Page 58 of A Touch of Spring Magic

“No sane woman walks away from a job like that unless it’s to raise her children, and last time I checked, no ring, no bun in the oven,” her mother interrupted.

That shouldn’t feel like a slap.

“I’m in no rush.”

“Women can’t behave like girls the same way men behave like boys into their mid-thirties. The good Lord does not provide that biological freedom. You’re thirty-one.”

Like she’d forget her age. Jessica stared down at her salad and tried to rein in her temper. But pique rolled in at her from all sides. Her perfectionist mother who had such a rigid outlook on life that had defined her for far too long combined with the laws of biology raced through her with the power of a blowtorch.

“Your looks won’t last forever.” Her mother’s voice softened. “You are still my beautiful baby girl.” A whisp of a smile graced her mom’s lips.

A compliment from her mom had always felt like treasure, but this one left her cold. She was so much more than her appearance. But still, this was her mother.

“You’re still stunning,” Jessica said honestly.

Wearing an iced-blue Chanel suit, her golden cap of blond hair perfect, and subtle makeup, gold and pearl earrings, and layered gold and pearl chains, her mother easily looked fifteen years younger than her age.

“Keeping up appearances gets harder, Jessica, not easier. You’ll know that soon enough.”

Her mother spoke briskly and then took a sip of her herbal tea—no sugar or caffeine for her mom ever, and Jessica tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mom drink a soda from a can or indulge in dessert, laugh out loud.

Her heart sank a little.

“Appearances aren’t the only thing that matters in life,” she said, sullen as a teenager.

Her mom’s stare burned through that statement.

“I hear that childishly unrealistic Chloe Cramer in your voice, Jessica, not you. I raised you better. You were homecoming queen and Miss Teen Gaston County. You would have won Miss Teen North Carolina if you’d competed.”

She still heard the longing in her mother’s voice, and she felt like everything inside her stilled. No rush of blood. No thrum of an eager heartbeat. She’d loved the pageants initially because her mother was all hers. Pleased with her. But she’d been alienated from her sisters, and really, herself. Every woman had started to feel like a rival.

For what?

Male attention? Her mother’s pride and acclaim? Other mothers’ envy?

“Why wouldn’t you ever treat Chloe like a daughter?” Jessica asked, shocking herself as much as her mother.

Her mother’s hand, halfway to putting the first small bite of a salad Nicoise to her carefully painted, mauve-pink lips, paused. A mild expression of annoyance flitted across the curated Botoxed and expertly lifted features.

“Sheis notmydaughter,” her mother said disdainfully, her cold eyes meeting Jessica’s startled ones. “Millicent chose to adopt and name Chloe, who was dropped off in a box like a stray cat, humiliating us all.”

She’d heard her mother distance herself from Chloe before, lightly dismiss her presence in the Maye life as if Chloe was another one of Grandma Millie’s good works, but somehow today it really hit. And she felt like she walked a tightwire. She too could fall from her mother’s grace if all she had was her beauty and corporate success to keep her aloft.

Her mother took a small bite. Delicately chewed. Dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin and glanced around the room at the other diners, before leaning forward and whispering.

“Is the firm in trouble? Were you laid off? Your father could use your expertise in the main office. He’ll talk to you tonight at dinner. Your father and I have been discussing traveling more. With you in the firm, he could groom you to take the reins. You could continue to build the Maye portfolio and influence.

“You can still garden on weekends. Hire staff and instruct them, though why you want to live on that overgrown farm all alone behind that spooky wrought iron…” Her mom shook her head. “But developing those last lots would be a much better business decision than creating a garden for people to troop around in. And you’ll need to get permission to use the back road into the farm. No way will the neighborhood association approve customers driving through the community on the way to your, ‘nursery.’” She made air quotes.

Her mother’s intent stare held her in place like a pinned beautiful butterfly corpse.

“But perhaps the botanical garden could be a gift to the county—keeping the Maye name of course. That adds a cache, and public works are quite admired by the Lindley family.”

“But I don’t…”

“Ransom Lindley II of the Charleston Lindleys and your father are putting a deal together for a prestigious boutique resort and development on Kiawah Island.” Her mother rolled over her protest and plans. “You could accompany your father down there for the next meeting. His son has joined the firm. It would be an excellent match. Two birds one stone.” She smiled, pleased, and took another sip of her tea. “I’ll tell Cook to expect you for dinner.”

*

---