clothes’ could probably feed ten of my girls for a week,” Lex said, referring to the women who temporarily lived at the crisis shelter at which she worked in San Francisco. “But since we have so little time together—and in the spirit of having a pleasant meal, of course—I will bite my tongue and say only that you look very stylish. Very fancy, big-time lawyer-y.” With that, Lex tipped her mimosa to Payton and took a sip. Cheers.
If Payton had ever wondered how she’d gotten to be so sarcastic, well, consider that question answered.
Lex looked up from her drink at Payton’s silence. “What?”
“Sorry. Now I’m having one of those ‘daughter’ moments, wondering when, exactly, I turned into my mother.”
Lex smiled. “Aw, Sis, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Because of that, I won’t point out that a cow had to die in order to make your purse.”
Payton glanced up at the ceiling. The woman went through eighteen hours of labor to give her life, she reminded herself. Drug-free.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she told her mother. She inquired about Steven and his daughters, who were around the same age as Payton and lived in Los Angeles with their husbands. Her mother talked about her work at the shelter, the circumstances that had brought in some of her newer residents, and then—in a rare expression of interest—actually asked Payton a question or two about how things were going with the firm. Payton answered in generalities, seeing no reason to go into the whole partnership issue since there wasn’t any news yet on that front. Instead, she talked about her cases, even getting a laugh out of her mother when she told her about the six-foot penis photo that was Exhibit A of her current trial.
“A six-foot penis, huh? That puts to shame any I’ve ever seen.” Lex threw Payton a sneaky look. “Although, did I ever tell you about this guy I met at Woodstock—”
Payton cut her off with a hand. “No. And you never will.” Her mother’s “free-spirit” open-door discussion policy was something she could do just fine without when sex was the topic at hand.
Lex sat back, disappointed in being unable to tell her story. “Wow—when did you get to be such a prude?”
With a shock, Payton realized what had just happened.
She had become Laney.
“I don’t think it makes me a prude just because I don’t want to hear about my mother’s back-in-the-day free-love sexual antics,” she retorted.
“Fine, we’ll talk about you instead,” Lex threw right back at her. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”
Payton had debated all weekend whether to tell her mother about the Perfect Chase. He was out of town, visiting his parents in Boston, and when he got back in that evening, he had plans with his friends, so whether to introduce him to her mother had not been an issue.
It was strange, because for once she was dating someone with whom even her mother would have trouble finding fault, yet still she hesitated to bring him up. Perhaps she just didn’t want to jinx things.
“Actually, I just started seeing someone a few weeks ago,” Payton told her mother. “You’d love him.” And as she went on, describing Chase, it struck her once again what a great guy he really was. And she—being the logical, pragmatic person she was—knew that he was one of those men that no woman should let get away, even if the timing wasn’t the greatest. Even if she was presently sidetracked with other things.
Meaning work, of course.
ON THEIR WAY out of the restaurant, Payton and her mother stopped at the coat check. The unseasonably cool weather had provided the perfect opportunity for Lex to go off on another of her diatribes about the politics and economics of global climate change. Payton nodded along distractedly—yes, yes, suppressed scientific reports; certainly, the government had undermined efforts; of course, hidden agendas over oil; indeed, the planet was headed toward imminent catastrophe—as she collected their jackets and tipped the attendant with one hand. In her other hand she held the daintily wrapped but sizable box of food her mother had insisted they take for the “unhoused” people (her mother refused to say “homeless”) that they had passed on their way into the hotel.
Payton struggled with the cumbersome box as she tried to find the other sleeve to her jacket. She reached back, groping, still feigning interest in her mother’s lecture, when—
—someone held up her jacket and gently settled it across her