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“You need to be physically fit. Think about it, Mom. When’s the last time you ran an eight-minute mile?”
Meg didn’t need to consider that at all—she already knew the answer. “Never.” She’d jogged around the track during high school, only because it was required of her. The lowest grade she’d ever received was in phys ed.
“See?” Lindsey said to Brenda.
“We’ll work with her,” Brenda answered. “But we’ll have to start soon.”
Lindsey crossed her arms and carefully scrutinized Meg. “About your clothes, Mom.”
“My clothes?” Meg cried, still astonished that her daughter wanted her to run an eight-minute mile. She owned a bookstore, for heaven’s sake. In the eight years since she’d bought out Mr. Olsen, not once had she been required to run for anything.
“I want to know what’s going on here,” Meg said. “Now.”
“I promise we’ll answer all your questions in a minute,” Brenda explained. “Please be patient, Mrs. Remington.”
Lindsey sighed. “Mom, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but when it comes to your clothes, well … you need help.”
“Help?” And to think Meg had been dressing herself for the past thirty-some years. Until now, no one had bothered to tell her what a poor job she’d done.
“I’m here to see you don’t ever wear high-waisted jeans again,” Lindsey said, as though pledging her life to a crusade. “They’re called mom jeans,” she whispered.
“So you two are official members of the fashion police?” Meg asked. Apparently they’d issued an APB on her!
Lindsey and Brenda giggled.
“That’s what it sounds like.”
“We’re here to help you,” Brenda said in loving tones.
“We’re here to keep you from committing those fashion sins.”
“What sins?” Meg should’ve known. “Do you mind telling me what this little heart-to-heart is all about?”
“You, Mom,” Lindsey said, in a voice that suggested the answer should’ve been obvious.
“Why now? Why me?”
“Why not?” Lindsey responded.
Meg started to get up, but Lindsey directed her back onto the bed. “We aren’t finished yet. We’re just getting to the good part.”
“Honey, I appreciate what you’re doing, but … “
“Sit down, Mom,” Lindsey said in stern tones. “I haven’t told you the most important thing yet.”
Meg held up both hands. “Okay, okay.”
“Like we already said, you’re still young,” Brenda began.
Lindsey smiled sweetly. “You could have more children if you wanted and—”
“Now wait a minute!” Meg cried.
“What we’re really saying is that you’re quite attractive.”
“Or I could be,” Meg amended, “with a little assistance from the two of you.”
“Not all that much,” Brenda added sympathetically. “We just want to get you started on the right track.”
“I see,” Meg muttered.
“Together,” Lindsey said, slipping her arm around Brenda’s waist and beaming a proud smile, “we’re going to find you a husband.”
“A husband.” Meg’s feet went out from under her and she slipped off the bed and landed with a solid whack on the carpet.
Lindsey and Brenda each grabbed one arm and pulled her off the floor. “Are you all right?” Lindsey asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
“You should’ve been more subtle,” Brenda said accusingly. “There was no need to blurt it out like that.”
Meg rubbed her rear end and sat back down on the bed. “What makes either of you think I want a husband?” she demanded angrily. She’d already been through one bad marriage and she wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
“When’s the last time you went out on a date?” Lindsey asked.
“I don’t remember,” Meg snapped. “What does it matter, anyway?”
“Mother, it’s clear to me you aren’t thinking about the future.”
“The future? What are you talking about?”
“Do you realize that in three years I’ll be in college?”
“Three years,” Meg repeated. “No-o, I guess I hadn’t given it much thought.” Although at the moment sending her daughter away actually seemed appealing.
“You’ll be all alone.”
“Alone isn’t such a bad thing,” Meg told them.
“At forty it is,” Lindsey said dramatically. “I’ll worry myself sick about you,” she continued.
“She will,” Brenda confirmed, nodding twice.
Meg figured it was a good thing she was sitting down.
“Tell me, Mother,” Lindsey said, “what would it hurt to start dating again?”
“Honey, has it ever occurred to you that I’m happy just the way I am?”
“No,” Lindsey returned. “You aren’t happy. You’re letting life pass you by. It’s time to take action. I don’t know what went wrong between you and Dad, but whatever it was must’ve been traumatic. You haven’t had a relationship since—have you?”
Meg didn’t answer that question, but wanted to reassure Lindsey about the break-up of her marriage. “It was a friendly divorce.” In fact, Meg got along better with Dave now than she had when they were married.
Brenda shook her head. “There’s no such thing as a friendly divorce. My dad’s an attorney and he should know.”
“I don’t want to talk about the divorce,” Meg said in her sternest voice. “It happened a long time ago and bringing it up now isn’t going to help anyone.”
“It might help you,” Lindsey said, her eyes intense, “but I can understand why you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t worry,” she said, and a bright smile transformed her face, “because you’re going to get all the help you need from Brenda and me.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Meg stood up and moved toward the door.
“Your diet starts tomorrow,” Lindsey called after her.
“And your exercise regime,” Brenda added. “You haven’t got a thing to worry about, Mrs. Remington. We’re going to find you a man before you know it.”
Meg closed her eyes. If thirty-seven was so young, why didn’t she have the energy to stand up to these two? She wasn’t going on any diet, nor did she have time for exercising.
As for having Lindsey as a wardrobe consultant … That was ridiculous, and Meg intended to tell her daughter and Brenda exactly that.
First thing in the morning.
Meg soon learned exactly how serious Lindsey and Brenda were about finding her a husband. She woke Saturday morning to the sound of a workout DVD playing loudly on the television in her bedroom.
She lay facedown, awakened from a pleasant dream about a sunny beach. Her arm hung over the side of the bed, her fingertips dangling an inch or so above the carpet.
“You ready, Mrs. Remington?” Brenda called from the doorway.
She tried to ignore the girl, but that didn’t work.
“You ready?” Brenda called a second time. She seemed to be jogging in place. “Don’t worry, we’ll go nice and slow in the beginning.”
“I’m not doing anything without speaking to my attorney first,” Meg muttered. She stuck out her arm and searched blindly for the phone.
“Forget it, Mom. That isn’t going to work.” Lindsey walked into the bedroom and set a coffee mug on the nightstand.
“Bless you, my child,” Meg said. “Ah, coffee.” She’d struggled into a sitting position before she realized caffeine had nothing to do with whatever Lindsey had brought her. “What is this?” she barked.
“It’s a protein supplement. The lady at the health food store recommends it for toning skin in women over thirty.”
“Are you sure you’re supposed to drink it?” Meg asked.
Lindsey and Brenda looked at each other blankly.
“I’d better check the instructions again,” Lindsey said and carried it away.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Remington, we’ll have you whipped into shape in no time.”
“Coffee,” she pleaded. She couldn’t be expected to do anything, let alone exercise, without caffeine.
“You can have your coffee,” Brenda promised her, “but first … “
Meg didn’t bother to listen to the rest. She slithered back under the covers and pulled a pillow over her head. Although it did block out some of the noise, she had no trouble hearing the girls. They weren’t accepting defeat lightly. They launched into a lively discussion about the pros and cons of allowing Meg to drink coffee. She had news for these two dictators. Let either one of them try to stand between her and her first cup of coffee.
The conversation moved to the topic of the divorce; Brenda apparently believed Meg had suffered psychological damage that had prevented her from pursuing another relationship.
It was all Meg could do not to shove the pillow aside and put in her two cents’ worth. What she should’ve done was order them out of the bedroom, but she was actually curious to hear what they had to say.
Her divorce hadn’t been as bad as all that. She and Dave had made the mistake of marrying far too young. Meg had been twenty-two when she’d had Lindsey, and Dave was fresh out of college. In the five years of their marriage there hadn’t been any ugly fights or bitter disagreements. Maybe it would’ve helped if there had been.
By the time Lindsey was four, Dave had decided he didn’t love Meg anymore and wanted a divorce. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did—and it hurt. Meg suspected he’d found someone else.
She was right.
For a long time after the divorce was final, Meg tried to convince herself that her failed marriage didn’t matter. She and her husband had parted on friendly terms. For Lindsey’s sake, Meg had made sure they maintained an amicable relationship.
Dave had hurt her, though, and Meg had denied that pain for too long. Eventually she’d recovered. It was over now, and she was perfectly content with her life.
She’d started working at Book Ends, an independent bookstore, and then, with a loan from her parents she’d managed to buy it.
Between the bookstore and a fifteen-year-old daughter, Meg had little time for seeking out new relationships. The first few years after the divorce she’d had a number of opportunities to get involved with other men. She hadn’t. At the time, Meg simply wasn’t interested, and as the years went on, she’d stopped thinking about it.
“Mother, would you please get out of this bed,” Lindsey said, standing over her. Then in enticing tones, she murmured, “I have coffee.”
“You tricked me before.”
“This one’s real coffee. The other stuff, well, I apologize about that. I guess I misunderstood the lady at the health food store. You were right. According to the directions, you’re supposed to use it in the bath, not drink it. Sorry about that.”
Meg could see it wasn’t going to do the least bit of good to hide her face under a pillow. “I can’t buy my way out of this?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“You’ll feel much better after you exercise,” Brenda promised her. “Really, you will.”
An hour later, Meg didn’t feel any such thing. She couldn’t move without some part of her anatomy protesting.
“You did great, Mrs. Remington,” Brenda praised.
Meg limped into her kitchen and slowly lowered herself into a chair. Who would’ve believed a workout DVD, followed by a short—this was the term the girls used—one-mile run, would reduce her to this. In the past hour she’d been poked, prodded, pushed and punished.
“I’ve got your meals all planned out for you,” Lindsey informed her. She opened the refrigerator door and took out a sandwich bag. She held it up for Meg’s inspection. “This is your lunch.”
Meg would’ve asked her about the meager contents if she’d had the breath to do so. All she could see was one radish, a square of cheese—low-fat, she presumed—and a small bunch of seedless grapes.
“Don’t have any more than the nonfat yogurt for breakfast, okay?”
Meg nodded, rather than dredge up the energy to argue.
“Are you going to tell her about dinner?” Brenda asked.
“Oh, yeah. Listen, Mom, you’ve been a real trooper about this and we thought we should reward you. Tonight for dinner you can have a baked potato.”
