Chapter 6 - The Invitation
The charity winter gala was held at the historic Grand Ballroom downtown—a majestic hall featuring crystal chandeliers, soaring marble pillars, and massive mahogany double doors.
As the lead designer for the event’s centerpiece display, my company, Reed Restoration, was tasked with creating the grand VIP dining table—a magnificent, twelve-seat banquet table crafted from reclaimed century-old pine, finished with gold-leaf inlay and surrounded by hand-carved velvet chairs.
Two days before the gala, invitations for the event went out across the city. The local news stations buzzed with excitement about the guest list, noting that tickets were nearly impossible to secure unless you were a major donor, civic official, or prominent society figure.
My phone rang while I was reviewing the seating chart for the VIP table in my workshop. It was an unknown number with a local area code. Thinking it was a client, I answered professionally.
“Hello, this is Hannah Reed.”
A sharp, breathless silence hung on the other end of the line for a moment, followed by a voice that I hadn’t heard in years, though I would recognize its brittle edge anywhere.
“Hannah? Hannah, is this really you?”
It was my mother, Diane. Her voice sounded older, thinner, raspy with the unmistakable tremor of age and lingering anxiety.
I didn’t speak immediately. I let the silence stretch, watching a speck of sawdust drift slowly through the shaft of afternoon sunlight cutting across my desk.
“Hannah, are you still there?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “It’s... it’s your mother.”
“I know who it is,” I said, my voice completely calm, devoid of anger or warmth. “How did you get this number?”
“Brooke saw your name in the society magazine,” Diane rushed to explain, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic, unaccustomed haste. “And then we saw the announcement for the winter gala. Hannah, we are... we are so proud of you. Everyone in town is talking about your furniture line. It’s remarkable, truly remarkable.”
I leaned back in my leather chair, spinning a small brass screw between my fingers. “Thank you. Was there something specific you needed, Diane? I’m quite busy with the workshop.”
May you like
There was a sharp intake of breath on her end. The omission of the word “Mom” clearly stung, but she swallowed her pride because she needed something. I could hear it in the nervous rustle of paper in the background.
“Well,” Diane began hesitantly, “Brooke and I were hoping... that is, we saw that you are hosting the VIP table at the gala this Friday night. We were wondering if you could... if you could reserve two seats for us. It’s been so long, Hannah. Family should be together for the holidays, and we want to celebrate your success in person.”
