| |
THE PAINT ON Chelsea's nose tickled, but her hands were unavailable, what with the roller in one and her cell phone in the other.
“My mother’s coming Tuesday, July 1 to Sunday, July 6,” Bobby confirmed over the phone.
Chelsea rubbed her nose against the shoulder of her t-shirt. “Hang on a second. I need to write that down.”
“You’ll remember.”
“No, seriously, I won’t,” the visit freaked her that much. She traded the roller for the edging brush and wrote the dates on the newspaper under the paint can.
“How’s the color?” Bobby asked when she returned.
“Awesome!” The cornflower blue looked vibrant, young, and fresh, although she worried that Architectural Digest might have been a better source of inspiration than Gin’s dog-eared issues of Country Life.
"I'm sure it's beautiful," Bobby told her, and her face melted into an affectionate smile.
“I’ll bring home dinner,” he added, confirming that the honeymoon was still on.
Speculations about Marilyn Alcott followed Chelsea's paint brush around the doorframe onto the next wall. What did she know about her mother-in-law, really? That she wore tailored, coordinated clothes that made her look preppier than Chelsea’s actual prep-school students. BUT! Did the woman play cards? Did she like movies? If so, which ones? Exactly what type of shopping did she like?
And how about music? To Chelsea, a person's musical taste said it all.
Her stomach growled, and her arm ached from rolling paint. Where the heck was her mother?
"Yoo hoo," the mother in question shouted up the two flights of stairs. "I'm eating with Cissie and Eric Zumstein. Back to work after that."
"Okay, Mom."
Chelsea covered the roller and brush, washed up, then scrounged up a lunch of pasta salad.
From her perch at the kitchen island, she could observe her mother's luncheon party without herself being seen. Seated on the back porch steps, Cissie faced the man, Eric Zumstein, who had sprawled on the ground beside baby Caroline's stroller. Gin, holding a paper plate and nibbling at a sandwich, appeared to be watching her companions with the intensity of a CIA agent.
Till death do us part; Chelsea's own marriage vows were so new that the words rang in her ears. Yet it was only now, seeing her mother from a different perspective, that she appreciated the huge boulder Gin was forced to circumvent.
Aunt Didi was right. It was time for Gin to put herself out there socially.
Perhaps Didi didn’t realize her best friend was already doing that—her way.