Searching for Mr. Darcy

Scene Sixty-Nine

Momma Frampton, dressed in her Sunday best, waited outside Brigs, impatiently tapping her expensive shoe on the pavement.  "Girls! You finally made it.  Lucky you showed up at the same time.  Anabeth, where are Sean and the twins?"

"They had plans today."

"I told you I wanted to see them."

"Yes," Anabeth responded, slowly, "and I told you they wouldn't be able to make it."

"Well, that's just unacceptable.  How often do they see their grandmother? It's shameful."

"You're welcome at the house to see them anytime you'd like."

Maisie hid her grin with a hand over her mouth, but Momma Frampton's catlike reflexes caught it and she quickly switched tactics to pounce on her younger daughter.  "Is your boyfriend meeting us here?  He's late.  That's not a good sign."

"As I explained when you invited me, I do not have a boyfriend," Maisie said.

The buzzer in Momma Frampton's hand vibrated and lit up.  As they made their way inside to the hostess stand, she continued, "Don't play smart with me.  You know very well I instructed you to bring the Sebastian gentleman you've been seeing."

"I'm not seeing him anymore." And he's far from a gentleman, Maisie thought.

Her mother pursed her lips and spoke sharply to the hostess, "I guess we're only three and not seven because my daughters are incapable of following simple instructions."

Both Maisie and Anabeth rolled their eyes, prompting the hostess to smile and remain silent as she shuffled the stack of menus and rolled silver ware in her head to get rid of the extraneous four sets.

On their way to the table, Mrs. Frampton continued as if there had been no interruption.  "I see how it is - I wanted to meet him, so you ended things.  Classic Maisie.  Anything to go against my wishes, even if they were in your best interest."

"Ending things with Bastian had absolutely nothing to do with you, Mother," Maisie said, taking her seat.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I had my reasons."

"And they had nothing to do with me? Yet you won't tell me what they are."

"Leave her alone, Mom," Anabeth interjected.  Momma Frampton snapped her head around and stared open-mouthed at her eldest.  Anabeth had never defended Maisie to their mother before.

"Excuse me?"

"If she wants to tell us what happened, she will.  Otherwise, drop it."

"Well, I never..." Mrs. Frampton said.

A waiter appeared at their table and Maisie had to ask him to give them a few minutes.

"I can't believe you've done all this tacky publicity of yourself and you're no better now than you were before.  No boyfriend. No fame or money or anything that would actually be helpful.  What was the point?"

Maisie gritted her teeth.  She wanted to stand and announce to the entire restaurant that the point was she'd been drunk when she created the page and it snowballed before she even realized what she'd done.  Then she wanted to order two bloody marys and drink them in two gulps each, just to scandalize her judgmental mother.  Instead, she grinned and bared it.  "I don't know, Mother, but you'll be happy to know that I've decided to delete the page."

"Delete the page! Why on earth would you do that?  You're still single - how else are you going to find a husband?"

"The good 'ole fashioned way, I guess - Tinder."

Anabeth laughed, and hid her face behind a menu.

"I don't see what's funny about this, young lady.  Your sister is not getting any younger."

Anabeth put the menu down.  "Neither am I."

Mrs. Frampton waved off the comment.  "But you're fine - you have your career, your husband, your children.  Maisie has nothing."

Before Maisie could defend herself, Anabeth blurted out, "Sean left me.  We're getting a divorce."

"What?" Their mother's voice lowered to a harsh whisper.  Apparently, she had no problem discussing her younger daughter's deficiencies loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, but the mention of divorce was too shameful for a normal volume.

The waiter reappeared.

"Orange juice and a western omelet for me, please," Anabeth said, without waiting for waiter to ask.

"Orange juice and French toast for me.  Can I get a side of bacon?" Maisie asked.

"You don't need such sugary and fatty foods, dear," Momma Frampton said, reaching over and patting Maisie's hand.

Maisie looked her straight in the eye and said, "I think I'll also cheese grits, too.  Extra cheese."  She handed her menu to the waiter.  "And I'm going to need an obscene amount of whip cream on my French toast.  Think, how much would Leslie Knope want, then double it.  Thanks."

"Maisie, that's disgusting."  Momma Frampton turned to the waiter.  "I'm paying for this meal - she will have an egg white spinach omelet with fruit instead of potatoes and just a water to drink.  I'll have the same."

Anabeth motioned the server to her side of the table.  "Bring me the check and give my sister what she ordered.  I guarantee you I'm the better tipper. Mom leaves pamphlets shaming servers for working on the Lord's day."

The server nodded, and Momma Frampton turned as red as the fake poppies on her hat.  "What in the world has gotten into you, Anabeth?  A divorce?  Openly defying me?"

"Mom - I love you because you are my mother, but I am tired of being perfect for yo, and everyone else.  I'm tired of you pitting me against my sister, and I'm tired of trying to make a failing relationship work just because I didn't want to deal with what ending it would mean."

"I think I've lost my appetite," Mrs. Frampton said.

"You're free to leave anytime," Anabeth countered.

Maisie held back her cheer.  If they had to go through all the shit of the last several weeks to get to this point, it was worth it to watch Anabeth standing up to Momma Frampton.

It took several seconds of angry silence, but finally, Mrs. Frampton spoke again.  "You're paying?"

"I did offer," Anabeth said.

"I suppose I'll stay since I've already ordered."

Maisie didn't try to hold back her laugh that time.