The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,48

rebellion caved at the sign of my mother’s disapproval. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s been...a week.”

The aroma of a delicious meal didn’t greet me as I expected, but the smell of lemon furniture polish almost knocked me out. I walked into the kitchen and saw a bowl of chicken salad next to a small plate of croissants. I peered closely at the chicken salad and turned to my mother. “Is that from Costco?”

“Of course not.”

I opened the trash can and pulled out the plastic container. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s as good as what I would have made, and my sciatica has been acting up. Something you would know if you ever called.”

“You lied to me.”

“Since when did you become a food snob, Sophia?”

“It’s not about the chicken salad. It’s about you manipulating me to come over here for a conversation we could have had over the phone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She waved her hand towards the paper plates next to our feast. “Make yourself a sandwich.”

“Could you please just say what you want to say?”

“Really, Sophia. Why are you so combative?”

I put my hand on my forehead. The Brenda Headache was coming on strong. I couldn’t wait until the meeting. I needed to call Todd, my sponsor, as soon as I walked out the door. I sighed in resignation. “I’ve seen Nora four times since she’s been back. Charlie’s invited her to dinner Friday night, along with his campaign staff, so there’s no need to worry about us being alone.” I turned away to hide the smile that bloomed on my face at the thought of my mother’s reaction to what I was doing in my car five minutes ago.

“A dinner party?”

“No, fajitas on paper plates.”

“Sophia Elizabeth, I taught you better than that.”

“I can’t believe the woman who is serving me Costco chicken salad is giving me shit about using paper plates.” I picked up her paper plates and waved them at her.

“Your language is vile and insulting.” She sniffed and continued with her original harangue. “Charlie’s campaign staff are from Washington, aren’t they? You can’t serve dinner on paper plates.”

“Yes, I can. It will reinforce Charlie’s down-home bona fides. He’s even going to grill the meat. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow like the common man politician he’ll be.”

“You should take off work that day so you can give the right impression.”

“Which right impression are you talking about? That I’m a subservient wife?”

“You say it as if it’s a dirty word.”

I lifted my eyes to the sky. I couldn’t believe I left work for this conversation.

“I’ll come over and help.”

“Absolutely not. I’ll serve the fajitas on real plates. Are you happy now?”

My mother pursed her lips and shook her head side to side very slightly. Brenda Russell had aged well, with few wrinkles on her sixty-year-old face. The glaring exception being the fine lines around her mouth, born of years of puckering disapproval at any idea or action at odds with her ideas of propriety or morality. My urge to needle her was at war with the exhaustion of always being wrong.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

I dry swallowed two Excedrin from the bottle I’d stashed in the medicine cabinet in preparation of the Brenda Headache I always got when I visited. I put the toilet lid down and sat in my childhood bathroom, which I realized now had always looked like the bathroom of a sixty-year-old woman with its gold-and-beige-striped wallpaper, oak cabinet topped with ecru-colored granite. Even the picture on the wall was shades of cream, gold and brown, blending into the wall rather than standing apart from it.

I hated this bathroom.

I thought of Logan’s bathroom and how I’d let her make every decision when it came time to decorate it. Watching her bite her lip and tap into her creativity as she deliberated over shower curtains, paint colors and tiles was one of my favorite memories. I expected the result to be a monstrosity of pink and orange and white and was pleasantly surprised when it turned out so well. I would have loved it regardless because of the pride and joy on my fourteen-year-old daughter’s face when she saw it completed.

Our relationship went south not too long after. I’d been one of the lucky moms; Logan hadn’t turned into a typical teenage girl when she hit thirteen. Unfortunately, she did at fifteen, and we were at the lowest point of our relationship when I’d been arrested for a DUI and turned into

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