Fly Me to the Moon (12 page)

“Oh, you’re right, we should get going,” she said, tossing off her martini in one hearty swig.

I watched as Daniel and Mark flung a stack of bills onto the bar and rose as though they were joining us. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said, giving a determined little half wave and tugging on my mom’s sleeve, anxious to put an end to this creepy charade.

“But I’ve invited them to join us,” she said, smiling happily. “Won’t that be fun?”

I looked at Daniel and Mark, wondering which one was supposed to be mine. Then I followed meekly behind as we exited the hotel and hailed a cab on the street.

Somewhere between the cinnamon-scented lentil soup and the cardamom ice cream it was pretty obvious that Cindy and Daniel were hitting it off. Which left me with way too much attention from Mark.

“So where to now?” my mom asked, sounding like a rebellious teenager about to break curfew.

“Well, there’s this new club a couple blocks over. We can grab a cocktail and listen to some live jazz,” Daniel offered, sliding even closer and tracing his finger down the length of her arm.

“Uh, if you don’t mind, I think I’m just gonna head home,” I said, giving
Cindy
a pointed look.

“But the night is young!” she said in protest.

“Yeah, well, I flew all day and I’m pretty exhausted,” I said, yawning for effect.

“Well, I flew all day too, and I feel great!” She smiled.

“Well, you weren’t exactly wearing a polyester apron and pushing a two-hundred-pound beverage cart, were you,
Cindy?”
I narrowed my eyes at her.

But she just shrugged and reached for her purse, retrieving a plastic key card from her Louis Vuitton wallet and tossing it to me. “Here. We’re in suite three-oh-six. I’ll meet up with you later,” she said.

I sat there in shock, feeling the hard edge of that plastic key dig deep into my palm, as I watched my mom dip her head toward Daniel and laugh softly as he whispered in her ear.

Then I shook my head, grabbed my purse, and hurried for the door, pretending I didn’t hear when Mark called out after me.

Heading down the hall, I felt so annoyed with
Cindy
that I actually considered going back downstairs, grabbing a cab, and traveling uptown to my sickly little pull-out couch. But as I slid the key card into the lock, opened the door, and took in the hip, clean, well-appointed room, I realized that going back to my meager apartment would only serve in punishing
me.
And really, hadn’t I been through enough already?

I kicked off my heels, climbed out of my jeans, and tossed my top over the back of a chair. Then I padded into the bathroom, eager to try all of the high-end amenities that now, in my single-income existence, I could no longer afford to buy. And after
washing my face, slathering myself with lemon-scented lotion, and spritzing on some of my mom’s cool new perfume, I slipped between the luxurious high-thread-count sheets and watched the hotel-provided goldfish swim laps in his chic, minimalist bowl. Then I rolled over, looked at the clock, and waited.

If a stowaway is suspected, do
not attempt to collect a fare.

“You’re still asleep?”

I opened my eyes to find my mom shaking my shoulder and peering down at me.

“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and squinting at her.

“Time to get up!” she sang, opening the drapes and inviting the cruel morning light into the room.

I blinked at the clock next to the bed, not believing it was really ten thirty. I hadn’t slept that late since I’d flown international last spring. Then I shook my head and looked at her again. Was she just now getting back?

“I’ve got big plans!” she said, smiling excitedly and tweaking my foot through the thick cotton duvet.

I glanced at the other bed—the one she should have slept in—and saw that the sheets were still pressed and tight. Then I turned back toward her, noticing she was dressed in last night’s clothes, with last night’s mascara faded softly across her cheeks. And then it dawned on me:
Oh, my God! My mother just completed the morning-after walk of shame!

“Are you just now getting in?” I asked, gaping at her.

“Hurry up and get in the shower,” she said, deftly avoiding my question. “We’re booked for brunch at Tavern on the Green in less than an hour. And then I thought we’d spend the day shopping!”

I watched as she busied herself with the flower arrangement at the far end of the room. “Mom, I think we should talk,” I said, determined to get to the bottom of her bizarre behavior and even more bizarre appearance.

“There’s plenty of time to talk over brunch,” she said, concentrating on the flowers and refusing to look at me. “Now go get ready.”

Before I could even swallow my first sip of cappuccino my mother looked right at me and said, “I want to know what’s going on with Michael and you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, stalling for time, wondering how I could avoid this altogether.

“Hailey, please. I know something’s wrong. I just wish you’d trust me enough to tell me.”

“Oh, well, should I confide in you as my former roommate Cindy? Or as my mother?” I asked, giving her an accusing look as she took a sudden interest in the hashbrowns she normally avoids. “Well, you’ll have to forgive my confusion,” I continued. “I mean, last I heard we weren’t exactly related.” I glared at her, willing her to look up. But when she finally did, something about her expression made me regret everything I’d just said.

“Oh Hailey,” she sighed, giving me an embarrassed look. “There’s no way you could ever understand.”

“Try me.” I took a sip of coffee and waited.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You’re young, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I’m not sure you can comprehend how differently things can turn out from how you expected.”

“Oh really? Well, for your information, I’ve had a few surprises tossed my way lately. Why, just the other day I got home early and caught Michael in bed—
with a man!
There, how’s
that
for a little life detour?” I said, realizing too late that I’d just played right into her well-manicured hands.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table and grabbed my arm.

But I just shrugged and took a swig of mimosa.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” she asked.

I shook my head and looked at her. “I couldn’t,” I whispered, hearing my voice crack.

“But you can tell me anything!”

“Mom, please. That’s so not true. You’ve disapproved of practically every decision I’ve ever made! In college, when I decided to major in English, you said I should major in business. When I took the job with Atlas, you said I was wasting my life. And you pretty much stood by that until I met Michael. Then suddenly everything was great, because I was dating a man whose office was a
cockpitl”
I shook my head. “It’s like, Michael was the only thing in my life that ever met with your approval. So excuse me for not rushing out to share the news!”

“But you’ve always made me proud,” she said, squinting like she does when she’s about to cry but doesn’t want her mascara to run.

“And would you like to know what Michael said?” I asked. I was on a roll now; there was no stopping me. “He said he’d
never
considered marrying me because I was
too oldl”
I sat back and folded my arms across my chest.
There, whatcha gonna say about that?

But my mom just shook her head. “Alan got remarried,” she said, then busied herself with her white linen napkin.

“What? When?” I leaned toward her. Alan was my on-again, off-again stepdad. My real dad passed away when I was little, and my only memories of him came from old photographs.

“Last month.” She shrugged, looking away.

“And who’s the lucky bride?”

“His thirty-year-old personal trainer.” She sighed.

“Tell me this is a bad joke,” I pleaded.

But she just looked at me.

“I thought you guys were talking again, trying to patch things up?” My mom and Alan had divorced years ago, but they’d never fully let go. They were like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, miserable alone but toxic together.

“We had a few dinners, played a little golf; then I decided to have some work done, and during my recovery, I guess he found a better deal.”

I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Okay, you win,” I said, smiling awkwardly.

“Hailey.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I felt so lost when your father passed, and when Alan came along, well, marrying him seemed like the safe thing to do. Then you left for college, we divorced, and I had no idea what to do next. So I spent the last ten years clinging to the past.” She looked at me and shook her head. “I guess I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“So what about Daniel?” I asked. “What was that about?”

She gazed down at her plate. “I wanted to see what it was like to be with someone other than your father or Alan.”

Oh God! Oh no!
I stared at my napkin, terrified she was about to tell me
just exactly
what it was like.

“It was different.” She shrugged.

“So how far is your apartment?” my mom asked, one arm loaded down with shopping bags, the other outstretched, hailing a cab.

“Um, not far. Why?” I asked nervously.

“I thought we could swing by. I’d love to see your new place.” She smiled, opening the door and motioning for me to climb in.

I slid across the seat, imagining my mom walking in to the sound of Lisette getting a red-hot ass spanking. “Um, that’s probably
not such a great idea. My roommate might be there and . . . she’s a little strange,” I admitted.

“Hailey, do you need money?” my mother asked, face full of concern.

“No!” I said, shaking my head vehemently. Jeez, I already felt weird about all the stuff she’d just bought me, not to mention how I’d spent the last four years being fed, clothed, and sheltered courtesy of Michael, so there was no way I was gonna let her take over where he’d left off. I mean, it was time to go it alone. Cold turkey. No benefactors, no handouts, and definitely no withdrawals from the Bank of Mom.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said.

“Mom, I’m fine. Really. I have a job, and if I need more money, I’ll just fly more hours.”

She shook her head and looked at me. “You’re so independent. Just like your father.” She sighed.

But I just smiled and looked out the window, hoping that would someday be true.

Though no matter how self-sufficient I was determined to be, I had to admit I was really gonna miss bunking at the SoHo Grand. We’d just spent two surprisingly nice days together, and now it was time for my mom to head back to California and her life without Alan. I felt sad for her but, like Michael ditching me, I knew she was better off.

“Make sure we didn’t leave anything behind,” she said, searching the drawers for the fourth time. “And did you check under the bed?”

“All clear,” I said, getting up from the floor and gazing at the fishbowl. “But what are you going to do with Jonathan Franzen?”

“Who?” My mother turned and looked at me.

“The goldfish. That’s what I named him,” I said, running my
finger along the rim of the round glass bowl while Jonathan swam in determined circles, never seeming to tire of the sameness.

“Is that after a friend of yours?” she asked, applying one firm layer of lipstick and then blotting it lightly with a tissue.

“He’s an author,” I told her, remembering how the E! channel had always been her primary news source.

“Well, now that you’ve named him, I think you should keep him,” she said, calling the front desk and asking that a large Ziploc baggie be sent up right away.

Now that I had a pet, I was really feeling the push to get better digs. I mean, there was no way I could properly raise Jonathan Franzen in such a chaotic, promiscuous environment. And with Lisette temporarily out of work with a sprained ankle (which basically translated to even more time spent in bed), the only way I could accomplish any writing was by grabbing my laptop and heading out to the nearest Starbucks, leaving Jonathan behind to witness all kinds of unholy acts.

I was hunched over my computer, caught in a fit of creativity and typing like mad, when I heard someone say, “Hey, how’s the book coming along?”

Assuming the comment was meant for one of the other aspiring authors that crowded this place, I continued typing.

And then I heard that same voice say, “Sorry, I thought you were Hailey.”

With my fingers paused in midair, I looked up to see that Dane guy standing before me, looking even cuter than I remembered. “Oh. Hey,” I said, brushing a renegade curl off my face. “Uh, it’s
coming.” I nodded at the computer screen and cringed at my response.
“It’s coming?” Oh God, lame, Hailey, so lame! And yon call yourself a writer?