Chapter 32
Two days later I’m at my favorite table at Plant Daddy trying to get through a stack of edits on some material for the Carlos Wong Gallery but my mind keeps wandering. All I can think about is my conversation with Finn and, if I am being honest, Finn himself. The way he pushed back at Brands the other day. It was annoying but also very sweet. Maybe he’s right. Maybe my problem is that I don’t take myself seriously as a writer.
I switch screens on my laptop from the spreadsheet for Brands to a document I started after my last encounter with Finn. It’s just a collection of notes and ideas for a story. More my point of view than just being a copy of Justine Jasmine. I should be organizing columns on the other screen, but instead, I start writing a scene that’s been in my head since I climbed up the ladder to the top of the trapeze last week. My fingers fly over the keyboard. There’s no deadline for Justine, no particular audience I’m imagining. The words keep coming. It’s all very rough but I’m enjoying it enough that I notice I have a few pages down before I lift my head up from the screen. I start to re-read what I’ve written when I feel someone’s eyes over my shoulder.
‘Are you writing something? Oh, that’s wonderful. What are you writing? Can I read it?’
I slam the screen of my laptop down. I turn around and my mother comes from behind me and sits at my table. ‘Show me,’ she says rubbing her hands together in anticipation. ‘Or read it to me. Do you remember when you would come into my room and act out those stories for me? You had that one about the squirrel who thought he was related to Judy Garland and he went to Hollywood to find her. It was so adorable and you were so cute reading it.’ She smiles and touches my hand with hers.
I do remember that story. I used to write weird little skits as a kid, and I liked performing them for my mom and sometimes Aunt Shug, when she was over. Mom would always laugh and tell me how good they were. I loved that feeling, but somewhere along the way I worried they weren’t good enough. I never wanted to disappoint her, so I stopped showing her what I was working on. I know my mom believes in me and if you do the math it should mean I have all the confidence in the world but it doesn’t work that way. I think she believes in me so much that I never had to make room to believe in myself.
‘Mom, it’s not a story. It’s just work for Brands. That’s all.’
‘Fine. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to but I don’t understand why you don’t just keep writing and…’
I signal to Kai. ‘Excuse me. One of your employees is bothering me.’ I wave my hand to get his attention and he comes over to us.
‘Glory, please remember,’ Kai says, ‘we reserve the right to withhold service from anyone.’ He turns to me. ‘Sir, consider this a warning?’ He smiles at my mom and they both giggle before Kai heads off to water a plant.
I sink down in my chair. I’m glad they have become friends since she started working here. I like Kai a lot, and of course, I love my mother, and the fact that it might keep her more occupied with less time to interfere in my life is only a bonus.
‘It’s been nice having you here,’ I say.
She kisses me on the forehead and I immediately rub the spot to remove her pink lipstick. ‘I love you for saying that and I love that I raised you to be such a horrible liar. It shows good character. I know I annoy you. That’s normal. That’s what a mother is supposed to do.’
‘Is it?’ I ask tilting my head sharply.
‘In our case, yes. Now let me grab my notebook so we can nail down an escort for Thanksgiving since you’re ignoring the obvious.’ She says the last part with her eyebrows raised and then goes to get up but I stop her.
‘Mom, you don’t have to do that.’
‘Yes, I do. I don’t have that much time—’
‘You don’t have to do it because I’ve already invited someone,’ I say coyly and lean back in the chair. Now I’m the one instigating.
‘Who? Who?’ Her excitement is palpable.
‘Oh, someone…’ I say playing with her.
‘Tell me!’ she demands.
I wait a few seconds longer watching her face contort trying to be patient before saying, ‘Finn.’
‘Finn? I knew it. I just knew it.’ She leaps up from the table, unable to contain herself. ‘He’s perfect for you. He’s so handsome and smart and he’s a real artist. He has passion and pizazz. He checks all the boxes on my rules.’ She sits back down and leans in toward me. ‘Did you know he’s taking pictures of Kai? He does documentary photos and they are just wonderful. He was here the other day and he showed me his portfolio. It’s fabulous.’
‘Mom, calm down.’
‘It’s working. My plan is working.’ She stamps her feet on the floor. ‘I knew it. The minute I saw you sitting with him. I knew he was the one.’
‘You mean the day I forbade you from putting him on your list?’ I remember her eyes peeking from behind the door to the storage area.
‘Oh, please. You think I’m going to be stopped by a technicality. I found a way. A mother always does.’
‘I invited him to Thanksgiving. It’s nothing more than that.’
‘Whatever you say, Sam,’ my mom says, her excitement bubbling.
Then the bells above the door ring and Finn walks in. I try to keep my face neutral but I can’t. A smile stretches across my mouth. ‘Hi, Sam,’ he says. ‘Hey, Glory.’
‘Play it cool, Mom,’ I say quickly, but before I can get the words out, she leaps up from the chair and has her arms around him, squeezing all the air out of his body in one of her famous hugs – but on steroids.
‘You’re coming to Thanksgiving,’ she says with her face still buried in his chest. Finn accepts the hug and even returns it. His long arms wrap around her tiny body.
‘Yes, sure do appreciate being invited. Please let me know what I can bring or how I can help.’ He knows how to lay on the Southern charm for my mother.
She steps out of the hug and changes gears. ‘I’m going to make my rye bread stuffing. It has r-a-i-s-i-n-s in it but don’t tell You Know Who.’ She points at me.
‘You Know Who can spell, Mom, and he can also hear you. I’m sitting right here.’
‘Do you have any allergies, Finn? Hold on.’ She runs to the counter and pulls out her notebook to rip out a page. She runs back and hands it to Finn with a pencil. ‘I want you to make a list of two columns. Write all the things you like at Thanksgiving on one side and then on the other write down any allergies or things you don’t like. Oh, and use different colors just to make it look fun. Wait, I know, I’ll start a new tab in my notebook. Oh, this is wonderful,’ she says and heads back to the counter to wait on a customer.
Once she’s gone I say to Finn, ‘Thank you. This will make her very happy. I owe you for it.’
‘I can’t wait. But I do have a way for you to return the favor if you want. No pressure.’
‘How?’ I ask.
‘During Art Week a lot of the artists from Art Barn have kind of an end-of-year reunion. A bunch of people I know from the residency are usually down there. Luis hosts it at his place, an old cigar factory he converted into an amazing studio. Come with me?’ he asks.
‘A fabulous loft in Miami in exchange for a Thanksgiving at the suburban split-level where my mom still has plastic slipcovers on the furniture?’ I pretend to mull over the offer. ‘It’s the least I can do.’