Page 55 of Must Love Libraries and Libations
“The pink with strawberry embellishments,” I said, bracing myself.
3…2…1…
“What!” my mother exclaimed with unnecessary outrage. “Nonsense. That’s complete nonsense. It is an evening party, dear. It has to be twilight blue, Primrose. Or black. Pink? Pink! Absolutely not. You must wear the twilight blue.”
“I already have the dress selected and packed, Mother. Everything is in order. I’m going to change at The Sconery before the party.”
“Oh, you never listen!” my mother exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration. “And all this fuss over a library. The whole town is talking about it. A library!” she said with a huff.
“Right. So, I need to get going. I have a lot to do today,” I told her, then paused. The perfect moment to inform my mother about the purchase of the cottage hadn’t presented itself, but the truth was, she would undoubtedly hear about it from someone. The ramifications of her learning from someone other than me would be catastrophic.
“Mother,” I said gently, watching as she shuffled through the closet with a distressed huff, tossing aside some of my favorite gowns in the process. “Mother, I have something to tell you.”
“Don’t tell me you selected that auburn sequin dress. I told you, it’s too much.”
What she had told me, actually, was that I glowed like a Hallowmoon pumpkin in the dress, but that was neither here nor there.
“Mother, this is important.”
“The dress is important, dear. You need to make a good impression. It is your event, after all. Maybe something wine-colored,” she said, roughly shuffling through my clothes.
“Mother, I’m moving out,” I said, feeling my frustration boiling. “I bought Widow Merribell’s cottage on Buttercup Lane.”
“That’s nice.”
“Mother.”
“Maybe the green. That would be nice for an evening party.”
“Mother, did you hear me? I’m moving out. I talked to Mister Underbridge, and we made a deal for the cottage. In fact, I’m headed out now to sign the papers…and I’m getting late.”
“That’s ridiculous, dearest. You live here.”
“I have been living here, but now, I’m moving there.”
“But you live here.”
“Mother.”
“No more talk of houses. Now, where is the green gown?”
I sighed heavily. “I have to get going. I have a lot to do today. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll set a dress out on your bed.”
“But, I—” I began then gave up. There was no telling her anything.
Shaking my head, I knelt to pet poor Bilbi, who looked as exasperated as I felt, then grabbed my things and headed off.
Downstairs, my father was lingering over a book as he chewed a roasted beet root.
“Well, I tried to tell her about the cottage,” I told him. “I’m not sure she believed me.”
My father paused, then looked toward the ceiling, craning an ear. “No hysterics.”
“None.”
“No. She didn’t believe you.”
