Liz #2
Looking up, I saw brown eyes so similar to mine, looking down at me.
My daughter Claire stood before me with her hair up in a high ponytail.
Her ears glittered with multiple piercings.
New ones. She got the strawberry blonde hair, cheekbones, and lips from her father, but the rest of her was an almost exact copy of me.
She was always cute, but as she grew up, I saw her baby face turn into a more mature version that reminded me a little too much of myself.
Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her lips were pulled into a tight line.
“Lunch,” I breathed and pushed away my computer. “I'm so sorry, sweetie. Today's been so crazy. We had a—”
“Something that took you away from our lunch, again?”
I shook my head and motioned for her to sit down.
It was a common occurrence for us to sit in my office and have lunch together. Sometimes I was able to leave and take her to an actual restaurant, but more often than not, I found myself busy in my office.
I’d been lucky that Claire decided to stay in New York City for her job.
A selfish part of me wanted her close, though I knew she'd likely be safer if she went far away and stayed away from her father’s reach.
I was the one who insisted on weekly lunches, but I was also the one who always found herself forgetting.
I kicked myself mentally.
I opened up the bag with an excited gasp. “Burrito, coffee, and cake for dessert? Whatever did I do to deserve this?”
She sat down without a word. There was something bothering her, I could tell. She would do this when she was younger too—hide herself a little bit. Her silence was another indication that something was wrong, along with the way her eyebrows pushed together and the tension radiating from her.
“Or maybe you did something to deserve this?” I asked, leaning forward and trying to lock eyes with her. “Are we celebrating something?”
She looked down at her lap before straightening her back.
“I’ve been promoted.”
I reached forward and grabbed her hand. “That's great! Why aren't you excited? Is it that head designer role you were aiming for?”
She slowly pulled her hand from mine.
“I’ve been promoted to product manager. I’ll be staying in New York for a bit, but there may be a time when I have to relocate to Seattle.”
My heart dropped to my stomach.
It wasn't just that she was relocating. It was…
“Weren't you… working in the design team?” I asked, confusion filling me.
My daughter had always been a creative, and after I was forced to quit my dreams, I made sure she was able to follow hers. I supported her wholeheartedly all throughout high school and college when she wanted to go for the arts as opposed to science or engineering.
When she told me she got a design job in a tech company, I was more than ecstatic for her. But now I was just confused.
And Seattle… It was so far away. My chest ached.
She grabbed the coffee and stabbed a straw through the top.
“I… never worked in the design team,” she said, and then looked me straight in the face, watching me as she took a sip of her coffee.
“But you were so happy. You got to work in a creative job and tech—”
“You pushed me to pursue creative work,” she interrupted, looking down at the coffee in her hands.
“But I felt bad telling you that I never went for it.
This is better. I just wanted to show you it's better. I wanted you to know that it’s stable and pays well, and even if it isn't creative, I'm happy.”
The longer I looked at her, the more I could see the weight on her shoulders.
“I'm not mad at you for lying,” I said quickly and grabbed her hand again, trying to look directly into her eyes so she knew I was telling the truth. “I'm sorry you didn't feel comfortable telling me this. And I never wanted to put pressure on you, but… are you sure you're happy with this?”
“You still don’t get it.” She sighed and looked back to the door of my office as if she were considering leaving. Then she went for the kill. “I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t want to struggle for a paycheck just for my own happiness.”
I jerked back like I’d been punched. It surely feels like it.
My ex-husband stopped working after a while.
He blamed it on the companies and managers treating him unfairly, but I knew he was an awful employee.
And as Claire got older, I used her time at school to go back to college and find a job that I loved, but that also meant I struggled, especially because her father wasn't giving us any money.
“Claire…”
There were so many things I wanted to say.
My life was never about choosing my own happiness.
I never chose to struggle.
I did everything in my power to make it work while ensuring you never felt just how hard it actually was.
But none of them left my lips. If she truly felt that I had been that selfish, it was likely more a reflection of my actions—or lack thereof. There had to be some truth to it.
And I was shocked she felt like she had to keep this from me.
My fault. This has to be my fault.
I forced a smile on my face.
“No matter, this is still cause for a celebration.”
I started taking out the food, specifically the cake, and pushed it to her.
“Who eats dessert first?” she asked with a huff. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
My poor, sensitive baby. I could feel how much those words hurt her. Maybe even more than they hurt me.
She never exploded on me like this. I could only remember a handful of times she truly got angry at me, and after every single one, she would feel so bad that she would come crying to me, wrapping her arms around me and asking for forgiveness.
But there was nothing to forgive. I would never hold a grudge against her. And no matter how harsh it sounded, her outburst was a reflection of my not being attentive enough or seeing the issue when I should have.
“We do,” I said with a small laugh and leaned forward to run my hand down her hair and cup her cheek.
She leaned into it.
“I’m proud of you, Claire Bear. You’ve done great for yourself.”
“Mom—”
“I’m not finished! Let me compliment my daughter. Graduating with honors. Working hard. Buying your own apartment—”
“You helped with the down payment,” she said with a small sniffle.
My smile widened.
“Only some of it. And now you’re a product manager. Don’t think I don’t know how big a deal this is just because I’m in the arts business.”
Her whole body deflated. I realized she had been waiting for me to say it was okay.
“Thank you,” she said with a long sigh. “Maybe I can buy us dinner now.”
“Deal.” Though I’d never actually let her pay.
My heart still hurt, but I pushed it aside for the moment.
Claire took a healthy bite of the cake, her eyes lighting up almost immediately.
“Good?”
“So good,” she said and pushed it toward me, but that was when Jen stuck her head inside the door.
“There’s someone here for security?” She looked over her shoulder before lowering her voice down to a whisper. “She doesn’t really look it, though. Let me know if I need to call the cops.”
I gave Claire an apologetic look, but she merely waved me off and stabbed her fork into her cake.
“I'll be back soon,” I promised and quickly scurried out of my office.
The faster I could get this done, the faster I could get back to having lunch with my daughter, especially since I hadn’t been paying enough attention to know she wasn't even doing the job I assumed she was.
Guilt ate at my insides, but I tried to push it down and focus.
But the moment I stepped foot into the main part of our gallery, I froze. Because in front of me, looking at one of our newest pieces with a contemplative expression, was someone I knew.
Someone who should not be standing in my gallery.
She seemed even taller now. Her short black hair was carefully mussed with gel, giving it a wild just-got-out-of-bed look that was obviously intentional. Her earlobes glittered with piercings, and so did her lip and the top of her cheek.
But instead of the very well-put-together outfit she had in the club, today she decided to wear ripped jeans and… a crop top? The sleeves were cut off, giving me a peek at the sports bra inside, and it was short enough to show the tiniest sliver of skin above her belly button.
Heat rose to my face as I looked her over.
No wonder Jen had that reaction.
Sloan had to be responsible for this. I wouldn't put it past her to try her hand at a little mischief. But I was a businesswoman, and I wasn't going to let my personal feelings stand in the way of something as important as strengthening the safety of our gallery.
I cleared my throat, and she turned her head to me. As soon as our eyes met, a sly smile spread across her face.
“Elizabeth Thorne,” I said, and held my hand out to her. “I'm guessing our… acquaintance sent you to take a look at our security?”