Page 71 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
Claire doesn’t blink. “Wellness, yes. Enlightening? That’s subjective. But I’m sure you know all about enlightenment. You’ve been going to yoga retreats since the nineties. That’s what you told the reporter that time… right?”
I can practically feel the chill between them. Claire’s not holding back, and neither is Elaine.
This is what they do. Trade barbs, but with that lovely, polished veneer of civility that makes everything sound complimentary until it isn’t.
Elaine smiles, but it’s all teeth.
“You’re so funny, Claire. I always admire people who can make a business out of… anything these days.” She takes a slow bite of her parfait, as if letting the words sink in before adding, “What’s the market like? Still selling a dream to the desperate?”
Claire’s eyes narrow. She’s good at hiding it, but I see the flicker of anger. “I’d say the only people desperate for anything are the ones trying to keep up with the Joneses who’ve spent their whole lives pretending everything’s perfect.”
Elaine laughs, but it’s cold. “That’s one way to look at it. Of course, your clientele doesn’t always look so… polished. Do you really think they buy into the whole mindfulness thing, or are they just there for the Instagram photos?”
I’m on the verge of losing it. My mother’s performing, Claire’s playing the perfect counterpoint, and I’m stuck here. An unwilling spectator in a drama I never asked to be part of.
This isn’t a catch-up… it’s a damn battlefield.
I take another sip of my coffee, ignoring the bitter taste that sits on my tongue. I need to get this under control, fast.
My patience is already wearing thin, but I refuse to let this escalate any further. Not today. Not here.
I glance at Claire, who’s sitting back now, her posture almost too perfect. She’s calmly waiting for her next move. She’s biting her tongue, just barely.
I can see it in her eyes, that slight edge of tension beneath the calm. She’s ready to snap at any second. And I don’t blame her.
This isn’t a fair fight. It’s one of those situations where she’s already outnumbered, and Elaine knows it.
I want to say something, anything, to cut through the tension. To make this nonsense stop. But the second I do, the whole room will freeze.
Elaine thrives on conflict. She doesn’t need me to speak up; she wants me to sit here and watch the mess unfold.
“Mom, let’s…” I start, trying to bring some sense of calm to this storm, but she cuts me off, still smiling that sickly sweet smile.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says, as if she’s done nothing wrong. “I’m just trying to understand this whole wellness thing. I mean, you’ve made quite the name for yourself, Claire. Who wouldn’t want to be enlightened by someone who’s… well, so modest about it?”
Claire doesn’t even flinch. Her lips twitch, a ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I can feel the tension building, and I’m about two seconds from snapping.
But before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and the vibration cuts through the thick silence like a bullet.
I glance down. It’s a text message.
Nolan: Ryder, heads up. Sunny seems to be freaking out. She’s been asking Dex about Vincent Lang. Lang Capital Holdings. I don’t know if this is something you need to know.
“Shit.” I jump up from my seat. “I have to go.”
Mom narrows her eyes at me. “What are you talking about? We aren’t finished yet.”
I don’t have time for this. Not when something is going on at the hotel.
“Finance emergency,” I say, clipped, not even bothering to offer any more explanation.
I can feel their stares as I grab my coat off the back of the chair. Elaine’s smirk falters for a second, but she quickly recovers, not missing a beat.
“Oh, of course,” she says, that syrupy sweetness lacing her tone once again. “Business always comes first. Just like your father, always working.”
I don’t even look at her. I can’t. Not now.
I give Claire a fleeting glance as I pull open the café door, hoping for a moment of understanding. She’s watching me, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.
