Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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I've already finished three glasses of water and the entire loaf of complimentary bread since the hostess sat me down at this table ten minutes ago. I'm anxiously eating just for something to do to keep my mind off the fact that my mother is here, in Washington, moments away from sitting across from me for an entire dinner.
I'm buttering another slice of bread when I spot her white-blonde hair. She's in a perfectly tailored black pantsuit, and the sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor rings out like warning bells.
I stand up, smoothing out any creases in the skirt of my white dress, and when she stops in front of me, her eyes survey me as she reaches out and wraps her arms around my shoulders. She's never been a hugger—I can count the number of times she's actually hugged me in the past four years on one hand—but I'm guessing that her first visit to Washington is enough of a momentous occasion to warrant one. That, or she's well aware that the surrounding tables are watching us, and she has to keep up appearances.
I wrap my arms around her, and the familiar Chanel perfume surrounds me, but she's already pulling away and sitting down before I can really appreciate the way it makes me feel like a kid again.
"How was your flight?" I ask, pulling my napkin back into my lap as I sit.
She's already flipping through the wine menu, and she doesn't look up when she says, "Terrible. It was delayed, turbulent, and a crying child was sitting next to me. I wasn't able to get much work done." Her eyes finally flick up as I nod, trying to seem sympathetic. "I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Roger Mangarelli to discuss buying his firm," she says, flagging the waiter down with a flourish of her perfectly manicured hand. He spots her quickly, and she puts in her drink order before looking back at me. "He moved up here after he retired and has been running it remotely for the past few months, but I have a feeling he's going to be inclined to take my offer. I've already acquired quite a few of his clients since he left." She smirks, leaning back in her chair.
I nod encouragingly because if I can keep her talking about herself, that's less time that I have to talk about me.
"How's work?" I ask, reaching for another piece of bread to butter.
"It's great. We hired on a few new interns." The way she says it pulls my attention back to her, and when her smirk deepens, I already know something is about to piss me off. "I've been meaning to tell you—well, I figured you would find out when you come back for spring break in a few weeks—Tyler is now interning at the firm."
Of course, he is.
"Tyler's an accounting student; why would he be interning at a law firm?" I don't try to hide my annoyance because this is ridiculous. And she definitely wasn't going to tell me. She was going to wait for me to come home and stop by her firm for lunch or bring her something that she "accidentally" forgot at home, just to have me run into him.
"Law firms require accountants." She shrugs, smiling up at the waiter handing her the wine glass. He glances over at me before leaving, probably trying to see if I want some kind of alcohol. I'm sure I look like I could use it, but I don't even want to know what my mother would do if I pulled out my fake ID in front of her.
