Chapter 8
Mr Wallace had liked the plans very much and so the next morning he sent me to procure the furniture or order it how I wished - a job that meant Sam would have no choice but to talk to me and because of his shift change I would have to stay late and pray the night bus was as safe as the day.
I spent most of the day searching online for furniture that other museums weren’t using, embracing my mother’s “waste not” philosophy. My thoughts drifted back to the nervous wreck I felt myself becoming at the thought of talking with Sam tonight. I couldn’t believe it had come to this. What had I said wrong really? I took a sip of coffee, watching from a corner table in the canteen as tourists holding hands, walking close, and whispering sweet nothings passed through the museum doors. There were few children this time of year as school was in full swing, but the holidays would come around soon enough.
I sigh, lowering my empty cup. What am I supposed to say? I can’t do this. My eyes flicked to the clock. I should just finish this job and move. Yeah, that would do it. But that would just prove my family right, That I couldn’t cope by myself, that I needed to be coddled and steered into the family business. No, I couldn’t do that either. Sigh . I had to face him. I had no choice. But did he really want to see me? I doubted it, seeing as he’d gone to such lengths to avoid me even at work. I lifted my coffee cup to my lips, blinking as I realised the cup was empty. I needed to calm down. I was losing my mind over this. It was insane. I needed, I needed - my mum.
Forget seeing Sam tonight. I could postpone it until tomorrow. I needed to talk to my mum. I needed her support. I felt like a child who had fallen off their bike, unsure if they wanted to try riding again. All I knew was that I needed to talk to the one person who understood love better than any of my siblings - Mum.
I quickly packed away my laptop, grabbed my coat, and took my empty cup to the canteen counter. “Jessy, I’m heading off for the night. I’ll meet with Sam tomorrow. Can you let him know please?”
“Sure sweetie, is everything alright?”
“Yes yes, I must go. I don’t want to miss the bus or I'll have to wait an hour.” Her tinkling, bell-like laugh ran out, and I barely kept my fingers from plugging my ears as I hurried to the bus shelter just as it pulled in.
I lined up the steps and ferreted in my bag for my card, dropping my mobile. Damn. I swiped it back up, checking the screen for damage and noticed a message icon blinking. Scanning my card, I quickly found a seat, perching on the edge so as not to ruin my pant suit with the old gum stains dried onto the uncomfortable upholstery.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the text.
Where are you? I’m half out of my mind. Why are you not answering the phone, Frigga!!! I was tending my roses in the orangery and had the coldest of chills. I need to know you're alright. Your brothers and sister are. Fine, you’re the only one who's not answering. PLEASE BABY!!!
“Mum,” I whisper. How had she known my heart was breaking? Shattering into thousands of pieces and I had no clue how to glue it back together. A single tear bled down my cheek. How had she known? My mother, who was so prim and proper, so full of expectations and family values but yet so in tune with her children that she could tell from afar something was wrong?
As the bus pulled into my stop, I hit dial on Mum’s number. The phone rang for a single heartbeat before she answered. “Frigga, baby, is that you? Are you okay? I had the most awful feeling, like someone had walked over my grave.” Her voice was cracking and I could imagine the tears of relief streaming down her face, punctuated by breathy sniffles.
“It's alright, Mum. I’m okay, really.” I tried to reassure her, but her motherly instincts were as out of control as a wildfire.
“Why don’t I believe you, what aren't you telling me? Do you need money? Are you eating well? Oh god, you’re pregnant!
“Mum, no! Of course I’m not pregnant. I haven’t even got a boyfriend.” My pitch heightened.
“No, I suppose not, but that doesn’t mean…”
“Mum, I said I’m not.”
“Of course, of course, you’re a good girl. I know that I’m just worried.” She sniffed again. I rolled my eyes. She was dragging out her sniffles for sympathetic forgiveness, a manipulation card if ever I knew one, but I couldn’t fight the fact that it worked. I sighed, forgiving her impertinent comment on my life. While she perfected her dramatic sniffles, I unlocked my apartment door and walked in. Holding the kettle under the faucet to fill, I put the phone down to grab a cup. I filled it with the strongest blend of coffee I still had a small reserve from back home, for when things got too intense.
“FRIGGA!”
I snatched up the mobile. “Yes, Mum?”
“You put the phone down again, didn’t you?”
“I needed a coffee, Mum. I’m all set now.” I poured the boiling water into my cup and stirred in two teaspoons of sugar. I took it to the sofa and sat down.
“I suppose that’s my cue to go.” She sounded a little flat.
“Actually,”
“Yes, dear?”
“Well, there is this one thing going on. I think I messed up, like a really messed up, Mum.”
“Okay.” She took a calming breath. “Whatever it is, we can get through it, okay. Don’t worry, just tell me everything and we'll fix it.”
“I’m not sure it can be fixed.”
“Dear, everything can be fixed.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Let me decide that for myself”
“Well,” I sip my coffee, “there’s this guy.”
“I knew it. I knew it. There just had to be to make you stay there in that little town instead of coming home.”
“Mum, staying here has nothing to do with him. It’s where I’m happy. Where I feel whole.”
“Mmm. Well, we can talk about that later. For now, tell me about your new beau.”
“He’s not,”
“Oh, that’s the problem. Alright then, seeing as you had such a hard break up before maybe you're feeling a little self conscious?”
“Mum, just let me speak. Please.” Sigh . “I overworked myself last week and got sick. He nursed me for two days before I insisted on returning here.”
“And rightly so.”
“Well, I kind of hurt his feelings.”
“By going home where you’re comfortable?”
“Yeah, and he might think I’m, you know, against him or his age or something.”
“So he’s older than you?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Oh, darling, why did you believe I would be unhappy?”
“Because he’s older and not wealthy like us.”
“Oh, pish posh, you knew I agreed to marry your father when his business was only just up and coming. You silly girl, if you think he’s the one, fix it before it’s irreversible.”
“But what do I do? He’s avoiding me. He’s even changed shifts just to keep clear of the hurt.”
“He can’t avoid you forever.”
“No, I was supposed to meet him for the artifact placement decisions tonight, but I couldn’t face him.”
“Pull yourself together. If you want this guy, fight for him. What is a little age gap in love?”
“There’s twenty-three years’ difference.” I heard her gulp.
“Okay…”
“Mum?”
“The heart wants what it wants–as Emily Dickinson would say.” I frowned. Mum loved her odd little quotes.
“Thanks, Mum.” Sniff. “That means a lot.”
“I’m sure. Now, you say he thinks you’re against him and he’s doing all he can to avoid you?”
“Mmhm.” I sip my coffee.
“Well, the ageist thing is quite simple: ask him out somewhere for coffee or to the movies.”
“But he’s avoiding me, Mum.” I sniff, trying to hold back tears.
“How can he really? You're not thinking with your head, my girl. You have this work meeting tomorrow, corner him then.”
“What if he says no?”
“Look darling, I know you’re afraid and after I learned what conspired with your last boyfriend, I don’t blame you. It’s Valentine's Day soon. Why not ask him out then? No man will refuse a woman on Valentines,” she purred down the line.
“Well, not in your time, but now they will.”
“Stop being so pessimistic, dear, just try. There must be somewhere to go in that small town.”
“Well, there is somewhere.”
“Good. Book tickets, tables, etcetera and ask him even if you have to buy and write a card.”
“But it’s on the museum's launch day.”
“Then sort it for after.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“I’m always here, dear, always. It’s late, go get some rest and get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Mum.”
“Goodnight, darling.” I hung up, scrolled through my photos, found the pantomime poster, and entered it into Google. The theatre page popped up. “Take a chance,” I muttered to myself, booking two seats for February 14th, Valentine’s night. With any luck, Mum would be right and Sam would say yes.