Sometimes, when a person lives at a distance, their identity seems less vibrant, less powerful. This is even the case with someone dearly loved, sometimes; Brooke and Morgan have been struggling with that very thing lately, needing reminders to contact one another and being uncertain how the other would respond to a certain situation or event.
This is not, however, the case with Felicity Harris.
Jonathan’s invitation for Lauren to join him when he goes to visit his parents for Thanksgiving was not the dramatic moment he thought it might be. Lauren already has plans to join her own family then, so there was no insult in her refusal. On being informed of this on the phone this morning, however, his mother did not see it this way.
Lauren, who has taken to stopping by Jonathan’s house for Sunday brunch, was surprised to meet him on his way out. “Where are you off to?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes before kissing her. “Mom saw a complaint on Instagram about one of those new yogurts being bad. She’s convinced that I haven’t been checking the temperatures correctly. I’m running over there to check them for her now.”
Lauren angled her head and frowned even as she smiled. “Your mom is on Instagram?”
“My mom is everywhere,” Jonathan said in an aggrieved tone, making her laugh.
“Isn’t it your store?”
“If it is, no one’s told her. Trust me, it’ll be much faster for me to just do what she wants and get back. Then we can have some peace.” He gave her one more kiss and told her to make herself comfortable in the house before trotting down to his car.
Lauren did let herself in, musing on everything she has heard about Felicity Harris. Jonathan’s mother has not lived in Standish for more than five years now, but she is still well-remembered in the area. More than a few people have laughingly wished Lauren good luck against the woman. Lauren has tried not to feel intimidated, but still she was glad to have an excuse not to meet her.
She was still thinking this when Jonathan’s phone rang. Lauren ignored it, until the ring clicked over to the answering machine.[1] A strident voice called into the quiet house.
“Miss Isaacs? Are you there? I hope you are, I hope Jonathan didn’t drag you out to the store with him. He said he wouldn’t, but who knows what that boy is thinking sometimes. I would like to speak to you, Miss Isaacs, if you would answer the phone please.”
Lauren was staring in disbelief. Slowly, she reached out and picked up the phone, hitting the button to connect the call. “Hello?”
“Ah, Miss Isaacs, I presume,” said the forceful voice. It is not unpleasant, not at all, but it is a loud voice, a voice that takes up space so that it seemed the woman was there in the room with Lauren. “Yes, my name is Felicity Harris, how are you?”
“Fine,” Lauren said, still confused and startled. “What—”
“Yes, Miss Isaacs, I just wanted to talk to you for a little while. My son has told me a great deal about you, and I felt that since you won’t be joining us for the holiday, we should at least chat a bit to get to know one another.”
“Um—all right, that sounds, um—”
“Oh, my dear, I hope you are not one of those people who is always saying ‘um’ and ‘uh’. Think before you speak, that is what I always used to tell Jonathan.”
Lauren opened her mouth to say, “um” but I stopped her in time.
“Now, Miss Isaacs, Jonathan says you are a music teacher?”
“Yes, the assistant choir director. At the high school.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“Three years, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” Felicity laughed, a quick laugh that flowed right back into speech. “I like that. Too few young people are respectful to their elders anymore. So you have been there three years? Was this the first position you took after you graduated from college?”
“No, the second,” Lauren said, nearly choking on an “uh”. She felt harried, as if she were being measured and judged with every word she said—and perhaps she was. “Mrs. Harris, did you send Jonathan to the store so you could talk to me?”
“Oh, honey, please, call me Felicity. Now this campaign of yours, with Jonathan raising money for the musical, was that your idea or his?”
Lauren wracked her brain, trying to think which answer Felicity would rather hear. “It was his idea, Mrs. Harris. I would never have asked him for his help.”
“Well, and I’m not saying that my Jonathan isn’t happy to help. It’s all we hear about these days, aside from you, dear. I just don’t know that it’s helping his relationship in the town. A local business owner always has to be on good terms with his peers, I always used to remind my Steven of that.”
This made Lauren sit up straighter. “Isn’t it Jonathan’s decision what to do with—”
Felicity interrupted her with a cry of dismay. “Oh, honey, please don’t think that I disapprove, no, I know how important it is to him to help out kids. And of course I’ve said all this to him—”
Of course you have, Lauren thought, the words so clear and full of irritation that I nearly laughed.
“—but I just wanted to make sure that you understand what he’s doing for you, my dear, the position he’s putting himself in.”
Lauren started to respond in anger, but I wrapped a wing around her shoulders. “She may be difficult,” I whispered into her ear, “but she is a mother, and she loves her son.”
Exhaling long and slow, Lauren said, “I fully understand, Mrs. Harris, and trust me when I say I don’t take it for granted.” Her words took on a new warmth as she thought of Jonathan and his work for the kids they both care so much about. “He’s a very good man, and I am very lucky to have his help with this.”
The praise disarmed Felicity. “Well, thank you, dear. And I told you, you could call me Felicity.”
This time, Lauren believed it. “Then you must call me Lauren.”
“Lauren. Well, that’s a nice name. I promise you, I nearly lost my hair when Jonathan told us he was thinking of asking a girl to join him for Thanksgiving. I had already pulled out my grandmother’s recipe for sweet potato casserole—there’s a legend in the family, you see, that it brings a blessing to every table that you set it on. But I understand that you have other plans?”
Shrinking under the implied criticism, Lauren didn’t hear the door opening. “Yes, my sister is hosting Thanksgiving for the first time this year, and she’s asked me to help her.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your family, of course, but we’ll be sorry not to have the chance to meet you—”
Lauren nearly jumped a foot when Jonathan plucked the phone from her hand and lifted it to his ear, a sardonic twist to his mouth. “Nice trick, Mom. The temperatures are fine, just like I told you. Bye now.”
Of course it was not that easy to hang up on Felicity, who had a few more things to say. Jonathan, however, only listened for a moment.
“Mother.” His voice was sharp enough that even she stopped talking. “This is inappropriate. Now, if you haven’t scared her away, you’ll meet Lauren properly another time. In the meantime, kindly restrain yourself from terrorizing either of us. Love to Dad.” And he hung up the phone.
Lauren stared at him in awe as he returned the phone to its cradle and came to sit next to her on the couch. “You’re so dead,” she said.
He sighed and fell over to rest his head in her lap. “I’m so dead,” he agreed. Looking up, he managed a smile. “But it was a little bit fun, too.”
She shook her head in amazement and began to stroke his hair. “You stood up to your mother for me. I am struck dumb.”
“Better that than ‘umming’,” Jonathan said, and they laughed.
Thinking over the conversation, however, Lauren soon said, “She means well, though, doesn’t she? She just wanted to make sure I was good enough for you.”
“Well, last I checked, she didn’t get a say in that.”
“Try telling her that,” Lauren said.
Jonathan sat up and turned to her. “She doesn’t, you know,” he said, his eyes serious as he looked at her. “I love my mother very much, and I follow her every wish and command because usually she is right in what she tells me to do. I want her to like you, and I want you to like her. But when it comes to you and I, she doesn’t get a say.”
Lauren smiled, her eyes tingling. She leaned forward and kissed him, tracing her fingertips down his cheek.
Then she said, “Do you think maybe I should write her a little note?”
Jonathan grinned. “You better let me read it before you send it to her.”
[1] The purpose of the machine is rather self-explanatory—it answers the phone when one is not at home and takes a message. It is the same function performed by ‘voicemail’ on a cell phone. Many people, Jonathan included, use it as a way to know whether or not they actually want to speak to the person who is calling.