Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Tony had brought the car down to the helipad to pick us up, and Mom raised her eyebrows.
“Did you want to pull that suitcase all the way to the house?” I asked her, and she didn’t have a retort for that.
“Ms. Scaife. Ms. Scaife,” Tony greeted us with his usual cheer. Then, he composed his expression and said to Mom, “I’m sorry for your recent troubles, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t ma’am me.” Mom held out her hand. “I’m not fancy like these two. Rebecca is fine.”
“Sure thing, Rebecca.” Tony opened our door and we got in while he put the suitcase in the trunk.
“I hope you’re nice to all these people who wait on you,” Mom warned.
I felt a headache forming behind my eyes. “Of course we are. We’re not assholes.”
Tony pulled up in front of the main entrance, and Mom’s eyes boggled. “This place is even fancier than it looked from the air.” She took her suitcase from Tony and asked, “Do I tip you?”
“No, ma’am.” He corrected himself, “No, Rebecca. Your daughter and son-in-law pay me very well. I even have dental and vision in my benefits package. And I get to live near the ocean.”
I smiled to myself. He’d either somehow overheard her remark, or he was the most observant chauffeur in the world.
I’d expected Neil to be waiting for us, but when we stepped into the foyer, he was nowhere to be found. Mom walked around, staring up into the windowed octagonal cupola that rose over our heads.
“Do you want a tour of the place?” I asked, still a little tender from our tense flight.
She was my mom. She couldn’t disappoint me with her attitude any further. “I’m sorry. You just shocked me again. Of course I want to see your home.”
We left her bag behind, and I took her around the ground floor, from the kitchen—“You could run a catering business out of here!”—to the den and my office loft above it. I showed her the ground floor bedrooms and Neil’s study, the dining room, the TV room, and our bedroom.
“Neil even got my tub from the old apartment,” I gushed when I showed her the bathroom.
I was taking her down to see the hot tub and sauna, and we met Neil as he came out of the gym. He wore a sweat-soaked gray t-shirt and knee-length basketball shorts. His exhausted expression brightened when he saw us. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”
“We didn’t have to wait for baggage claim. Mom did carry-on,” I quipped as Neil took my mother’s hand and kissed the air beside her cheek.
“Rebecca, so good to see you again.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry, darling, I need to shower and make myself presentable before lunch. Can you give me thirty minutes?”
“Go. Mom and I have catching up to do,” I assured him.
“He looks younger,” Mom said after he was gone.
“It was the beard. Thank god he shaved it. I hated it.” I rolled my eyes. “Plus, he’s on this health kick. He’s working out like crazy. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just an explanation.”
“Well, it probably wouldn’t hurt for you to get on that health kick,” Mom said sagely. “You know, when you hit thirty, this is all going to fall apart. Thirty is when I got fat. And you’re going to want to fit into your wedding dress.”
Oh. This was going so much better than I had expected.
* * * *
Neil’s fifty-first birthday party was nowhere near as big as his fiftieth, but the occasion wouldn’t go unmarked. In addition to myself, Mom, Michael and Emma, we’d invited Rudy, Valerie, Holli, Deja, Ian and Gena, as well as other assorted people from Neil’s social circle. Only thirty in all, but still a bigger birthday party than my mom was used to.
“Are you sure they don’t need any help?” she asked me for the millionth time as she nervously watched the caterers carrying their gleaming steel chafing dishes from the kitchen to the buffet set up in the dining room.
“They get paid to do this, Mom. Trust me, they know what they’re doing.” I smoothed the already taut front of my hot pink Herve Leger Sarai bandage dress.
Mom reached over to futz with my straps. “I don’t know why you need to wear something so…tight.”
I rolled my eyes and brushed her hand away. “Because it’s my fiancé’s birthday party tonight, and I want to look hot for him.”
I did look hot, too. I’d done shimmery white eyeshadow and a long swoop of liquid eyeliner like a vintage Barbie. My hair cascaded in Rita Hayworth curls over my shoulders, and my lips were so shiny with petal pink gloss Neil would ache to taste them.
I think Mom would have preferred a nun’s habit.
I wriggled my toes in my pale nude Louboutins as I checked the clock over the stove. “Okay, Mom, let’s get out of their way and let them do their thing.”