“And why do you have a crystal ball?” I said, pointing to the glass monstrosity mounted on a pewter base smack-dab in the middle of the table. “And a plastic skull?”
My mother closed her eyes and placed her fingertips on her temples. “I’m sensing that you are a little grumpy.” She then peeked one eye open to see if I had gotten her joke.
I frowned.
“What?” she asked, getting up and twirling around. She was wearing a gold hip scarf with coins dangling from the seams. She had been really into belly dancing for a while. I was pretty thankful I had missed that stage. “You don’t like it?”
“Mom, stop moving. You know I can’t talk to you while you’re dancing.”
She dropped her arms. “I think the room is perfect.”
“Every room in this house is perfect.” I had to admit, though, with the fireplace going and lamplight, it was pretty cozy in a wealthy Victorian kind of way. It also had nice dark wood paneling, some leather armchairs, and an audibly ticking clock on the mantelpiece. “And it’s hard to say whether I like this or not given that I don’t know exactly what this is.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious.”
I waited.
“I’m tonight’s entertainment.”
“No. No,” I said, pointing at the door. “There’s a jazz band in the other room. I heard them warming up. They’re the enter—”
“They’re the background entertainment,” she said, once again spinning in a circle and letting the many folds of her skirt fly. “I’m the main event.”
I took a deep breath. My mother and I had always had somewhat of a reverse parent-child relationship. She flung herself headlong into things without really giving much thought about how they might affect her, her business, or other people, and I basically just worried. But I had been trying to let a lot of that go because my worrying never really stopped her from doing anything. Ever. “Mom, seriously, stop spinning. Does Matthew know you’re the main event? Did he agree to this?”
“Well, it’s not just his party. It’s the Otter Lake Historical Society’s party, of which I’m a member.” She placed a hand on her chest and curtsied. God knows why.
That was true. The event tonight wasn’t just a New Year’s party, it was a thank-you party put on by the Historical Society to show their appreciation to all of the volunteers who had helped put on the Winter Carnival.
I gently lowered Stanley to the floor then slid him toward the fireplace with my foot. He looked like he might be cold. “Since when have you been a member of the Historical Society?”
“Since Mrs. Watson asked if I would be interested in telling people’s fortunes for the New Year. That woman makes wonderful fruit cordials.” She leaned over the table and smiled. “And yes, Matthew agreed to this. He thought it would be cute.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He was drinking the cordials too?” It wouldn’t be the first time Mrs. Watson had manipulated Matthew with her sweet liquors.
“Darling,” she said with a big smile, “we were all drinking the cordials.”
I sighed.
“You should try one. I think she’s got some samples at the martini bar.”
“Mom, since when are you a fortune-teller?”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s all in good fun,” she said, half twirling around a chair before she caught herself mid-spin. “And you know I’ve always considered myself to be a little bit psychic.”
I took a long, deep breath. In the past, this was exactly the type of thing that would have had me really worried. I mean, my mother ran a spiritual retreat for women. Her wheelhouse was probing into her guest’s deepest fears and insecurities. She’d probably have half the room in tears by midnight with her predictions … probably diagnose a few with adrenal fatigue too—she was also really into naturopathy … but that was none of my concern. Healthy boundaries. That’s what adults practiced. “Well, it’s not my party. I mean, you can do whatever you want. Just maybe keep things light and fun. And don’t fake any accents, okay?”
“Vat accent should I vake?”
“Oh God.” I put my hand over my eyes. “Please stop.”
“I’m kidding! Of course I’m not going to fake an accent. That is so insensitive.”
Not sure what that made the turban.
“And I didn’t ask you in here to get your permission.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to anticipate what possible turn this conversation would take next … and coming up empty. “Why did you ask me in here?”
“To get you to ask Freddie for his blessing.” She sat back in her chair and folded her hands on the table. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Why would he be offended?” Oh wait … uh-oh. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen the issue the minute I walked in here. For a while, Freddie had worked as an online psychic. In fact, I was pretty sure he prided himself on being Otter Lake’s one and only psychic. And while I was also pretty sure that he wouldn’t have wanted to spend tonight doling out fortunes—pretty sure, not entirely sure—he would have expected to have at least been asked. “Why didn’t Mrs. Watson go to Freddie first?”
“Well … there was that unpleasantness between them a couple of years back.”
The next logical question would have been, What unpleasantness? But I just didn’t have it in me.
I sighed. “You couldn’t have chosen a worse night for this. Freddie’s already in a mood because of Stanley.”
“So this is him?” my mother said, looking at the floor. “He’s adorable.” She didn’t come over to pet him though. She saved all her love for evil cats. “It’s so strange to think of Freddie with another dog.”
“Yeah, and it’s bringing up a lot of stuff for him.”
“All the more reason for you to talk to him about this.” She swirled her hand around the room.
“You know what? I’m really sorry,” I said, “but I think I’m staying out of this one. You guys made this decision. You have to own it.”
“I understand, darling,” she said, nodding and then adjusting her turban. “I really do. But Mrs. Watson just asked me to talk to you because, well, so many people have worked so hard to make tonight happen.” She sighed heavily as she stroked her crystal ball. “And she was worried that Freddie might make a scene.”
“Come on, when has Freddie ever made a—” I couldn’t say it. Some lies are too big to come back from. “I’m really sorry, but you should know by now that I can’t stop Freddie from doing anything.”
“Fine. Okay,” my mother said, arranging her bracelets. “Then maybe you could just steer him away from this side of the house?”
I shook my head. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything,” I said, scooping up Stanley.
She sighed. “Well, I’m sorry we felt we needed to bring this up. I know this is already such a difficult night for you.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked. “This is not a difficult night.” Well, maybe it was a little more difficult than it had been just moments ago, but still, I wouldn’t say difficult. “I love New Year’s and—”
“And Grady Forrester is coming.”
She always said his full name like he was still an eleven-year-old boy.
“No, Mom, it’s—” It was too late. That’s what it was. My mother had flown across the room in an instant and had me clutched in a bear hug. Stanley grumbled as I spat out the strands of curly brown lemon-grass-scented hair covering my face. “Mom, seriously,” I said, pulling back from her. “I’m fine with Grady being here.”
The absolute last thing I needed tonight was my mother getting all worked up about Grady. Because, really, nothing tells your ex-boyfriend that you are totally cool postbreakup better than your mom yelling at him in front of the entire town. “Things just didn’t work out between us. It happens. He’s allowed to date other people.” Sounded reasonable in my mind.
“I hate him.”
Guess not in hers. This was my fault. I had shared too many of the details from when Grady and I broke up last spring. She took great exception to the fact that Grady had refused to talk our issues through and had just started dating Candace. Come to think of it, I took a bit of an exception to that too.
“He has caused nothing but heartache in your life—”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa,” I said, stepping back. “Let me stop you right there.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I’m fine.”
She just kept on staring at me.
“Really. I am. You don’t need to worry. I’m looking forward to the new year.”
Huh. Funny. Her look was the exact same one Rhonda and Freddie had given me earlier.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really.”
Suddenly she smiled. “It was that retreat I gave a few weeks ago, wasn’t it? Be Your Own Best Boyfriend?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to nod, but it came out a little wobbly. “That was a big help.”
“Well, good. I’m proud of you.”
“Me too,” I said, readjusting Stanley in my arms. “Okay, so I’m going to go.” I jerked a thumb back at the door. “But, good luck with all this.”
“Thank you, Erica,” my mother said, eyes twinkling.
I slid the door on its track and walked out into the party.
Maybe there was still time to go back to Freddie’s and find some game shows on TV.
I sighed and scratched Stanley’s ear. No. No. While all these new developments were a little stressful, I was going to have a good time tonight. And really, I had handled that situation with my mother pretty well. I mean, yes, I was a little worried about how Freddie might take the fortune-telling news given his current mood, but I couldn’t take that on. I wasn’t responsible for his feelings. My job was to simply support him through all those feelings. I frowned. Where had I heard that? Maybe it had been from the Be Your Own Best Boyfriend retreat. Whatever. It felt right. Mature. Adult.
I was still perturbed about the whole threatening-letters thing though. I really needed to talk to Freddie about it. If nothing else, it might distract him from all of his dog troubles.
“What do you think, Stanley?” I said, looking down at the furry monster in my arms. “Should we go talk to your daddy? Oh, there he is. I see him.”
I hustled across the marble floor as quickly as I could clutching a dog and wearing strappy heels. Freddie was in the middle of talking to a group of people, but I figured it was worth interrupting. “Fred—”
I suddenly cut myself short.
And much to my surprise, spun on my heel in a full one eighty, and hurried back in the opposite direction.
Mrs. Watson’s information could wait for a little bit.
Freddie was busy talking to people.
People I wasn’t necessarily ready to see.
Candace and Grady–type people.