My mom turned back to look at her as if she were speaking in tongues. ‘Well,’ she said, in such a way I knew she was holding back everything she was actually thinking, ‘won’t that be nice.’
‘Have you eaten?’ I asked her, too eagerly. I took a breath, then said more calmly, ‘There’s a really good place just a bit down the boardwalk. I can probably take off for an hour or so.’
‘Of course you can!’ Maggie said. ‘You should totally hang out with your mom. The books can wait.’
My mom eyed Maggie again, as if doubting she could recognize a book, much less read one. ‘I could use a drink, at any rate,’ she said, taking another look around the store before starting for the door. Even her stride was disapproving. ‘Lead the way.’
I glanced at Maggie, who was watching her, fascinated. ‘I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?’
‘Take your time!’ she said. ‘Really. I’m fine here alone.’
My mother snorted softly, hearing this, and then, thankfully, we were out the door, back into the rain. As soon as it swung shut behind us she said, ‘Oh, Auden. It’s even worse than I expected.’
I felt my face flush, although I wasn’t surprised she was so up front. ‘I needed a rain jacket,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t normally –’
‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘I knew any business Heidi owned would probably not be to my sensibilities. But Booty Berry? And what about those Lolita-esque swimming bottoms? Are we packaging women to look like little girls now? Or little girls to look even more so, in order to exploit their innocence? How can she be a woman, not to mention a mother, and condone this sort of thing?’
Hearing this, I relaxed, as my mother’s rants were as familiar to me as nursery rhymes. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘the fact is, she knows her market. That stuff really sells.’
‘Of course it does! But that doesn’t make it right.’ My mother sighed, opening her umbrella and raising it over her head, then offering me her arm, which I took, stepping beneath it with her. ‘And all that pink. It’s like a giant vagina in there.’
I stifled a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand.
‘But I guess that’s the point,’ she said, sighing. ‘It’s just so bothersome because it’s the most shallow, base depiction of the female experience. Sugar and spice and everything nice, peddling packaging, not substance.’
We were at the Last Chance now, where for once there was no line. ‘This is the place,’ I said, nodding at it. ‘The onion rings are to die for.’
My mother peered in the door. ‘Oh, no, no. I’ll require at least tablecloths and a wine list. Let’s keep looking.’
We ended up back at the hotel where she was staying, a small boutique place called the Condor just off the boardwalk. Its restaurant was tiny, crowded with only a few tables, and dim, heavy red curtains hanging from the windows, the carpet a matching shade. My mother settled into a booth, nodded her approval at the flickering candle on the table, and ordered a glass of cabernet from the hostess as she shed her sweater. After a pointed look, I took off Heidi’s jacket, stuffing it under my bag, out of sight.
‘So,’ she said, once her wine had arrived and she’d taken a big gulp. ‘Tell me about your father’s book. He must be done by now, ready to send it off to his agent. Has he let you read it?’
I looked down at my water glass, moving it in a circle on the table. ‘Not yet,’ I said carefully, as I knew she was looking for more than just the answer to this question. ‘He’s working day and night, though.’
‘Sounds more like writing than revising,’ she observed, picking up the menu and scanning it before setting it aside. I didn’t say anything. ‘But then, your father did always have odd work habits. Writing never came easily for him, as it does for some others.’
Right, I thought. Time for a subject change. ‘The baby’s pretty cute,’ I said. ‘She still cries a lot, though. Heidi thinks she has colic.’
‘If you think a baby has colic, it probably doesn’t,’ my mother said, taking another sip of her wine. ‘You know. With Hollis, there was no question. From the first night home, he screamed his lungs out. It lasted for three months.’
I nodded. ‘Well, Thisbe’s pretty fussy…’
‘Thisbe.’ My mother shook her head. ‘I still cannot believe that name. Your father and his delusions of grandeur. What’s the middle name? Persephone? Beatrice?’
‘Caroline.’
‘Really?’ I nodded. ‘How quaint. And unlike him.’
‘Heidi fought for it, apparently.’
‘She should have fought harder,’ my mom said. ‘It’s only a middle name, after all.’