When Serena graduated from high school, Chloe had hung a framed picture of her wearing her cap and gown on their mother’s wall in the living room. That summer Chloe found a framed picture of herself hanging beside Serena’s, and she’d thought their mother had finally taken an interest in them. But then she’d found out that Serena had hung it there, which had meant more to her than if her mother had done it, anyway. Their mother had never once mentioned any of the pinned pictures when they were younger, or the framed pictures of their graduations. But still, when Serena got married, Chloe put up a third, and last, picture on their mother’s wall. A picture of her younger sister with her new husband. Maybe it was a passive-aggressive move, but Chloe wanted her mother to see that she hadn’t held Serena back.
“You are as gorgeous as ever,” their mother exclaimed, pulling Chloe from her thoughts. “Just like your mama! Now, tell me about work. You were doing something the last time we talked, but I can’t remember what it was.”
Of course you can’t. That would take paying attention to something other than your most recent boyfriend. “I was preparing to pitch a trial for the Junior/Senior Program,” Chloe reminded her. “I just held the first orientation, and the kids are really excited. I’ve worked so—”
“That’s great!” their mother said as she fluffed the pillows on the couch. “Wait until you meet Tony. I know you’ll love him. Look.” She held out her arm, showing them a cheap silver bracelet. “Isn’t it gorgeous? He gave it to me just because.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Chloe said. “Where is he? I thought we were having brunch at ten?”
“Did I say ten? What time is it?” She rushed over to the half-empty bookshelf and pretended to straighten the piles of women’s magazines Chloe was sure dated back ten years.