Misplaced Expectations, Chapter 12

Two days later, I was back home in New York, getting all packed up to move to Oklahoma for two months and filled with the now-familiar mix of trepidation and excitement. I was in such a good mood I was even happy to help Kelsey and Maude, my housekeeper, pack my trunks in preparation for shipping.

I had spent the past few days tying up loose ends, especially with Greg. He had taken me out for a lovely dinner at Le Cirque so we could talk, and we decided to keep seeing each other—and, much to my delight, he was going to fly to Tulsa after I'd been there awhile to meet my brothers and see my birthplace. I would miss him, but this was important to me, and he understood that.

I was in the middle of folding a stack of cashmere sweaters in tissue paper when Kelsey came into my dressing room with a rack of skirts.

"Hey, Kels," I said cheerfully. "Have those been pressed yet?"

"No, not yet." Kelsey paused and then glances into my open trunk. "Mia, remember our little talk about packing essentials, since your room there is likely to be quite small?"

"Sure," I replied absently as I folded.

"Then why are you taking three swimsuits?"

I giggled and flopped down on the dressing-room sofa. "Okay, maybe I need to pare it down a little." Hanging over the edge of the sofa with my head upside-down like a bat, I gave Kelsey a grin and said, "One swimsuit, but I do need fifteen skirts."

"Fine," Kelsey conceded. She picked up the iron and began to smooth out one of my skirts, saying, "You'd better get to bed, sweetheart, and get all rested for tomorrow morning."

"'Kay." I kissed Kelsey's cheek and slipped into my bedroom and climbed into bed, pulling on my eye mask and flicking out the lights.

Two hours later I rolled over and sat up, giving up trying to sleep. I just had too much on my mind. Wrapping myself in my thickest dressing gown and putting furry slippers on my feet, I stepped onto my balcony and sank into an armchair. New York City's glittering skyline spread before me, as well as the millions of stars dotting the midnight-blue sky. I wanted to watch the stars like I did with Risa.

Risa.

And then I knew where I wanted to go.

Still in my dressing gown and slippers, not caring that it's three in the morning, I took the elevator downstairs and left my building attracting very odd looks from the concierge and doormen. Outside I hailed a taxi—I may be more used to a chauffer, but I'm a bred New Yorker, and people really shouldn't be so surprised that I can hail a cab. I'm an heiress, but not completely useless.

Ten minutes later, we arrive—my apartment on Forty-Second Street, the one I grew up in, the one I shared with Risa. I haven't been here since the week after the funeral. Taking a deep breath I entered the lobby, trying to let the memories come one at a time, not all at once.

I take the elevator to the twenty-third floor, which is our—my—apartment, the whole floor. It's spacious and beautiful. My mother had impeccable taste. But it feels ghostly. It's exactly as it was when I was here last, that is, exactly as it had been when I was growing up. I hadn't wanted to change it; I decorated my Madison Avenue place with all new stuff. And it feels slightly eerie here, but exactly right.

Wandering, I soak up the rooms of my childhood. Morning room, drawing room, parlor, the vast dining room, formal living room, the immense kitchen, library, maids' rooms—I'd forgotten how enormous this place was. That frightened me. What else had I forgotten?

My rooms, the nursery suite, were the same, but I didn't enter them. I wasn't ready for that yet.

But I did enter Risa's suite, where I really wanted to be. In wonderment I touched individual objects as if they were in a museum, relics from a distant era. But they were, after all. Relics from when a beautiful lady inhabited these now-cold rooms.

I walked into the dressing room and played with things on her dressing table, remembering a time when lipstick and pearls were foreign, impossibly glamorous objects. Her clothes hung in organized racks all round the room, and I searched till I found what I wanted, the floor-length cream cashmere cardigan Risa wore before she dressed for a night out, the one she wore so often when she sang me to sleep.

Wrapping myself in the cashmere, I made my way back to the bedroom and collapsed in her soft four-poster bed. I closed my eyes and breathed. Among the mustiness of the room was her smell, her soap and cleanliness. And—I pressed my nose into her cashmere—her Chanel perfume. That smell in my nose was a homecoming.

I wept then, but just a little. Lying on my back on her bed, I studied the immense oil painting above the headboard, of Risa in formal evening dress and me, age eight, dressed to the nines as well. I remembered posing for that portrait—I'd gotten so bored that my nanny read stories to me while we were posing so I wouldn't fidget.

"Hi," I whispered to the painting, my eyes on my mother's warm smile. "How are you? I've been away a while, Risa. And guess what? I'm going to Tulsa tomorrow, to live with my brothers for vacation. Isn't that something?"

A sob choked my throat. "The thing is, I miss you, Mummy. But they need me, I think, and I kinda need them a little too. But I love you, and I'll make you proud, I promise."

I waited until I stopped crying, then I got up and unsteadily left the apartment. That was enough wallowing in the past for one night. I was going back to the Curtis house, and I was actually going to have fun, at least once I found again the part of me that knew how.

But I took the cashmere sweater with me, as a little bit of Risa to take to Oklahoma.

I took a cab back to Madison, and once upstairs I collapsed into bed. With Risa's sweater around me, I was finally sleepy—and smiling.

The next morning was one of the busiest I'd ever known. There seemed to be a thousand last-minute things to pack or do or remember. But finally I was at the airport, dressed in my traveling suit—a dark-rose wool skirt with its matching jacket and a white silk blouse—and the small valise I was taking on the plane on my arm. Now came the hard part.

Kelsey ran her hand through my dark curls and brushed at her eyes. "Now remember, Mia, you can call anytime, if you need anything. I'm only a short plane ride away. And I'll be right there at home when you return. And I packed gloves and a scarf in your valise."

I felt teary at this little speech—so like Kelsey to take care of me right up till I got on the plane. Dear Kelsey, my confidante and best friend…I threw my arms around her and sobbed. Feeling her arms around me and the kiss she pressed to my curls, I squeezed her tight and thought how much I'd miss her.

Stepping back from me, Kelsey pulled out her handkerchief out and mopped up my face before attending to hers. She smiled and took my hands.

"I'm going to miss you, sweetheart, but I am so happy for what you're doing," she whispered. I nodded and kissed her twice, once on each cheek.

"Thank you. For everything, Kelsey," I said quietly. We exchanged one more quick hug and then I turned around, waved, and boarded the plane.

I settled into my first-class seat and gratefully sipped the Mimosa brought to me by an attendant. Looking out the window, I smiled, and thought about Tulsa. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.

A/N: Oh wow, it's been awhile! Let's just say my second college semester was a lot more work than the first…freshman year is hectic! But anyway, I really want to pick this story up again, if people are interested in reading it. And how will I know if people are interested? Why, by the reviews, of course! I know this chapter is short, but I really want to know if people want to read before I write more. So have an amazing weekend, darlings!