Page 87 of The Weekend Crashers
“Mom, you can camp out in this lobby all day and night. But that’s not going to change anything.”
“So what will?” Maggie’s eyes are wide. “Tell me how to make this right.”
Piper feels bad, but she’s not the one who created this situation. And so she only has one answer for her mother. At least, for now. “I need you to leave me alone.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Belinda stands in the middle of the Purl holding the framed group knitting retreat portrait in one hand, a nail and hammer in the other. She walks to the portrait wall, rests the new frame on the ground and strikes the nail into the first empty space she can reach. She’s efficient with a hammer, and the nail is secured with just two quick strikes. But it feels so good to beat something into the wall, she keeps hammering until the nail is embedded up to the head. Then, just for fun, she hammers in another. And then another.
“Bee? What are you doing?”
Max stands in the doorway.
“I’m hanging the retreat picture. Like I always do.”
They look at each other, and it feels like a standoff.
The past twenty-four hours, they’ve done nothing but bicker. And last night, they had a big argument, and now she can’t even remember what it was about. It was probably over something trivial. Everything Max says and does sets her off.
He rubs his jaw. “Why are you putting it up just to take it down again soon?”
It’s a logical question. Max is nothing if not logical.
Selling the inn makes sense at their stage of life. People downsize from houses to apartments. They retire. Belindaknows she is not the first person at age seventy to have decisions to make, to confront the difficult reality that things change. And she would have to admit, if someone had asked her back in 1998 if she planned to be running a hotel for the rest of her life, she would have said absolutely not. And maybe that’s still true. She’s just not feeling good about making the change right now. But Max is, and rational thinking is on his side.
“If you want to sell this place for financial reasons, I won’t hold you back. And if you move to Philly, that’s your prerogative. But I’m not sure I want to go with you.”
Maggie slides into her usual booth at Gracie Mews diner just as the sun sets. She’s not hungry, but if she has dinner, she can view the day as over. And she wants to end the day as soon as possible. More than that, she wants to forget the day ever happened.
Across the aisle, the old woman who used to scold Piper as a child is in her usual spot, eating soup, alone. Her rouge and eye makeup look bright and hopeful even though her expression is, as usual, miserable. The old woman has witnessed countless dinners over the years shared between Maggie and Piper. Now, Maggie has the strange urge to slide into the seat across from her and say,You won’t believe this...
Would Piper have called to tell her about the engagement if she hadn’t shown up on her doorstep? No. She would not have. That’s clear from the conversation they’d had in that airless little vestibule.
Maggie lets this sink in: Her daughter got engaged and had no intention of telling her. It would be unthinkable just forty-eight hours ago.
A server comes by the table, and it’s not Dimitris. She’s relieved. She doesn’t want to do the usual “breakfast for dinner”banter without Piper. In fact, before the server’s finished delivering her order to the kitchen, Maggie knows she’s going to have a hard time eating.
It feels very warm and loud in the room. In addition to the booths and tables, the diner has a busy horseshoe-shaped counter. Behind it, servers run around in constant motion, pouring drinks, swapping out dishes and distributing checks. And just beyond the counter is a semi-open kitchen from which waitstaff move back and forth, back and forth, in an endless churning of meals.
Maggie’s stomach churns, and she considers canceling her order. She looks around for her server and instead spots Dimitris on the other side of the counter. She tries to get his attention with a wave, and when that doesn’t work, she gets up from her table. Walking toward the counter, her shin hits something hard, and she loses her footing, toppling over onto the hard terrazzo floor.
What the hell just happened? She sits up.
“Look where you’re going!” the Dragon Lady scolds. Meanwhile, her metal cane is jutting out from the floor underneath her table.
“I tripped over your cane!”
The old woman purses her crimson lips before saying, “There’s absolutely nothing in your path. You fell because you’re not paying attention.”
Sheispaying attention.
Maggie, giving up on the idea of canceling her order, walks back to her table—a little shaky but otherwise fine. She ignores the stares and whispers, and soon she’s forgotten as everyone gets back to their meals and conversation. The Dragon Lady stands from her table and takes a long time getting into her coat. Maggie watches her leave.
There’s absolutely nothing in your path.
She knows the woman said that just to cover her ass for letting her cane nearly break someone’s neck. But to Maggie, the words take on a bigger meaning.There’s nothing in your path: You have no future. Or is it encouragement?There’s nothing in your path: There’s nothing stopping you from being happy. But there is: Her daughter isn’t speaking to her, her own boss basically told her that her job is meaningless and the one guy she’s fallen for in as long as she can remember ignored her texts, probably assuming she’s a flake.
Is some of this her fault? Absolutely. She made some mistakes. Fine, a lot of mistakes. But she could fix them. Wasn’t that what she said over and over this past weekend? You can’t get better if you don’t make mistakes. If it’s true for knitting, why can’t it be true for life?
