THEN MY MOTHER TURNED SEVENTY
Six months before Eleanor’s birthday, she called me.
“I want one beautiful evening before I become too old for anyone to care.”
There it was.
The hook she had installed inside me when I was a child.
“Of course, Mom.”
“Nothing ridiculous,” she said delicately. “Nothing vulgar. Just somewhere elegant. Family. Close friends.”
Three days later, I received the contract from the Grand Evermere Hotel in Bellmere.
Grand ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers.
Custom floral installations.
Premium open bar.
Twelve-piece jazz band.
Professional photographer.
Videographer.
Six-tier birthday cake.
Champagne tower.
Late-night dessert buffet.
Ice sculpture.
Luxury guest favors.
Valet parking.
Total:
$50,000.
I stared at the amount.
Then my phone buzzed.
Mom: Send the deposit today. Celeste says the ballroom gets booked quickly.
No:
Can you afford this?
No:
Thank you.
No:
This is a lot of money.
Just:
Send it.
So I did.
When I told Sophie, she didn’t yell.
That would have been easier.
She simply closed her eyes.
“All right.”
“You’re angry.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“I’m sad.”
That hurt more.
