Plan Bea

by Hilary Grossman

  I sat up and grabbed my iPad that was charging on my night table. I sent a quick email to my best friend and co-worker, Cecelia, and asked her if she was available go out to lunch tomorrow. I really needed to tell her about tonight and what I had gotten myself into.

  I knew I should close my iPad and try to go to sleep, but instead I logged onto Facebook and headed over to my former best friend and college roommate, Michelle’s page. All these thoughts about the past made me feel sad. I scrolled through her pictures and marveled at how great she looked. She really hadn’t aged at all. I liked a bunch of her more recent pictures, I felt bad I allowed our friendship to drift apart. We used to be so close, and now our relationship was pretty much limited to social media. I wrote her a private message about getting together one of these days for lunch or a drink. But I didn’t hit send. Too many years had passed with too little communication.

  CHAPTER 4

  “GOOD MORNING, Annabel,” my mother said as I answered my cell phone early Friday morning, a little over a week after her big announcement. Since we’d already had our “scheduled chat” the day before I got a sinking feeling in my stomach she was finally going to enlist my help in her wedding preparations. I didn’t know why I got my hopes up, but after over a week of not hearing one more peep about the wedding, I really thought there was a chance she would switch plans and forgo this whole idea and just dash off to the Justice of the Peace, or something equally sensible.

  “Hi Mom,” I said as I hit save on the Power Point presentation I was working on.

  “What are you doing today?” she asked, clearly forgetting I had a full-time job.

  “Working.” I answered as I tried to ignore the email from a client that popped up on my screen.

  “But it’s Friday. Aren’t you off on Fridays?” she asked, perplexed.

  “No, Mother.” I sighed. I was so tired of explaining this. “I’m not off. I work from home on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  “Like I said, you’re off.”

  “No, Mother, just because I’m home doesn’t mean I’m off. I still have to work all day.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk into the kitchen to refill my coffee cup. “Why doesn’t anyone ever realize when you work from home you still have to work?” I said, exasperated.

  “No need to get testy, Dear. A simple ‘I’m busy’ would have sufficed. I can appreciate you have things to do. After all, my day is pretty jam packed too. I have a hair appointment in a little over an hour. I’m thinking about adding some low lights to my hair. Everyone is blonde these days, you know covering up the grays and all. I don’t want to look like everyone else... Especially for the wedding.”

  “You would probably look very pretty darker. I remember when you were a brunette. I liked it.” Over my lifetime my mother has had every color hair imaginable. I had no clue what her natural shade was. I wondered if she even remembered.

  “Oh yes. I was mahogany brown when Brody graduated middle school,” she let out a deep sigh. “Those were the good old days, weren’t they?”

  I smiled as I thought back, “They sure were, Mom. Do you remember—”

  Before I could continue, she cut me off. “Good. So you agree. Low lights are the way to go. Then after my hair I am going to Walter’s apartment in the city to help pack up. He is officially moving in with me tonight. Isn’t it exciting?”

  “I guess.” I didn’t know how I really felt about it. On one hand, Walter seemed like a very nice guy. But they were moving extremely fast. After all, they had only known each other a few months.

  “He isn’t going to give up the apartment, of course. What a location!” My mother exclaimed. “It has magnificent views of Central Park. We will weekend there, of course. It’s the perfect get-a-way!”

  “Sounds lovely.” I stirred some half and half into my coffee. “I don’t remember the last time Cole and I had a weekend in the city,” I mused. Before we had kids Cole and I would spend at least a weekend a month in Manhattan. Sometimes we’d catch a show, but more often than not we’d just walk around, pretend to be tourists. It was amazing, despite having lived your entire life on Long Island, like Cole and I both had, you never seemed to experience all the sights. In fact, I was actually almost twenty years old when I went to the top of the Empire State Building for the first time.

  “You two should go one of these days then. I don’t understand why you don’t.”

  “You’re right. We should go. I’m sure Connie and Patrick would gladly take the kids for a weekend. I hate to impose, but really I’m sure they wouldn't mind. After all, they’re always begging to have the kids stay for an overnight.”

  “You should take them up on it,” she replied. Although I expected the response it still stung me like a hard slap across the face. Just once I wished my mother would offer to spend time with my children. What grandmother didn’t want to dote on her grand babies?

  But rather than express the hurt and disappointment I felt, I opted to just abort the call. “Okay, Mom. I gotta go. I have to get back to work, and it seems like we resolved your hair conundrum.”

  “Yes. Thanks for your help. But that wasn’t why I called. Today I am tied up and you apparently have work to do. So I guess that leaves tomorrow. We really need to pick out invitations for the wedding.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Invitations. Annabel, the wedding is in three months. We have to begin planning, time is running out. I don't know how long they will take but I want to send them out in sufficient time. I don’t want anyone to think they were on the B list. There is nothing worse than being an afterthought invitee.”

  “You need my help in selecting invitations?” I asked as I sat back down in front of my computer.

  “Of course, I told you all of this already. Really sweetie sometimes I think you don't listen to a word I say. I need your help with all of this. I'm in way over my head. I love Walter so much. I want this day to be perfect. I don’t want to mess anything up. So yes, I want your help. No, I need your help. Come by my house at one o’clock and we will drive over to the store together.”

  I took a deep breath. Tell me again, why did I say yes to this? But I wasn’t going to back out. “Sure, Mom,” I answered unenthusiastically.

  “Great. Oh, before I let you go. Guess who called me to offer congratulations?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Cole’s mother, Connie. She was so sincere. Like a breath of fresh air,” Beatrice gushed. “Oh, what a delightful woman. Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow,” she said as she hung up not waiting for me to reply or say goodbye.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Did my mother really just compliment Connie? Although my mother-in-law is phenomenal, I was shocked at my mother’s comment. In all the years Cole and I have been together my mother had never tried to get to know her. Even when Connie included my mother and invited her to family functions or holidays Bea just kept to herself.

  I remembered the first time Connie invited my mother over. It was Cole’s birthday, the first one after we got engaged. Connie and I had already bonded. We basically became inseparable during that first summer. I would call her multiple times a day, more often than not, crying hysterically. No matter what she was doing she would always stop and listen to me. I don’t know how I would have made it without her.

  I was shocked when Connie called me up to tell me she had invited my mother to join us for Cole’s birthday dinner. “Why did you do that Connie?” I asked.

  “Because she is your mother and he will soon be her son-in-law. She should be invited. It was the right thing to do,” Connie stated matter of factly.

  “But she won’t come,” I replied. I wondered if I wanted her to accept or not.

  “She may change her mind later but she accepted my invitation,” Connie spat out.

  “She did?” My voice was barely a whisper.“You seem shocked, Anna.”

  “I am. After everything that has happened… After what she said to me…I didn’t thi
nk she’d want to be around me.” My mother’s vicious words haunted me, even months later.

  “Anna, regardless of what you think, regardless of what Beatrice said to you, you are still her daughter. You are a wonderful woman and she loves you. It would be impossible for her not to,” Connie tried to reassure me.

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I know you don’t understand now. One day you will have children and then you will. And Anna, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your mother is suffering too. She is hurt, she is upset, and she is in pain. She needs to heal as well. We all handle situations differently. I am not saying what she said and did was right. I am not saying I agree with her. All I’m saying is I can put myself in her shoes and I can understand what she must have been feeling. I think you need to try and do the same.”

  The night of Cole’s birthday dinner I was incredibly excited to see my mother. It was going to be the first time I saw her in months. I allowed myself to dream that when she saw me she’d engulf me in her arms, apologize for what she said, and tell me how much she missed and loved me. Well, that didn’t happen!

  I was in the small kitchen with Connie, and Cole’s sisters Shannon and Denise, when the doorbell rang. Cole’s dad answered the door. It was the first time Beatrice was invited to their house. She handed Patrick a bottle of wine and the first comment out of her mouth was, “Oh, thank goodness you are wearing regular clothes. With all those Halloween decorations out front I feared I was walking into a costume party. I didn’t realize people who had children over the age of six still decorated their homes. I guess you learn something new every day.”

  The night went downhill from there. “Mom,” I exclaimed as I ran over to her. “I’m so glad you came!” I embraced her tightly. She barely lifted her arms from her sides.

  “Annabel. It’s,” she paused to clear her throat, “good to see you. Oh, Cole,” she gushed, moving away from me as quickly as she could. “Happy birthday, darling. I have a little something for you.” She reached into her Louis Vuitton hobo bag and pulled out a matching purse. From there she removed a card that I was sure either contained an overly generous check or a gift card. Beatrice’s way to get into people’s hearts was through her pocketbook.

  “Thanks so much, Beatrice. Why don’t you have a seat.” Cole pointed to an open bottle of wine on the coffee table in the living room and asked, “Would you like a glass of wine or maybe something a little stronger?”

  “Mother,” I chimed in. “Cole and I bought your favorite gin. Cole can make you a martini. I know it’s your favorite drink.”

  My mother looked around the room. “No need to go to any trouble, Cole. Everyone is drinking wine. I’ll have a glass.”

  “It’s no trouble, Mom.” I said as I grabbed the gin. “Cole won’t mind.”

  With disgust in her voice, my mother replied, “Annabel, I said I would drink the wine, please don’t make a scene.”

  Every time I opened my mouth Beatrice took offense to what I said. Every time Connie tried to draw Beatrice into the conversation she was rebuffed. Shannon and Denise kept trying to distract me, but their attempts didn’t work. If all this wasn’t bad enough, Beatrice barely touched her dinner, which to a gourmet cook like Connie, was such an insult. Instead of tasting, she pretty much just moved her food around her plate like a petulant child. By the time the dinner dishes were cleared off the table, Beatrice bailed. She didn’t even stay long enough to watch Cole blow out his candles.

  That was the night I decided I wanted to run off as quickly as I could with Cole and get married. I needed to feel loved and wanted. I wanted a family.

  CHAPTER 5

  I PULLED INTO THE WIDE circular driveway and parked behind my mother’s Mercedes near the front door. I took a deep breath as I grabbed my handbag and stared at the large brick house I used to call home. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago when Brody and I would sit here on the driveway making chalk drawings before racing to the back yard to jump into the in-ground Olympic size pool. Our Golden Retriever, George, at our sides the entire time.

  My mother lived in Old Westbury, which was a very affluent town on the north shore of Long Island. I think the happiest day of Beatrice’s life was when Business Week dubbed the town New York's wealthiest suburb. She bought at least fifty copies of the edition and had one strategically placed on her coffee table for over a year.

  Keeping up with expectations of the town, her house was huge, twelve thousand square feet to be exact. Growing up Brody and I didn’t have our own rooms. Instead, we had our own wings complete with a full bathroom, large walk-in closet, and a playroom. Sometimes we communicated by walkie-talkie if we had friends over or were feeling lazy. In addition to a living room, complete with a baby grand piano, which no one ever played, there was a den and a formal dining room with a Swarovski crystal chandelier. The office was for my dad, and was where he spent almost all of his time at home. There was a media room, which was set up like a movie theater, complete with reclining chairs. A billiard room that contained a pool table, foosball, a pinball machine, a ping pong table, and two arcade games. There was also a library. Not surprisingly, most of the space was hardly ever used, except for maybe the billiard room. Brody and I always spent hours together there with our friends.

  It was sad. The house was so beautiful, but it never felt like a home. It always seemed way too large for a family of four. I had no idea how my mom was able to live here all these years alone. I never could decide what troubled me more, the thought of her keeping the house or her selling it.

  I was about to ring the doorbell when the front door opened.

  “Annabel! I saw you pull in! I’m so glad to see you! How are you?” Walter greeted me before pulling me into a bear hug.

  “I’m doing well, and you?”

  “I’m great! How is that pretty friend of yours?”

  Earlier in the week Walter stopped off at my office to give me some wedding band demo tapes to listen to and evaluate. He said he was in the neighborhood, but I knew my mother made him run the errand for her. She would have simply dropped off the recordings with the receptionist before dashing away. Walter on the other hand, really took an interest in seeing where I worked. He sat in my office and chatted with me for about fifteen minutes. Cecelia had popped in. When I introduced them and explained she was also by best friend, he insisted on taking us both out to lunch.

  “She was delighted she had been in the office when you were visiting me. She really liked you.”

  He smiled.

  “So, I heard you moved in yesterday.”

  “Yep. I did. Well, I moved in what Beatrice allowed,” Walter chuckled. “But I’m not worried. Little by little there will be some of my personality present in this place.”

  “Be careful my friend. Beatrice is very particular, and not only about her home.”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t know how I passed the test. Do you think she’ll ever allow me to display my comic book collection in the living room?”

  I arched my eye at him and shook my head.

  “Yeah. I thought so. But I’ll probably try anyway.”

  I smiled at him. “If anyone can get her to change her mind, my money is on you. Speaking of the queen of the house, where is she anyway?”

  Walter’s face lit up. He flashed me a huge grin as he replied, “She’s in the kitchen.”

  I was about to say something snarky but instead, for the first time, I realized I smelled a familiar scent.

  “Is she baking?” I asked as I took a deep breath, allowing the aroma of sugar and chocolate to fill my nostrils.

  Walter smirked. “Let’s go see. Come on.”

  We walked through all the familiar rooms to the back of the house where the kitchen was located. The kitchen had wall to ceiling windows that overlooked the pool and cabana. Although the pool was closed up for the winter, it still provided a breathtaking view.

  My suspicion was confirmed. I watched in shock as my mother took trays of choc
olate chip cookies out of the double Viking oven. “Hi darling!”

  “You’re responsible for this, huh?” I asked Walter, who reached into the Sub Zero refrigerator for a container of milk and a bottle of Perrier that he placed on the white marble center island. He then reached into one of the island’s drawers and pulled out three crystal glasses.

  “You betcha!” He answered as he sat down on a stool at the island. There was no doubt he eagerly awaited his treat.

  “Hi Mother,” I said as I walked over to the stove where my mom put the cookies on a large silver-serving tray. I air kissed her. “You’re baking? This sure is a blast from the past.”

  Growing up, at least once a week, my mom would bake cookies with Brody and me. It was one of our favorite things to do together. We all had our roles. My mom would chop up our favorite candy to add to the cookies to spice it up, she’d say. I did all the measuring and Brody did the mixing. Sometimes he managed to avoid batter hitting the walls, but usually not. As the cookies baked, Brody and I would dip a non-chopped piece of candy into the remaining batter before Rosie, our housekeeper and babysitter, snatched the bowl to wash.

  “Yes. Walter loves sweets. When I told him how I used to bake all the time he begged me to make a batch of cookies. I don’t think he believed I could actually do it.”

  “Do you blame me? When I first met her I was positive she would be one of those women who stored sweaters in the oven. I never dreamt she’d know how to use anything in this state of the art kitchen of hers. I figured everything here was for show. Let’s be realistic now, it’s not like she’s a domestic goddess, if you know what I mean. Well, she fooled me alright,” he clarified. “She made a batch about a month ago and, wow! It was totally not what I expected. Truth be told, I thought she was going to do a switcheroo with bakery cookies. But she really made these from scratch. I made her do it in front of me the second time, just to be sure. Oh boy, the candy pieces were sheer genius!”