Page 55 of Running Into You
I’d wondered afterward if I should have told him where I was going, but I can tell him tomorrow. He’s not my boyfriend and I do not have to tell him my plans. Maybe if he’d kissed me last week, I’d have given him a detailed itinerary, but here we are.
Shit. It’s 8:03 p.m. I turn off my phone and quicken my pace.
Ornate is everything its name suggests. From the high cathedral ceilings to the marble floors that are so pretty, I feel guilty for standing on them. A man with an expensive-looking haircut and an elegant suit smiles at me when I enter.
“Welcome to Ornate. What name is your reservation under?”
“Julia Hopkins.” I smile back nervously. An attendant approaches and offers to take my coat. I quickly remove my purse, shrug out of my coat, and hand it to him. I’ve worn my best work dress. A dark gray knee-length cocktail dress. I’ve accessorized with the pearl earrings my father gave me when I graduated with my bachelor’s degree. I spent a large part of my day deciding what to wear and I’m hoping I’ve done enough. Enough for what, I don’t know.
“I have a Dr. Hopkins?” The man’s eyes flick from his computer screen to my face expectantly.
“Of course, you do.” I laugh in spite of myself. “Has the good doctor arrived?”
Haircut quirks an eyebrow at me, then escorts me through the dimly lit restaurant to a small table near a large picture window. There she is. The highlights in her hair are lighter, but that is the only change I see in her appearance. She sits straight-backed in her chair, her right hand resting on the stem of her wineglass, her eyes fixed on something outside.
At our approach, she looks up at me; her smile bright. Rising from the chair, she extends her arms to me, and I tentatively step into them. It’s a bit of an awkward hug, but to be fair, we haven’t had much practice. Her chin rests at my temple and I turn my head so my face doesn’t go into her shoulder. At five foot nine inches, my mother is a full head taller than me when I’m not wearing heels. Physically, we don’t share much of a resemblance. Her hair and complexion are both lighter than mine. Her long and lean frame contrasts with my shorter, more rounded one. We do have similarly shaped faces, and I did get her eye color.
“Elizabeth, I was starting to worry that you were lost. Which would be concerning as out of the two of us, you are the person who lives here.”
“It’s nice to see you too, mom,” I say, taking my seat across from her. She ignores my jab and proceeds to look me over like a shark scanning for weaknesses. I take the opportunity to do the same, minus the weakness part, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have any. She’s wearing a cream-colored sleeveless blouse and a high-waisted black skirt. The blouse shows off her impressively toned arms and I’m sure that is intentional. Her hair is longer than the last time I saw her. The blonde bob frames her oval face and draws attention to her high cheekbones. Her eyes, though the same shade of green, are much smaller than mine. Her head tilts to the side and I wait for the kill shot.
“Your skin looks beautiful.”
The compliment momentarily stuns me, and I gape at her in surprise. I can’t remember my mother ever using that word to describe anything about me.
“Uh, thank you. I have an amazing esthetician.”
“Take care of your skin now, dear. Before you know it, you’ll be in your mid-fifties and look like this.” She motions to her own face. Her skin is clear and toned, especially for a woman of fifty-nine years old.
“You look lovely, as always, mom.”
She beams. “Thank you, Elizabeth. But I would give anything to trade faces with you. Though you could use a good eye serum, I think. You look a bit tired around the eyes. Are you tired?”
There she is.
An untouched plate of fresh bread is on the table, and I help myself to a piece as my mother eyes me with a disapproving glance. She probably still doesn’t eat carbs. The bread is light and warm, and so buttery it simply dissolves when it hits my tongue.
“A bit, I guess. I’ve started running in the mornings, so I’ve been getting up earlier.” If anything, I find the early morning runs have improved my sleeping patterns. I fall asleep easier and sleep more soundly through the night.
“Good for you,” she says, sipping her wine. “You always enjoyed running.”
“I did?” How much wine did she have before I got here?
“Of course. You were always playing soccer. There is a lot of running in soccer.” She shrugs, bored by the direction the conversation is going in. A waiter comes to ask what I’d like to drink, and I order a glass of the house red.
“You’re here lecturing?” Let’s get her back in her comfort zone.
“Yes. A former student of mine asked me to lecture to his Milton class. He’s been begging me for years and I finally decided to take him up on it.” Her phone vibrates loudly on the table, startling me and she surprises me by picking it up and responding to the message. My mother always insisted that devices at the dinner table were the epitome of crassness. “Apologies. I’m meeting someone after we eat.”
“That’s nice.” I swallow, assuming I know who she’s talking about. I pause, uncertain, but decide to just come right out and ask her. “Is James here with you?”
“James?” She sounds like she’s never heard the name before. My wine arrives and I smile gratefully at the woman who delivers it. “James Eisner?”
“Yes.” James Eisner. Her grad student turned lover. The twenty-four-year-old she left my father for.
I’d met him once, accidentally. I’d been looking for my father, hoping he would give me a ride home one day. When he wasn’t in his office, I’d wandered over to my mother’s department. James had been alone in her office, grading papers. He was handsome in a lanky way. He’d been very surprised when I’d introduced myself as her daughter. Not surprisingly, my mother did not display any pictures of me in her office.
My mother’s laugh jerks me away from my memory. “Of course not. I haven’t seen him in years. The last I heard; he was dating a music student.” She says “music” as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “A vocal major named Harmony, if you can even imagine.” She laughs again, colder this time. “Whatever made you think of him?”
