My Mother's Bestfriend

Chapter 4

The days since Eleanor’s arrival had settled into a kind of uneasy routine. There was a rhythm to our interactions now, but it was still awkward, still strained. I could see that my mother was trying, really trying, to recapture the bond she once shared with Eleanor, but there was a distance that neither of them could quite bridge. And as for me, I was caught in the middle, trying to navigate the tension while also grappling with my own confusing feelings.

It was a Saturday when Mom suggested that the three of us spend the day together. The idea made my stomach twist with anxiety. I didn’t know what to expect, and the thought of being around Eleanor for an entire day felt overwhelming. But I agreed because what else could I do? I didn’t want to disappoint Mom, especially not now when she seemed so desperate to hold everything together.

The morning started with a quiet breakfast, the three of us sitting around the table, the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. Mom had gone all out, making pancakes, eggs, and bacon, the kind of breakfast she used to make when Dad was still alive. It felt almost like old times, except it wasn’t. The empty seat at the table was a constant reminder of what we had lost.

“This looks wonderful, Claire,” Eleanor said, her voice warm but still carrying that hint of formality that never seemed to leave her. She smiled at my mother, who returned the smile with a nervous edge.

“Thank you,” Mom replied, her hands fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. “I thought we could have a nice day together, just the three of us. Maybe go into town, do some shopping, and have lunch at that little café by the lake?”

Eleanor nodded, her expression polite. “That sounds lovely. What do you think, Jade?”

I looked up from my plate, feeling the weight of their attention on me. “Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “That sounds nice.”

But as the words left my mouth, I knew they were hollow. I wasn’t excited about this day. I wasn’t looking forward to it at all. There was a tension in the air, a subtle undercurrent that made it hard to breathe. But I kept those feelings to myself, hoping that maybe, somehow, things would get easier as the day went on.

After breakfast, we got ready to leave. I dressed in my usual jeans and a hoodie, while Mom and Eleanor both put on more stylish outfits. Eleanor’s clothes were always impeccable, like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She wore a soft cashmere sweater and tailored pants, her hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders. I couldn’t help but feel plain and ordinary next to her.

The drive into town was quiet, with only the hum of the car engine and the occasional comment from Mom breaking the silence. She pointed out landmarks as we passed, trying to spark conversation, but it was clear that Eleanor was still adjusting to being here. Her responses were polite but brief, leaving little room for the warmth Mom was so desperate to create.

When we arrived in town, the streets were bustling with people going about their Saturday routines. The shops were filled with the usual weekend crowd, and the air was crisp with the promise of autumn. We wandered from store to store, browsing through clothes, books, and trinkets. Mom tried to engage us both in the experience, but I could see that she was struggling to find common ground.

In one boutique, Mom picked up a scarf and held it up for Eleanor to see. “This would look beautiful on you,” she said, her voice filled with a hopeful enthusiasm.

Eleanor smiled and took the scarf from her, running her fingers over the soft fabric. “It’s lovely, Claire. But you should get it for yourself. It’s your color.”

Mom’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Maybe,” she said, putting the scarf back on the rack. “But I think it would suit you better.”