Page 21 of The Sounds of Her
“Were you expecting her and forgot to mention it?”
“Really?”
“Sorry, stupid question.”
We’re always prepared when situations like this arise. Mom never comes here without warning. Never. It takes a lot to drag her to Manhattan. It means something annoying is headed my way.
“Want me to tell her you’re in court?” Millie asks, but she knows that won’t fly with my mother.
Millie has been my executive assistant for the last five years. Sometimes it feels like we share the same mind we’re so in tune. I adore her and would be lost without her. My mother showing up here has her in as much of a spiral as me.
“No, it’s fine. I should see her before I go.” Though that hasn’t been a priority.
Millie gives me a sympathetic look. “Keep that thought in mind when she tries to break your spirit. You got this girl,” she holds up a fist in solidarity.
“Call me to say I’m running late to a meeting in about fifteen minutes. That should be more than enough time for her to ruin my day.”
“You got it.” She ducks out and shuts the door.
Mom will expect to be greeted at the desk, have her coat taken, and Millie to provide her with a drink. Have to ask for anything? Not my mother, her sense of entitlement is so inflated it’s a wonder she fits in the elevator with it.
I straighten up my desk, shove my feet back into my shoes, and smooth my hair. Anything to not draw her criticism, then focus on what I was doing, appearing unaware of her arrival. The phone on my desk buzzes. It’s reception.
“Hi Ella,” I grab the receiver. “Millie already spotted her.”
“Good luck,” she says with commiseration.
“Yeah, thanks.”
I set the phone down as Millie knocks on the door. She enters with a smile as fake as my mom’s Botox filled forehead. “Ms Hannon, Mrs Hannon is here to see you. I let her know you had a brief opening between meetings,” she adds, her back to mom so she doesn’t see her eyes widening. “Can I get you a drink?” she asks me.
“Black coffee please,” I say, rising.
My mother breezes into the room like she owns it, her Birkin bag hooked over one arm. She looks good, even though she has had Botox, she hasn’t succumbed to any other cosmetic surgery yet. She is a good-looking woman, but her pinched expression takes away from that.
Mom’s wearing a beige pantsuit with a cream blouse. Her black shoes match her handbag. I’d say with the bag, the entire ensemble is worth about forty-five grand. It’s shameful. I don’t know how she got on the waiting list for one of those bags. Mom always finesses her way into places most mere mortals could only ever dream of.
Her perfume permeates the air, a smell that reminds me of my childhood and makes me cringe.
“Mom, what a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”
She looks around the office. “I was in the city for a meeting and thought I’d pop in.”
“Wonderful.” I round the desk and air kiss her cheeks. I cannot remember the last time I had physical contact with her. Possibly the day I was born. I need to find out what she wants.
I indicate for her to take a seat on the couch and follow her over. She perches on one end, and I sit at the other, side-on so I can face her. Setting her purse down, she smooths her jacket, picking off some invisible lint she must have got on her from setting foot inside my office.
“How are you?”
“Oh, fine,” she sighs and turns to me. She doesn’t ask me how I am. “It’s so dark in here, can they not give you an office with more windows?”
“There is enough light. I’m more than happy with my little office.”
“Little, hmm, yes.”
God dammit. It’s like having teeth pulled. We sit in silence for a moment until the door opens and Millie enters carrying a tray. She sets it down on the table, I thank her, mom just ignores her.
“So, what was your meeting about?” I ask after Millie closes the door.