The Fortune Teller(57)

Helen watched the cab drive off. “What, no bags?”

“I figured I’d wear whatever is here,” Semele lied. She had no clue what clothes she had in her old room.

Her mother assessed her. “You look exhausted.”

“Just a little tired.”

They headed up the brick walkway. Once inside, Helen made a beeline for the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind chicken,” she said, as if Semele had come home for their usual dinner and they hadn’t been estranged for months.

“Sounds great.” Semele grimaced internally. Baked lemon chicken was her mother’s go-to. She always paired it with warmed spinach salad and quinoa.

“I invited Macy to join us,” Helen called out.

“Oh.” Semele wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Macy was one of her oldest friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her, but now the whole dynamic would change. Macy knew all about the drama with her mother and had been urging Semele to patch things up.

“I thought it’d make tonight more festive, a real homecoming.” Helen flitted into the dining room to light a votive candle. Semele noticed that the old wooden high chair had been brought down from the attic; apparently Macy’s toddler would be here tonight too. Forester would probably be as cranky as last time, which meant dinner would involve a lot of buttered noodles on the floor.

Semele went to open a bottle of wine.

“Not that one, honey.” Helen took the bottle away and handed her another. “I thought tonight we could open this one.”

Semele saw the label. It was her father’s favorite sauvignon blanc from a boutique winery in Napa. They’d bought a case on their last trip, and Semele knew this was the last bottle. “We don’t have to open it,” she said quickly, trying not to get emotional.

“No, I want to.” Helen uncorked the wine with nervous hands and poured them each a glass. They stood at the dining nook like strangers at a cocktail party. “How’s work?” Helen smiled.

“Busy. I’ve been dealing with a special collection from Switzerland.” She didn’t say that she’d been taken off the account or that the prize manuscript had been stolen. “I may go to Beijing next.”

“Ooh, that sounds fun.” Helen headed off to the kitchen again. “Let me check on the chicken.”

“I’m translating a manuscript from Greek,” Semele called out, not wanting to follow her.

“That’s wonderful!” Helen’s reply sounded overly cheerful.

Semele rolled her eyes, now completely regretting this visit. She didn’t know where to put her anger. Nothing had changed.

The doorbell rang. Semele barely had time to open it before Macy blew inside, juggling a diaper bag full of toys and a bottle of wine. Forester was almost two now and sat perched on her hip like a koala bear. Somehow Macy made it all look effortless.

“Oh my God! I’m so glad you’re here.” Macy managed to give her a huge hug.

Her long hair was wrapped and knotted in a scarf that matched her peasant skirt. She smelled like sandalwood oil, and a dozen more freckles had appeared on her face since the last time Semele had seen her.

Macy lowered her voice. “Sorry. Your mom wanted me to be here. I think she was really stressed out about tonight.”

Semele nodded as if she understood. It was surreal to think that her mother needed the moral support of her best friend in order to see her again.

“Is that Macy?”

Within seconds Helen had the baby blanket spread out on the living room floor and Forester playing with his toys, while Macy helped herself to a glass of wine. Semele felt a tug of jealousy. She couldn’t help wondering if Macy and Forester came over here a lot.

“How are you?” Macy asked. “How’s Bren? I haven’t talked to you in ages!”

“I know. I’ve been busy on the road.” Before Semele could say more, Helen shuttled them to the table and started bringing out the dishes.

Semele and Macy looked at each other and smiled. How many nights had they eaten at each other’s houses? Growing up, the two had been inseparable.

Helen sat down at the table with a martini in hand. She had already moved on from the wine. Semele frowned, unable to withhold her judgment. Whenever her mother was in a stressful situation, she drank more than usual. It had been that way all her life and had only gotten worse. Even Macy would probably still remember when all the mothers quietly discouraged Helen from driving the kids to French club in high school, because they were worried she would have one too many at the “cultural” dinners. Semele dropped out of the club soon after and never told her mother why.

The three ate in uncomfortable silence. Occasionally Helen called out to Forester, to see if he wanted to join them at the table. Macy assured her he had already eaten.

“So, how have you been, Mom?” Semele knew it was a clumsy attempt at a first step.

“Good! So busy!” She launched into an upbeat spiel about her social calendar, throwing words about like Band-Aids as though they could somehow mend the rift between them. Instead the chatter was just awkward as Helen went on about her bridge group, her book club, and the “marvelous” show she just saw at Yale Repertory Theatre.

When her mother started describing the upcoming Botanical Society tea party she was invited to, Semele poured more wine. She figured she might as well top herself off too at this point.