License to Shop (11 page)

To my surprise, Nancy,
Penny, and Ellen had all picked a few things from the Charity box
to keep. I felt rather proud of that. All my junk wasn’t junk. But
no one really needed six orange zesters, or four strawberry
corers.

“
My mom is going to be
shocked. Thank you all for your help.”

“
Your mom is going to
speak to the decorations committee, right? Do you think it would be
okay for us to come?”

“
I think Bianca had
decided to make it a big event, so everyone is welcome.”

I realized my mom had a
fan club gathered in my kitchen. It was a little disconcerting. I
wondered if I should have paid a little more attention to her books
and TV appearances.

“
Now all I have to do is
plan the menu for tomorrow’s party, do the shopping, buy a hat to
cover my hair disaster, and I’m golden.”

“
Do you want help with
menu planning?” Penny asked. “I love to do that.”

Of course she did. But I
needed help. “If you want to stay and help with the menu, I have to
feed you lunch. I have stuff for a chef salad. Sound
good?”

They all agreed. Then
Nancy said, hesitantly, “If you like, I could see about doing
something about your hair, while you’re all planning the
menu?”

I wanted to cry, but
instead I nodded gratefully.

We planned an elegant,
easy-to-fix menu. I was thrilled. It would fit my budget, and not
take too much time to prepare and fix.

Best of all, the dishes
were the kind that were hard to ruin. I still might, but there was
less chance of it. And all the menu had cost me was a big bowl of
chef salad. Definitely worth it.

Nancy had made my hair
look less bad-hair-cut-awful and more fashion-forward-awful. I gave
her a hug when she left, and whispered, “I owe you big time, three
times over!”

She just patted my
shoulder and smiled.

I carefully wrapped two of
the pastries for Deb. I’d drop them off to her on my way to the
store. But first I had to shower and change out of my cleaning
sweats.

Or so I thought, until my
cell phone rang. My mom had taken an earlier flight. She was
waiting for me to pick her up. Now.

Sigh. Thank goodness for
the PTA cleaning fairies.

CHAPTER NINE

Once Mom
Gets Her Sights on You

I headed for the airport, thinking about how I’d make all the
things I had to get done today fit into the change of
schedule.

Knowing I needed to shop
anyway, I had taken two grocery mystery shops. The first one was a
quick shop at our local SuperiorMart. A lot of paperwork for
fifteen dollars off my grocery purchase, but our newspaper doesn’t
carry many double coupons, so I considered it a nice discount on my
usual close-to-a-hundred-dollar bill. The second one would be
trickier, since I needed to mystery-stalk the meat department, with
a very specific script to follow.

Armed with the shopping
list full of things like London broil, new baby potatoes,
asparagus, and a nice bottle of red wine or two, to make the menu
Penny had helped me create for my dinner party tonight, I had been
looking forward to the trip.

I had added a few snacks
to the list—better to throw them at the kids and banish them to the
tv room while I was working—homework would get short shrift tonight
with my mother’s library presentation looming, but hey, sacrifices
had to be made. Anna might miss her homework, but I could set the
timer for her reading in about ten seconds flat. No
biggie.

But now I had to swing by
the airport and pick up my mother. As I drove, I debated whether it
would be better to drop her off at home or take her to the store.
Home, of course. Except there was no time. I had to do the
shopping, pick up the kids, and then get my family fed before we
went to watch my mother give her library presentation. So we were
going to have a shopping date, whether Mom liked it or
not.

She was waiting at the
curb when I pulled into the airport. She had four suitcases for a
three-day visit. Two of them were her patented Hands-On Homemaker
suitcases — full of her crafts and whatnot for her presentations.
They had the Hands-On Homemaker logo plastered all over
them.

I suspected there were
gifts for the kids in the two unmarked suitcases. I hoped there
weren’t any gifts for me. My gifts always consisted of things that
were supposed to help me organize and always made life
harder.

I popped the trunk latch
and jumped out of the SUV to help Mom shove the suitcases into the
back, among the sports gear. Where I was going to put the
groceries, I couldn’t say. Back seat with the kids, I
guessed.

After stowing the
suitcases, I hugged her. “So glad you could visit,” I
lied.

“
You really shouldn’t go
out in public in sweat pants.” She whispered in my ear, “And what
in the world have you done to your hair?”

I tried not to feel too
self-conscious — the parking monitor was giving me dirty looks and
I was going to get a ticket if we stayed curbside much longer. “I
was feeling fashion-forward,” I joked.

She eyed me skeptically.
“I’m not sure fashion will ever go that far forward.”

I did not take the bait.
There wasn’t time to get into an argument I’d never win. “I thought
you were coming in at three.”

“
I grabbed an earlier
flight, so I could prepare for the presentation tonight. I don’t
like to look a mess.”

Of course, which meant she
was going to mind that I wasn’t about to take her right home. I
broke the bad news quickly. “I have to go shopping, and then I have
to pick up the kids. And then we can go home and you can freshen
up.”

“
I would have thought
you’d get your shopping done yesterday,” she said
disapprovingly.

“
I like to multi-task, so
I combine my family shopping with my mystery shopping, which needed
to be done today.” Unable to shake my defensiveness, I added,
“Besides, I want everything fresh for my dinner party tomorrow.” I
dropped that bomb on her as casually as I could.

She stopped and gave me a
classic double-take before she climbed into the passenger side of
the vehicle. “You’re throwing a dinner party? For whom?”

I tried to sound casual,
even though the concept of me throwing a dinner party still amazed
me. “Just a few people. Seth’s dean and the dean’s wife Deirdre,
who’s a heart surgeon. The VP of research and his wife. My possible
future boss, the Director of Admissions and one of her Admissions
Counselors. There will only be eight of us. It’s a small
party.”

She smiled approvingly at
me, and I basked in the unusual feeling of her approval. “I’m
surprised you didn’t start with a cocktail party at first. Perhaps,
it is best to start intimate, when you begin formal entertaining.
”

Intimate. Yes. That word
threw tomorrow night into a different light. Why hadn’t we opted
for a cocktail party? Less opportunity to screw things
up.

“
What are you serving?”
she asked as I pulled into the SuperiorMart parking lot, thinking
about my menu in light of the looming intimacy of cooking for a
table of eight — now including my mother, come to think of
it.

“
Something simple and
foolproof,” I assured her. If I ruined anything, there’d be nowhere
to hide. Thank goodness Penny and the PTA cleaning fairies had
helped me pull a foolproof menu together. Or so they’d
sworn.

“
Remember,” I said in a
low voice. “I’m doing a mystery shop. If I say something strange,
don’t say a word, just let me get the job done.”

“
My goodness. I can’t wait
to see you in action,” she said, with an amused smile.

I did not fail to notice
that she had not agreed to let me shop in peace.

I grabbed my phone and
noted the condition of the store’s parking lot, as well as the
front entryway. They were clean and swept, with no visible
potholes, uncorraled carts, or trip hazards, thankfully.

As I locked the car, I
said, “I have a list. Why don’t we each take half? That way we’ll
get you home a little sooner.”

“
Good thinking.” She held
her hand out for half the list, and I gave her the half that didn’t
include anything in the departments I had to shop.

“
I’m going to let you go
in first, okay? I don’t want the cameras to catch me coming in with
someone else, just in case anyone checks up on me. We can meet at
the checkout, and I’ll pay for everything in both our
carts.”

She huffed out a deep sigh
at the subterfuge necessary. “I’m glad you’ll be giving up this
foolishness soon. Have you gotten a job offer yet?”

“
Not yet.” I added,
defensively, “And I get fifteen dollars for the shop. Pretty good
discount for groceries I already need.”

She murmured a response I
didn’t quite catch, so I decided to take it as
agreement.

I vow every
shopping trip to be more organized—make a menu, write a list, clip
coupons, buy generic. But every time I write a menu I get a
migraine—Seth hates spaghetti, Anna doesn’t like her foods to
touch, and Ryan would rather eat a bug than a vegetable.

It was almost pleasant to
shop with the list Penny had helped me make. Or, technically, half
the list, since my mother had the other half.

I’ve done enough grocery
shops now that they only add about fifteen minutes onto my usual
shopping time.

I quickly checked off that
the selection of carts included those with infant seats and those
with wheelchairs. The store isn’t required to have one of those
cute car carts that kids love, but it had one, so I made a special
note.

Anna always wanted to ride
in one, but I tried to shop when I knew it would be in use by some
other mother who didn’t mind maneuvering an unwieldy cart through
dump-narrowed aisles. I tell Anna I like her to be close enough to
hug, although the truth is I just don’t want her so far from my
ability to keep her curious little hands away from cart wheels and
tempting lower shelf products.

I like shopping without
children best, so I’m always glad when I have a shop to do—the
rules say no kids allowed, so I have an excuse to avoid bringing
either of them. I think I’m within the rules with my mother. She’s
an adult, and she’s not actually shopping with me.
Technically.

For some reason, I felt
more confident than usual. Sure, I was still wearing the casual
sweats I’d been cleaning in, but the power bra I’d bought at a
lingerie shop last month seemed to alter my personality as well as
my bustline. At least, when my mother wasn’t around.

I sneakily flipped my
sheet of questions—I print them two sheets to a page and fold them
like a list, so I can make comments as I do the shop and save some
time.

I didn’t make a note about
the guy staring at me from the bench by the soda machines, although
I wanted to. Instead, I marked the time I entered the store and
used my homegrown shorthand to note the condition of the cart I’d
grabbed on my way in. Squeaky wheel.

Normally, I would have
taken it back, but when I shop I feel morally obligated to use the
first cart I choose, and report the condition with complete
honesty.

As I wheeled through the
automatic glass doors—so shiny I could see myself. Whoa? Was that
me? The woman with a feminine shape, even in the sweatshirt? I
stopped a moment in shock, only to be rammed from behind by a
grandmotherly type who had mistaken the entrance to the store for
the entrance to the Grand Prix.

She didn’t apologize, just
muttered an imprecation of some sort to my clumsiness as she
wheeled past me with a long list and a fistful of coupons. Someone
who had apparently passed Supermom status into cranky
Grandma-Hall-of-Fame.

I shook it off and hurried
to the snacks aisle. I knew I’d have to keep the kids occupied and
pacified for both the dinner party, and my mother’s visit this
weekend. Whenever there is a choice between healthy-but-not-tasty
or unhealthy-but-a-super-special-favorite, I cave and buy the
unhealthy snack.

A supermom shouldn’t cave,
I know it. But my mother never allowed non-nutritious snacks in our
house, so I find my inner child at war with my desire to be a
supermom when it comes to certain treats. And TV. And video
games.

Fortunately the rest of
the shop—inspection of the store’s cleanliness, two questions to
employees on the floor and a purchase from the deli counter, went
smoothly.

My mother was waiting for
me when I arrived at the checkout. I tensed, waiting for her to say
something about me being a mystery shopper. To my surprise, she
didn’t look at me. Instead, as soon as I pulled my cart up behind
her, she loaded her items onto the counter.

When her cart was empty,
she turned to me, as if I were a stranger, and said, “Excuse me, I
forgot something.”

I tried not to gape as she
slipped past me as silkily as Mata Hari.