18. Mimi in the House
18
MIMI IN THE HOUSE
VIVIAN
I paced the hospital room while we waited for Richard’s mother to arrive. “Should I be nervous about this meeting today?”
“Relax. You met Miriam while working on Rex’s wedding. You know how she is.” Richard sat calmly in a chair, unfazed by this.
“That was different—I provided a service. I only got the wedding cake contract because I’m family, and Chelsea insisted on it.”
“I’m sure Miriam enjoyed your cake. I can still hear her telling her friends, ‘The cake is moist,’” he mimicked her tone, then rolled his eyes and added, “Listen, don’t worry about Miriam. You don’t have to pass her approval in order to be in my life. You are in my life, and Paris. There’s no way I’ll let either of you go. Besides, all of this is worrying over nothing because Miriam will adore you two. And she’s going to spoil Paris like crazy.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He held up a finger. “One: Paris is her first granddaughter and she’ll stop at nothing to parade the little darling around to all her friends.” He held up another finger. “And Two: She raised two boys, so trust me when I say that Paris is going to get everything the little girl’s heart desires from her grandmother.”
“I don’t want Paris spoiled with things. I just want her to be loved.”
“How about both? Because once Miriam meets our girl, there’s no limit to her spending money on her, but only because she’ll love her. Okay?” He came forward and cupped my face.
“If you say so.”
“And as for you, my sweet cupcake…” he kissed me, “If I care for you, that’s all that matters. You have that mix of small-town charm from Chelsea and a hint of Parisian sophistication. Miriam will welcome you with open arms. Can you trust me and let go of your worries?”
I nodded just in time, as the rapid click-clack of high heels approached down the hospital corridor.
Miriam Buchanan-Astor entered as if gracing a red carpet, fully expecting adoration. Dressed in true city style—from her elegant heels and chic frock with matching coat to the designer scarf casually tossed over one shoulder—she commanded attention.
Trailing behind her was a man carrying several packages. I recognized him from Chelsea’s wedding. He’d been introduced as Miriam’s second husband, Mr. Astor. I found it interesting when Chelsea mentioned how he adored Miriam, but preferred to let her always take the spotlight, as if he could even steal it from her. He set the packages down by the fort in the room's corner, then waved hello at Richard and me.
“Where is my granddaughter?” Miriam asked, fluttering her long eyelashes as she breezed past greetings and pleasantries.
“She’s studying with a math tutor in the common room. We’re trying to get her caught up on what she’s missed at school since this all began,” I explained, drawing attention to myself.
Miriam appraised me with a once-over. I silently congratulated myself for wearing the cashmere sweater dress, booties, and a stylish scarf draped at my neck—all thanks to the wealthy man by my side. I hoped my outfit would help make a good impression.
“Vivian, my dear, just look at you,” she cooed as she extended her hands, which I took warmly. “Ever since we met at your lovely shop in Holly Creek, I admired your style and your delectable confections. When Richard spoke about you and Paris, my heart practically burst with joy. I’m so happy for both of you.” She then produced a tissue from her designer purse and dabbed her nose.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Miriam,” I replied politely, keeping things cordial
Turning to Richard, she added, “And you, my brave son—sacrificing a piece of yourself for your new daughter? I couldn’t be prouder! Your father would have been, too.”
“Thanks, Mother. I’m happy you’re here.” Richard embraced her before returning to stand by my side.
She murmured a concern, “Though I worry about you and this surgery, darling.”
“The tutoring time is nearly over. Let me go fetch Paris,” I said, relieved to step out as Miriam’s signature Chanel perfume filled the room. Even though Paris and I had spoken earlier about the situation, I wanted a few more minutes to remind her what to expect.
Finding them at a small table and chairs in the common room, I lingered near Paris and her tutor, happy to see the little one quickly grasping basic first-grade addition and subtraction. I hoped this academic disruption wouldn’t cause her being held back a year.
Once the lesson ended, Paris hugged me, and I crouched down to her level. “Remember, Richard’s mother is visiting. Her name is Miriam—you met her at my shop. I know you’ll be on your best behavior. She’s going to adore you, okay? So, no worries.”
“I’m not worried, Mommy. Is she like Gramma Flora? Look, I even drew a picture for her,” Paris said with adorable pride, showing me a drawing that looked like an apple pie with smiley faces. Oh no. Paris might expect Miriam to be the warm, homely Flora versus the sophisticated Miriam. I hoped she could grow to love both.
“Lovely. We can give that to her later. Right now, let’s meet Miriam, okay?” I took Paris’s hand and led her back to the room. Initially, she hid a little behind me.
Miriam bubbled with excitement, “There you are! I’ve always longed for a little girl in the family. Paris, ma petite, sais-tu à quel point tu es spéciale?”
My daughter’s face lit up. “Tu parles francais aussi?”
“ Mais, oui, ” she replied.
Shockingly, Miriam spoke nearly perfect French. Did Richard? By his puzzled expression, it suggested he did not, so I translated: “She said, ‘Do you know how special you are?’”
“That’s right—because you’re my first Buchanan grandchild. Very special indeed.” Miriam clutched her heart.
“Gramma Flora doesn’t know any French,” Paris noted.
“But she can bake delicious strawberry pies,” I reminded her.
“Well, we all have our own talents,” Miriam replied. “Now, Paris, why don’t you come up here? I brought some gifts just for you.” With a manicured hand, she patted the hospital bed and motioned toward a neat pile of wrapped boxes, well experienced in how to bribe a child to do her bidding.
Paris’s eyes went wide at the sight of gifts wrapped in shiny pink and gold paper with exquisite ribbons. They were almost too pretty to open.
Richard interjected playfully, “Come along, sweetheart. Miriam is my mother, and believe me, she won’t bite.” He gently took her hand, escorted her to the bed, and helped her climb up.
“Mr. Astor, if you would please,” Miriam called, removing her scarf and coat and placing them neatly on a chair.
After he set down the packages on the bed, Mr. Astor smiled and said, “Hello, little miss. Nice to meet you,” extending his hand for a brief shake.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Paris showed off her manners and I beamed with pride.
“That’s Mr. Astor, my husband—call him Mr. Astor. Everyone does. And as for me, how about you call me Mimi? Since you already have Grandma Flora,” she joked.
Paris giggled. “Mimi? I like that name!”
“Then it’s settled. And I must say, I love your pajamas,” Miriam added, admiring the pattern of the Eiffel Tower printed on them. “Each gift is numbered. Can you find number one?”
The game began, and Paris excitedly uncovered each package—from one to ten—with a little help from Richard when needed. By the end, she had unwrapped a Barbie doll with several outfits, a Barbie car, and, as the last surprise, a Barbie horse, which quickly became her favorite.
“ Ma chérie… Wasn’t it so kind of Miriam to give these to you?”
“Thank you so much, Mimi,” Paris responded, kneeling on the bed and opening her arms wide for a hug—which Miriam was more than happy to give.
“That was very sweet of you, thank you,” I said, adding my gratitude. Miriam dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye, clearly delighted.
“Now, let’s have a little chat,” she said as she settled into a nearby seat while Paris continued playing with her new toys. “I would love to support a special interest of yours, so tell me—would you like to try dancing? Ballet?”
Paris scrunched her nose.
“Acting? Theater?” Miriam offered.
My daughter shook her head, and Miriam continued to suggest various hobbies until she mentioned pony camps and horseback riding lessons.
Paris gasped, “Oh, can I, Mommy? Can I have a horse? Daddy, can I?”
While I loved her calling Richard her daddy, a twinge of concern hit me about a horse of our own. Where would I possibly keep one? And as a single mom running a business, I already had my hands full.
Miriam practically leaped from her seat and hugged Paris tightly. “Of course you will have one. I promise you’ll have the very best. You can even start riding lessons this summer once you’re feeling better.”
Paris clapped her hands and declared, “I’m so happy—I’m going to name my horse something really cute!” And just like that, she was completely on board with the plan. In true Buchanan fashion, everything moved forward fast, and I was powerless to stop it.
Miriam clutched her heart. “You’re a true horse girl, just like I was. Believe it or not, I almost made it to the Olympics in dressage.”
“What’s dressage?” Paris asked innocently.
“It’s all about achieving perfection on a horse. When you come to my home, I’ll dig out my old awards and photos to show you. I have a video or two as well. I was quite good in my day and earned many blue ribbons and silver cups in competitions.”
Horses, riding lessons, competitions—the idea was extravagant, and luckily, the Buchanans had deep pockets because I couldn’t possibly afford such a hobby on my own.
“Vivian, I’ll need Paris’s blouse, pants, and boot sizes so I can order her riding habit today,” Miriam said, pulling a miniature gold-covered notebook and pen from her purse, waiting expectantly.
“Oh, she’s kind of in between sizes right now. Would it be best to wait?” I cocked my head at her.
“Nonsense. I’ll order a set now, another later, and anytime she goes through a growth spurt.”
I rattled off the sizes, all the while trying to imagine how much it would cost over the years, eventually giving up as the numbers grew into too many zeros.
Soon, as Miriam and Richard kept up a detailed discussion about barns, feed, and riding gear, I became dizzy and pulled out my phone. I snapped a quick photo of them and texted it to Chelsea. Since she and Rex had spent the morning at a hotel, we had this rare moment alone with Miriam. I captioned the photo: “When my daughter met her billionaire-fairy-grandmother.”
Chelsea: How was it?
Vivian: They charmed each other, of course.And apparently we own a horse now. Send help.
Chelsea: Oh my! And how was my MIL to you?
Vivian: Miriam seems to have accepted me.
Chelsea: Yes! Welcome to the family.
I was about to complain that she was getting ahead of herself when I overheard Richard and Miriam speaking quietly nearby while Paris remained absorbed with her new toys.
“When will they move to the city?” Miriam asked matter-of-factly. “You know, to get Paris into all the best schools, put her on the waiting lists now. Of course, we’ve donated a fortune to a few over the years, so I could easily get her name to the top of a list with one phone call.”
“School? City?” I grabbed Richard’s arm, confused.
Miriam clicked her tongue and edged closer. “Well, of course, Vivian. I assumed you two had discussed some sort of co-parenting or custody arrangement. Living hours apart isn’t ideal.” She looked pointedly at Richard.
He quickly interjected, “That’s not important right now, Mother. We need to focus on the surgery and Paris’s health—everything else we’ll work out later.” He squeezed me and kissed my temple as if to reassure me she had misspoken. But it was too late; my doubts resurfaced.
I trusted him, clearly too blinded by his attention to think things through about sharing custody and living arrangements and-and… horses.
I’d never had to share Paris before. With Richard would be one thing, but Miriam, too? And what about our life in Holly Creek? My shop? Paris’ school friends?
The secure, small-town upbringing I had dreamed of for my daughter suddenly seemed threatened by these big-city influences.