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Chapter 4
Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath before she pulled open the diner door. Lunch with her mother was always an adventure and usually left her unsettled, or irritated, or just plain confused. However, with them both living in Port Charles, it seemed there was no way Elizabeth could shield herself entirely from her mom's goofiness. Bells adorned the diner's door—no doubt in early preparation for Christmas—and they jingled loudly. Only the patrons nearest the door seemed to notice the sound.
Elizabeth scanned the bustling crowd and soon picked out her mother's signature carrot-orange hair. Inwardly, she sighed. She would have thought once her mother went gray, she would have chosen a more . . . understated . . . color for her hair. Instead, she insisted on choosing the hideous orange that Elizabeth hated on her mother. Her mother waved eagerly, and Elizabeth wove through the tables until she reached the booth. Caroline Webber beamed as though she hadn't seen her daughter in years.
"Have a seat!" her mother cried, sounding far more excited than the situation warranted.
Her eyes shone with an almost manic glee, and Elizabeth's guard went up. Elizabeth hung her coat on the metal hanger attached to the seat, then slid into the booth, still wearing her hat and scarf. The seat made an unattractive whooshing sound when she sat. "Have you ordered?" she asked, reaching for a menu.
Not that she hadn't memorized the menu ages ago, but she desperately wanted to put some kind of distance between them before she could get sucked into her mother's madness. Unfortunately, her mother ignored the question entirely.
"Guess what?" she cried, loudly enough that Elizabeth glanced around to see if anyone was staring at them.
"It sure is cold today," Elizabeth tried, aware that her voice had an almost desperate edge to it.
Her mother laughed and plucked the menu out of Elizabeth's hands, tucking it back in its holder. Elizabeth looked up, frowning. Her mother had never been beautiful, but she was striking, even now. The orange hair was cut ultra short, except for a coquettish curl that dangled over her forehead. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and though she tended to wear too much makeup on her eyes and lips, she never covered those freckles with foundation. Her eyes were russet, but recently she'd taken to wearing green contact lenses. No one would mistake that kelly green for her natural color, and yet somehow it looked right on her. Today, those eyes shone with glee.
"No hiding, and no changing the subject," she scolded, the smile never leaving her face. "I'm blissfully happy, and I want to share that happiness with my daughter. There's no crime in that."
Elizabeth leaned back in the booth and regarded her mother skeptically.
"The last time you were this happy was when you thought you'd found the best get-rich-quick idea you'd ever heard of and you got ripped off by a stupid pyramid scheme. The time before that, if I remember correctly, was when you did that past life regression therapy and 'discovered' you were a reincarnation of Boudicca, the Celtic warrior queen."
Elizabeth felt her cheeks heating with indignation as she continued to catalog her mother's nutty missteps.
"Then there was the time you went on your crusade to save the homeless and started inviting various drunks and junkies to spend the night in the warmth of your apartment and ended up homeless yourself when your landlord kicked you out."
Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, no longer looking quite so gleeful.
"Don't forget the time I claimed to have slept with the King of Faerie and gave birth to his child." Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
God, please don't let her go on about that nonsense again! The only thing Elizabeth felt certain of about her birth was that her mom had been staggering drunk when she'd slept with her father—whoever he was. The man had probably been equally drunk. Elizabeth had no idea which of the two drunken nut-cases had come up with the King of Faerie idea, but if she had to guess, she'd say her mom. Any way she could find to make her life seem more dramatic and important than it was Caroline Webber would seize with a single-minded gusto.
"I don't know how I managed to raise such a closed-minded cynic," her mother said with a shake of her head.
Elizabeth ground her teeth. "I don't know, Mom. Maybe it's because I've seen you screw up so many times and unlike you I'm actually capable of learning from your mistakes."
This was turning out to be even worse than she'd thought it would be! She usually managed to convey long-suffering tolerance with her mom. Today, she seemed unable to contain her disdain.
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