Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Page 25

  “Yes, but she didn’t know I was listening,” I said, my heart feeling like it had been run through a shredder. “Anyway, even if he only agreed to do it out of pity, it still makes the whole thing feel like a sick joke.”

  “I can understand your feeling that way. But you’re not being fair to Althea,” she chided, as she slid the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of me on the butcher block. “Althea had good intentions. You know she did.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t quite work out that way.”

  “So have you talked to her?” Bernie asked.

  “No,” I said. “I tried to call, but she wasn’t there. Which was just as well since I’d have only said things I’d probably regret. Better to wait until I have time to process what’s happened.” I took a forkful of omelet, the cheese and onion mixing with the egg to form a perfect creamy bite.

  “I’m not sure she’ll give you that kind of time,” Bernie said, handing me a plate of muffins. “Look, I understand that you’re angry. But you can’t avoid her forever. She’s family and she raised you.

  “Well, she’s not my mother if that’s what you’re getting at.” The words were bitter, but I was beyond sugarcoating. “Melina is my mother. And if Althea hadn’t run her off, she would have raised me.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bernie said, with a hint of rebuke.

  “I was there. I heard them arguing.”

  “You were just a little girl. And believe me, whatever you think you heard, it was just the tip of a very large iceberg.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The truth. I’ve kept quiet all this time because it wasn’t my place to tell you, and because Althea wanted to protect your memories of your mother. But I think it’s time. The lies have gone on long enough.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” I said over a bite of muffin. “But nothing you can tell me will change the way I feel about my mother.” I sounded defensive, but I’d been facing more than my fair share of realities of late, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for another revelation. Being angry at Althea was all that was holding me together at the moment. That and Bernie’s cooking.

  “Maybe not. But you still need to hear the truth.” She sat down across from me, her eyes kind. “Your grandfather used to say that your mother was like a butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, never staying long enough to leave an impression. She was beautiful. Like you, Andi. And even I have to admit, it was pure pleasure just to watch her.”

  “I remember thinking that she had a smile like sunshine,” I said, the image floating through my mind.

  “She was fearless,” Bernie continued. “And it scared your grandparents. But Althea always seemed to be there to watch over her sister. So gradually, without realizing what they were doing, they made Althea responsible for Melina.”

  “But Mother was older than Althea,” I said, still thinking of my mom.

  “Yes. Which makes it all the more unusual, I suppose. But Althea was always a nurturer. I think that’s why she’s so good at matchmaking. For all her spouting about ‘like attracting like,’ I think deep down she really believed in the power of love.”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand if I choose to disagree with that,” I said.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, Andi.”

  “All right. Fine. We’ll stipulate that at some point Althea believed in love. But you used past tense, so I’m assuming you’re saying she doesn’t believe in it anymore?”

  “Just hang on. I’m getting there,” Bernie said, taking a sip of coffee. “So, where was I?”

  “Mother as a butterfly,” I prompted.

  “Right.” She nodded. “Anyway, the older Melina got, the more distracted she became. Although I’m not entirely sure that’s the right word for it. I guess in a lot of ways Melina was like Harriet. They both choose to see the world through rose-colored glasses, and while that makes life a lot of fun, oftentimes it can hurt the people around them.”

  “Like Harriet not being here now.” I hated the thought but I couldn’t avoid it. My grandmother loved me. I knew that. But she wasn’t ever really there for me. Not in the way I needed. And as much as it hurt to admit it, the same was true of my mother. Only more so.

  “Exactly,” Bernie agreed. “But we’re talking about your mother. You have to understand that Melina was given free rein. She did pretty much exactly what she wanted. Which led to some rather indiscreet moments.”

  “Me, you mean,” I said, taking another bite of muffin.

  “Well, certainly the events leading up to you being born. But there was quite a bit more. As I said, Melina wasn’t afraid of anything. Including experimentation of all kinds. For the most part she managed to walk the line, but there were definitely moments when she pushed things a bit too far.”

  “So you’re saying Mother did drugs?” I asked. “Who hasn’t?”

  “Me, for one.” Bernie smiled. “Anyway, there were other things. But none of them are really important except that they can help you understand how close Melina danced to the fire.”

  “I know Mother was wild, but what does that have to do with Althea sending her away?”

  “What makes you think Althea sent her away?”

  “I told you, I heard her. They were yelling. Althea told Mother she wasn’t fit to be a parent. And the next morning Mother was gone. What else could I have thought?”

  “That there was more to the story.”

  “How in the world was I supposed to have thought that? I was eight.”

  “Well, you’re not eight anymore.” Bernie’s tone was gentle, but I felt the rebuke nevertheless.

  “Fine, then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest mutinously. “Tell me what really happened.”

  “You have to understand that Althea didn’t have much of a life in those days,” Bernie said. “Keeping up with Melina was a full-time job. And then when your grandfather died, she had to take care of Harriet as well. Not to mention you.”

  “So now you’re casting Althea as Cinderella?”

  “No. I’m telling you that she didn’t have much of a life outside of this family, until she fell in love.”

  “Althea?” The idea seemed almost ludicrous. She was so into everyone else’s love lives that it had never occurred to me that she could have had one of her own.

  “Yes. And for a little while at least, she was really happy.”

  “Who was he?” I asked, surprised to find that I had trouble picturing Althea young and in love.

  “Philip DuBois.”

  Everything went silent as I tried to digest the idea.

  “Althea had a relationship with Philip DuBois,” I finally squeaked, surprised that I’d managed any sound at all. “My Philip DuBois.”

  “Yes.” Bernie nodded.

  “So that’s why he refused to do the interview,” I said, more to myself than to Bernie. “He told Monica it had something to do with Althea. I just assumed it was all the bad press.”

  “I’m not privy to the workings of Philip DuBois’ mind, but if he made the connection between the two of you, it certainly makes sense, under the circumstances, that he’d not want to further the relationship.”

  “You make it sound so dire. And I still don’t see what any of this has to do with the argument I overheard the night Mother left.”

  “It has everything to do with it.” Bernie paused, her expression grim. “Melina ran away with Philip.”

  “Oh my God.” My heart lurched and tears filled my eyes. No matter how angry I was at Althea, she didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal.

  “Philip was young. And very French. He’d asked Althea to go away with him. To Paris. Despite his success in New York, he missed his home. And so he asked Althea to come with him. And she wanted to go. I know she did, because I heard her crying about it, but when I tried to comfort her, to get her to talk about it, she just said that things would be fine.”

  “But she d
idn’t go,” I said, pushing away my plate, my omelet forgotten.

  “No. In the end she chose to stay with you. As I said, Harriet was never really much on mothering. And Melina even less so. Althea knew you needed her. So she begged Philip to stay. To make their life in New York. He refused. And so Althea turned him down.”

  “Because of me?” I said, feeling oddly guilty for something that had happened when I was only a little girl.

  “Yes. Philip was adamant and so was Althea. It was a complete impasse. But then Melina came to Althea with a solution. She offered to let Althea take you with her to Paris.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “It’s ugly, but it’s the truth, and Althea has paid for Melina’s carelessness for far too long. Melina’s offer came with a price. She’d managed to run up a rather large debt. As you know, Niko left most of his money to Harriet. But there were trusts for both of his girls, as well as one for you.”

  “I used part of it to buy my apartment.”

  “Yes, well, your mother blew through hers in a matter of months and she wanted Althea to cover her debts.”

  “And so Althea demanded me in return for the money,” I said, still valiantly trying to defend my mother. The one who apparently never really existed at all.

  “No, Andi.” Bernie shook her head, her eyes filled with compassion. “Althea refused altogether at first. But Melina could be quite convincing when she put her mind to it. And so finally Althea agreed to discuss the idea with Philip.”

  “But he said no, didn’t he?” I asked, suddenly afraid that I knew how the story ended.

  “Yes, he did. And so Althea refused to give Melina the money.”

  “And that’s what they were fighting about the night I heard them.”

  Bernie nodded, her wrinkled hand closing around mine. “The next morning we woke to a note telling us your mother had run off with Philip. To Paris.”

  “Oh, God, Althea must have been crushed,” I said, my stomach knotting at the thought of her pain.

  “That’s the funny part of it,” Bernie said. “I know that she must have been devastated. But instead of moping about or trying to do something to stop them, she just threw herself into raising you. Genetically, Melina may be your mother, Andi, but in every other way, the ones that really count, it’s Althea who’s always put you first. Althea who’s always been there for you. Even when she goes about it all the wrong way.”

  “And she didn’t want me to know any of this?”

  “No. She wanted to protect your feelings for your mother.”

  “And the cards Mother sent?” I asked, a nasty realization forming in my head. “The gifts?”

  “They were all from Althea.”

  “I suppose I should have known. Everything was always so perfect. The little French doll. The African rug in its perfect shades of green. The painted platter from Bellagio. All things I loved. Things only someone who really knew me could possibly have chosen.” I blew out a long breath, trying desperately to reorder a world gone suddenly topsy-turvy. “What about DuBois? Did he stay with my mother?”

  “No.” Bernie shook her head. “They went their separate ways after only a few months. And I’ve always felt that he must have regretted the choice he made. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.”

  I reached for another muffin, taking a bite as I tried to make sense of everything Bernie had just told me. Althea had chosen me over the man she loved. And my mother had chosen Philip over me. Hell, she’d chosen everything over me. And I’d gone right on believing Althea was the enemy.

  Althea, who’d always been there. Through all my ups and downs. Maddeningly pushy, overbearing as all get out, but always there.

  I swallowed the last bit of muffin, everything finally coming into focus. And it hit me. As clear as if it had been highlighted in neon. “It’s lime zest,” I said, amazed that it could really be so simple. “The missing ingredient is lime zest.”

  “And?” Bernie prompted.

  “And—you’re right. Althea is my mother. In every way that counts. I’ve just been too stubborn to see the truth. But what do I do now?” I asked, finding myself on uncharted ground.

  “You go and talk to her. And you try to understand that whatever she does, right or wrong, it’s because she loves you.”

  Chapter 25

  On a good day the walk from Harriet’s apartment on East End to Althea’s on Fifth is about twenty-five minutes. It took me two hours. Partly because I was trying to digest everything Bernie had told me. And partly because I kept getting distracted by favorite epicurean haunts.

  The Upper East Side, for all its haughty attitudes, is home to some of the best markets in the city. There’s Agata and Valentina, Eli’s, Citarella, and Grace’s, just to name a few. And I visited several. Strolling up and down aisles of produce and freshly baked breads is soothing to me in the way being surrounded by racks of couture or tables full of Manolos, Maddens, and Jimmy Choos is soothing for other women.

  The fact that I hadn’t arrived on Althea’s doorstep with arms full of plastic and Styrofoam is testament to the fact that I was completely and totally distracted by my confusion.

  On the one hand, I was still really angry at what she and Ethan had pulled. But on the other, I was shaken to the core with what Bernie had divulged. I’d never really stopped to see things from Althea’s perspective, my perceptions colored by the argument I’d overheard that night long ago. Maybe it was a stupid mistake, or maybe I had just wanted to believe in my mother. But either way I’d managed to keep Althea at arm’s length despite the fact that she’d chosen me over happiness with someone else.

  And then there was the fact that that “someone else” happened to be Philip DuBois. The man who held my career in the palm of his hand. Okay, maybe not so much my career. But at least my chance at prime time.

  No wonder he’d thought I looked like someone he’d once known. Even though people said I looked like my mother, the truth was that I was a ringer for Althea when she was younger. I must have been a real blast from the past. And not a particularly good one.

  When he’d blamed Althea for his saying no to my request, he hadn’t been thinking about the paparazzi. He’d been thinking about the woman he’d dumped. For her sister.

  Talk about tangled webs.

  I walked into the lobby of Althea’s building and took the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor. But I still couldn’t bring myself to knock. Instead I just stared at the door. So much so that Mildred DiGrassi, my aunt’s eighty-five-year-old neighbor, had poked her head out in suspicion. Although I assured her I had absolutely no interest in making off with her Hummel collection, I could still hear her, just on the other side of her door, eye glued to the peephole.

  Of course, Althea had to know I was out there, too. The building was the kind that double- and triple-checks security—even though I’d been coming in and out since Althea had first moved in. I guessed she was just giving me time to compose myself. And I should have felt grateful, but all I really felt was lost.

  I’d spent the past couple of hours trying to make sense of all of it, and hadn’t come up with a thing. So here I stood in the hallway, annoying Mildred DiGrassi, without a clue as to what it was I really wanted to say.

  But in the end, it didn’t matter.

  Althea opened the door and simply held her arms out and I was there in three seconds flat.

  There’s something so comforting about a maternal hug, no matter how mad you are at the woman giving it to you. A thousand memories rushed through me. Althea braiding my hair. Althea taking me to fit my first bra. Althea beaming at my first, and only, dance recital. They’d given parts out according to talent. I was a gate. Which basically consisted of my standing in second position, and swinging a hula hoop in and out. Needless to say I was not the star of the show, but Althea had clapped as if I were a prima ballerina on opening night.

  There were lots of memories there. I’d just never recogniz
ed them for what they were.

  “I’m still really angry at you,” I said, pulling back.

  “I know. And you have every right to be. I should have handled it better. But I was only trying to help.”

  And there you had it. The purest of all motives. Even in the face of the disaster that was my life, I couldn’t help but respond to the honesty in her voice. She did love me. That much I was suddenly very certain of.

  “So what have you brought me?” she asked, purposely lightening the moment.

  “Bernie’s muffins,” I said, holding out the foil-covered plate. “The missing ingredient was lime zest.”

  “She finally told you?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I figured it out myself. Along with a few other things.”

  “I knew you’d get it eventually.” Althea smiled, her words holding a multitude of meanings. “You always do.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But I can be a little slow.”

  “Sometimes it takes a crisis for us to be able to see what’s been right in front of our faces all the time.”

  “I do seem to have been enduring more than my share of late,” I said, sitting down on the sofa. The room was decorated with a light hand. Everything in shades of cream, teal, and rose. It just felt like Althea. “Although, quite frankly, some of them have been my own fault.”

  “Well, at least you can admit it. Not many people can,” she said, setting the plate of muffins on the table. “And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry for my part in all of it. I honestly didn’t set out to hurt you.”

  “I know.” I nodded. “I’m not saying it helps. But I do know.” We sat for a minute in silence and then, with a sigh, I jumped right into the hard part. “Bernie told me about what happened. With Philip DuBois and my mother.”

  “I know. She called to tell me.”

  “To warn you, you mean,” I said, offering a weak smile. “I was pretty upset.”

  “And I don’t blame you. I probably should have told you the truth a long time ago. I just wasn’t sure there was really a need. And I hated the idea of ruining your perception of your mother."

  "No. It was important for me to understand what really happened. Seems I’ve been carrying around a lot of misperceptions. In fact, I think it might be my specialty.”