Chapter 36
Lucy
So much for Dirk. Let him play hard to get. At least he knows where I stand. It’s his turn to make a move, and frankly, I have more things on my mind than romance right now, like my public reputation, like reconnecting with my daughter, and, especially, securing my apartment for good.
It’s Phoebe on my mind as I wait for her at Esther’s teahouse.
To protect myself, I hold zero hopes our meeting will go well. Life with Phoebe hasn’t been easy since she was in high school.
As exotic tea fragrances waft around us, Sabrina the waitress hovers again, ready for my order.
“I’m waiting for my daughter,” I say.
“Oh, how lovely!”
I know my smile is saccharine. It matches my hands, folded too neatly on top of the table. They hide my dread.
Of course I’m way too early. I didn’t want to be late.
I check Donna’s message for Freya’s assignment details – the addresses and times I’m expected to clean and cook for her clients.
The iced water stops in my throat, and I cough till my eyes are running.
I phone Donna on the spot.
“Donna, it’s Lucy,” I say. “Look, I said I’d help Freya out and I’d be glad to, really, but there’s one client on her list I really can’t work for. Hope that’s okay.”
“You can’t pull out now, girlfriend,” Donna says. “What’s the problem? Is it who I think it is? You unpacked his place so you already know it, and talk about convenient. Easy money. Exactly what you need. Exactly what Freya needs. Exactly what he needs.”
I try to tell Donna it doesn’t seem right, sneaking in and out of my neighbor’s apartment. Dirk’s no ordinary client. He’s somebody I know. A person I value.
“I really don’t think I can do this, Donna. I actually care for him. A lot.” The right words won’t come.
“‘Care for him,’ Lucy? Great. Even better, my friend. You can ‘care for him’ literally. Give him the works. Give him your apple pie.”
Maybe Donna is right. Am I being silly? She’s never asked much of me, and she’s been my lifeline all these past months. Still, I worry.
“You couldn’t step in, Donna? Do it for me?”
“No, I can’t, Lucy. You know how busy I am with all the unpacking clients.
Business is great. Look, we wouldn’t have asked you if there was any other option.
Freya’s in a pickle. I shouldn’t tell you this, but a couple of her employees were caught stealing and she had no choice but to fire them.
She’s got new people joining, but they can’t start for at least a week.
I still don’t see why it’s a problem for you. ”
“I just ...” What? Am I ashamed to be caught cleaning? No. I’m not too proud to clean for a wage. It’s just ... should I tell him I’ll be in his personal space? Handling his things?
“So are you going to help us out? Please, Lucy?”
“Okay,” I say. Donna’s help for me was instant and endless. And I don’t really know where I stand with Dirk on a personal level any more. It’s not like he ran after me to accept my proposal.
Now I can go back to wondering whether Phoebe will turn up, not to mention worrying about whether I’ll even have a roof over my head soon. There’s no question I need the work. I’ll need the money, whether or not Hilary and I can make a successful offer.
I hang up the phone just as Phoebe rounds the corner with a new haircut and a face like marble – beautiful but distant.
Gone are the days she would run to my arms – warm bundle of soft bones – and bury her face against me.
She’d peep up at me and give me the smiles of her heart. How quickly heaven passed.
I go to stand but she’s already pulled out her own chair. She perches across the table from me, her body at an angle, a butterfly, ready to flee.
I reach my hands across the table, palms up.
“Phoebe.”
Her eyes flick to mine, then hide again. She keeps her fingers clenched around her chair, not yet bringing it forwards.
I could prattle. I could fill this silence with so many truths – how I’ve longed to see her; how I hope she’s well. I want to know how I can help her, but I’ve said all that before, in letters, in text messages, in voice-to-text. Until recently, into pure silence.
A strand of her hair is caught behind her right ear. I want to brush it back.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, and my heart turns over once, twice. I bite my tongue on the great gush of words and thoughts I want to share.
“It’s my boyfriend who thought I should meet you.”
I nod again. I smile, gently, a thousand questions pounding in my chest, unvoiced. I swallow to let another second or two pass in silence, to let her open up.
“He’s studying psych too; thinks seeing you is healthy.”
The waitress bustles back with an ornate menu, and Phoebe turns to it. She studies the great list of exotic teas from all over the world, and subcategories – chais and fruit teas, white and black teas, ones with caffeine and ones without, teas for wellness, for weight loss and calm.
I don’t care about tea. I care about Phoebe.
When she selects a hibiscus tea after much deliberation, I choose the same.
This is worse than a first date, but it’s another tiny step into a better future for us. I’ll do whatever it takes.
Phoebe chews at some skin on the side of her thumb, an old habit; picks up her phone, then puts it down again. She frowns at the cafe, almost empty, then stares at me, openly, her gaze a spotlight, a canon. Here it comes.
“You moved out and you didn’t even tell me,” she says.
I swallow. It’s true. I’d wanted to spare Phoebe all of that – the depth of her father’s betrayal, my wild flight, so out of control. I was lucky I didn’t crash the car. My whole world had dropped away without a warning.
“It happened so fast, Phoebe, my darling,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just ...” I can’t tell her I found her father in bed with his personal assistant. “I just couldn’t go back there. I knew you were safe; busy in college. If I went back, I’d be living a lie.”
“But you took forever to let me know.”
“I wanted to spare you the truth as long as I could, and I guess I wondered if Bart would have a change of heart.”
“You’re the one who left, Mom.”
“I left because your father fell out of love with me. He fell in love with the Minx ...”
“Her name’s Mishelle. Mom. Dad’s happy. He said you didn’t love him anymore.”
He would say that. As his star kept rising, I was beside him with my make-up kit, all the way.
I can’t tell Phoebe how vain he became, how in love with his own image, how he began to believe his own PR.
Over time, I realized Phoebe and I came a big fat second to Bart’s ego.
Bart stared at himself in mirrors more than he ever looked at us.
In time, our only intimacy was when I touched up his makeup.
No wonder I turned to restoring furniture.
It was ultimately more rewarding. She doesn’t need to hear any of that.
“Dad told me you had an affair.”
My mouth drops open. Do I have to tell Phoebe her father is a liar? At least it explains why she’s been keeping her distance.
“I did not have an affair, darling. And I never wanted your home to be ripped from under you; from either of us,” I say.
“That’s not what Dad says.”
I close my eyes. I don’t need to hear more of Bart’s lies. Bart is my past.
“On a practical note, darling, I need to know your bank account details. A settlement will come through, maybe soon. I want you to benefit.”
Phoebe stares at me; stares at my rings. I pull one off and try to give it to her, but she waves me away.
“Why not? My mother gave them to me; and her mother gave them to her.”
“I know, but you can’t buy love, Mom. There are so many more important things going on in the world than this. Global warming. Climate change. Refugees with nowhere to go.”
“You’re absolutely right, but we all need security, darling.”
I haven’t convinced her.
“You always cared more for the house than for us,” Phoebe announces.
I can’t nod at this, but I want her to keep talking. Maybe once she’s said it all to my face, we can move on.
“Your whole ‘shabby chic trash to treasure’ business? Those photos with me in frilly, old-fashioned little girl clothes ... I was just another accessory, another prop for your Instagram photos. You never asked me if I wanted my picture all over the web; never got my permission.”
“I closed down that side of the business, Phoebe – it’s all gone to ReUse – and I deleted all the posts with you in them. I only run Lucy’s Lamps now – and no photos of you, I promise.”
“Good.”
“Phoebe, I don’t know what the best way to tell you would have been.” I can’t get the pleading out of my voice. It cracks as I try to explain. I stare at a spot on the side of the sugar bowl; twist the lid on and off and on again as my words rush out.
“I know the phone was grossly inadequate; but I managed to find work, and I needed that work whenever I could get it,” I say. “I had to make a fresh start. Perhaps I should have driven up to see you, but I couldn’t risk losing my job; not in those first few months.”
She nods slowly. It occurs to me she’s not deliberately trying to hurt me. She genuinely wants to know how her own world turned upside down.
“Let’s talk about you, darling,” I say, chancing a smile. “How is your course? Where did you and your boyfriend meet? What’s his name? Where’s he from?” They gush out after all; some of my questions; like the tea from the pot as Sabrina returns and pours it, fragrant steam rising around us.
Phoebe wraps her fingers around her cup and shrugs.
“You look great,” I say.
“Really?”
Well, maybe it’s not quite true. There are dark smudges under Phoebe’s beautiful eyes. I want to hug her close, but she’s chosen a very public place for our conversation, rather than to come to my new apartment, and she’s keeping her distance.
“Why can’t you just tell the truth, Mom?” She chances a glance at my eyes, then ducks her own eyes away from mine again, hiding her thoughts. At least she picks up the menu.