Brunch at the Midtown, or How Elizabeth and Darcy met on Mother’s Day

This is a vignette I wrote a few years ago in celebration of Mother’s Day. I hope you enjoy it!

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The Bennets

A few hours and it will be over. It is such a gorgeous day. A bike ride through the ravine. That will be my reward for being the good daughter, Elizabeth promised herself. She had arranged to take her mother, Fanny, and father, Rupert, to one of the best brunch spots in the city: the Midtown Hotel. It was a fancy restaurant, although the atmosphere was relatively casual for brunch. Celebrities were often spotted at the Midtown, and Elizabeth thought her mother would get a kick out of eating in the same place that some of the rich and famous did. Her parents had driven in from their suburban home and were going to see a matinee production of a well-reviewed and popular show at the Royal Alexandria theatre that afternoon. Elizabeth had gifted the tickets to them as her Mother’s Day gift; she would pay for brunch, too. She did not expect to hear the words ‘thank you’ from her mother. Fanny would not think of saying them—not to Elizabeth at least.

She should have known that the Midtown’s popularity with celebrities would not be enough to distract Fanny. They had just been seated, Fanny and Rupert on one side of the table and Elizabeth opposite her mother. Fanny looked around the restaurant, her face long and displeased, and sighed.

Resigned, Elizabeth said, “Is something wrong, Mom?”

Fanny sighed again, this time louder than before to make sure her grief was heard by everyone. “It’s just not the same without Jane here. It hardly feels like Mother’s Day at all.”

“Gee, thanks,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

Elizabeth’s older sister, Jane, had moved to Thunder Bay soon after her Valentine’s Day wedding to Charles Bingley. Fanny had not yet recovered. In Fanny’s eyes, Jane was perfect. She was beautiful—and happened to take after Fanny, unlike Elizabeth—sweet and soft-spoken. Jane was an appeaser, which suited Fanny, who found it pleasant to have someone so sympathetic and who wouldn’t argue with her close by. But now Jane was a thousand kilometres away, an extra four hundred kilometres, if driving, and couldn’t get home to celebrate Mother’s Day.

“At least we still have our Liz with us,” Rupert said in a cheery tone. “And the food here is supposed to be excellent. Thank you for arranging this, sweetie.”

Elizabeth smiled at her father. To her mother, she said, “Jane did call you this morning, didn’t she? And send you flowers?” That had been Jane’s plan. And she better have followed through! thought Elizabeth.

“Lovely pink roses,” Rupert said. “Your mother’s favourite. They are beautiful, aren’t they, Fanny?”

Fanny huffed, her eyes fixed on the empty spot at their four-seat table; she frowned as though it was the saddest sight she had seen in a very long time. There would not have been enough space at the table for Charles, but Elizabeth didn’t think her mother cared, not after he had the audacity to take Jane so far away. It had been Jane’s idea to leave Toronto, but Fanny would never accept that her darling Jane could be so cruel as to abandon her loving mother.

“I suppose,” Fanny said, her voice distracted. “I just don’t see why she had to settle so far north. What is wrong with the GTA*? There were some very nice houses for sale close to ours. She would have liked to have stayed near me.”

Rupert slumped in his chair and sent an apologetic look to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wanted to yell but kept her thoughts to herself; it was Mother’s Day after all. Maybe because you are the ultimate in interfering mothers slash mothers-in-law! The way you took over the wedding the moment they announced their engagement was all the impetus they needed. For crying out loud, I think you even picked out Jane’s wedding underwear. If I ever get married, I am so eloping.

Out loud, Elizabeth said, “It was a great opportunity for both of them.”

Rupert added, “They love their jobs in Thunder Bay.”

“And the lifestyle,” Elizabeth said.

Fanny glared accusingly at Elizabeth. “That sort of thing, all of that outdoors stuff”—she waved her hand as if it were somehow improper—“is more what you like to do, not Jane. All that camping and-and trees.”

Fanny’s mouth twisted, and Elizabeth knew she was thinking that she wished Elizabeth were the one who had moved a fifteen-hour drive (if traffic leaving Toronto wasn’t bad, which it always was) away. It was only a couple of hours by plane, but Fanny’s nerves couldn’t stand the fuss involved in flying.

“The world needs more trees, you know,” Elizabeth said as cheerfully as she could.

“We are very fortunate that Liz’s job keeps her tied to a large city,” Rupert said.

“You would see it that way.” Fanny sniffed dramatically.

At the same time, Elizabeth said, “There’s always Vancouver or Montreal.”

Rupert chuckled while shaking a finger at her, silently telling her she wasn’t allowed to think of leaving Toronto. Fortunately for him, she happened to love her job and couldn’t imagine giving it up.

“Montreal?” Fanny exclaimed. “Your French isn’t good enough.”

Elizabeth called on her dwindling reserve of patience. Think long bike ride, E. And a nice bowl of pasta for dinner. With mushrooms.

They were interrupted by their server. They asked for more time to decide on their meals but ordered drinks.

“Coffee,” Rupert said. “Fanny?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Should I have coffee? I had some earlier. But tea… I’m not that fond of it.”

“My wife will have a glass of orange juice—it’s freshly squeezed, Fanny; you’ll love it—and coffee.”

“Coffee with oat milk, please,” Elizabeth said.

Once the server left, Fanny said, “You’re still doing that, what’s it called these days, plant eating?”

“Plant-based,” Elizabeth corrected. “And I’m vegan. It’s not the same.”

Fanny dismissed this with another wave of her hand. Elizabeth had often fantasised that her mother had a lace handkerchief in her hand when she waved it around like that. She loved to watch period drama adaptations. Maybe I’ll start one tonight. North and South? Persuasion? Wives and Daughters? Our Mutual Friend?

“Perhaps you remember, Fanny, that Liz has been vegan since she was fourteen. I think it’s time to accept that she’s serious about it.”

Rupert winked at Elizabeth, and she suppressed a laugh.

Fanny grunted. “Oh, I remember. So much trouble.”

“How?” Rupert asked. “She was the one who always made sure she had something to eat and researched what she needed to do to stay healthy.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do with her?” Fanny countered. “Tofu! How was I supposed to cook it? I don’t see what’s so wrong with—”

Elizabeth rested her head against the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, she focused on blocking out the sound of her parent’s voices. At the edge of her awareness, she heard a patient voice, one whose tone she thought must resemble the one she used when talking to her mother.

“No, Mum, of course you wish Georgie was here. That’s not what I meant at all.”

Elizabeth tilted her head to see the speaker. It was a very handsome man, about her age, sitting at a table with two older women, one man and a couple who looked to be in their mid-30s. Their eyes met, and he quickly flickered his upwards and smiled at her before turning his attention back to one of the older women.

The woman said, “But she never comes home! Her exams ended weeks ago. George, you should have told her she had to come home this summer! You never stayed away like this, Will. Anne didn’t either when she was at university. Anne, you are such a good daughter to your mother.”

The other older woman said, “I would not permit it. You allow Georgiana too much freedom, Anne. I’ve always said it.”

The older man, who resembled the one called Will, sighed. “Yes, Catherine; you do always say it.”

Will—Elizabeth rather liked the name—covered his mouth with a hand to hide a laugh.

Elizabeth’s attention was recalled to her own table when her mother asked, “Elizabeth, what does one eat in a place like this? Rupert, do I like eggs Florentine? It sounds very…involved.”

For some reason, Elizabeth’s mood had lightened. Her well of patience was fully restored and, instead of being annoyed or frustrated by Fanny’s words, she felt only love for her mother, which is exactly what a daughter ought to feel on Mother’s Day if she could possibly manage it.

 

The Darcys

Will Darcy had known for weeks that Mother’s Day was going to be unpleasant this year. As soon as his sister, Georgiana, announced that she was not coming home for the summer and would absolutely not be able to fly back from Edmonton, where she was attending the University of Alberta, in time for Mother’s Day, the writing had been on the wall in extra bright, fluorescent lettering. His mother, Anne, had immediately begun to whine about it, which, he reflected after each visit or phone call they shared, was unattractive in a woman rapidly approaching sixty.

When, just days before Mother’s Day, his father, George, had told him they would be joined at their traditional Mother’s Day brunch by his aunt Catherine, Will had groaned. He had almost decided to announce that he had come down with a highly contagious disease when George dropped the absolutely awful news that Catherine’s horrible daughter, Anne (not to be confused with his mother, who, despite her whining and over the top preference for Georgie, was not horrible) and Anne’s even more despicable husband, Richard.

George must have known what he was thinking because he had followed the news by saying, “I have to be there, and so do you. It’s Mother’s Day. Your mother deserves to have one of her children with her.”

Georgie so, so owed him for this. He didn’t care that she was twelve years younger than he was and one of the sweetest people he knew, he would exact revenge or recompense. Or maybe both, depending on how terrible brunch was. If Richard brought up politics, all bets were off, Mother’s Day or not. It really said something about Catherine and Anne-the-daughter that they loved the guy.

Anne-the-mother decided on The Midtown for brunch.

Catherine didn’t even wait until they were seated before she began rambling on about the terrible traffic and how long the drive had taken them. She then started in on how the restaurant had arranged the tables.

“If they just changed the orientation of those ones,”—she pointed across the room—“the flow would be much better.”

“No doubt, Catherine,” George said. “Why don’t you sit down instead of sharing your views with everyone in the place?”

“George!” Anne-the-mother said. “How can you use that tone with my sister? My only sister! You might as well be talking to me.”

Seriously, thought Will, I do not know how they have stayed together so long.

He buried his nose in the menu, even though he already knew what he was ordering. He eavesdropped on the conversation taking place at the table next to theirs and felt both glad that someone else in the restaurant was having a miserable time and sympathetic. He knew what it was like to be the not-favoured child of a difficult parent.

Once Catherine was finished telling them how the restaurant should be decorated, Anne-the-mother sighed loudly and obviously.

“It’s just not the same without Georgie here.”

“The internship was a fantastic opportunity,” Will reminded her. They’d had this conversation about a dozen times in the last week. “She couldn’t turn it down. It could lead to great things for her.”

Anne-the-mother sniffed. “I’m not supposed to miss her? I’m supposed to be okay with my only daughter being so far away from me on Mother’s Day?”

“No, Mum, of course you wish Georgie was here. That’s not what I meant at all.” It’s a frickin’ four-hour flight. Get on a plane and go see her if you miss her that much! It’s not like she decided to go to university in New Zealand. Georgie had considered it, but Anne-the-mother didn’t need to know that.   

He caught the eye of the woman at the next table and smiled in commiseration.

Wow, she looks… really nice as well as gorgeous. There’s something about her. Her eyes maybe. But she’s probably taken. Then again, she is here alone with her parents. Seriously, Will? You’re thinking about how to meet a woman while at brunch with your mother on Mother’s Day? That is inappropriate, right?

Anne-the-mother whined, “But she never comes home! Her exams ended weeks ago. George, you should have told her she had to come home this summer! You never stayed away like this, Will. Anne didn’t either when she was at university. Anne, you are such a good daughter to your mother.”

Will barely resisted the urge to mock-gag. Anne-the-daughter was too self-absorbed and vile to be good at anything apart from making people dislike her. I suppose Richard likes her. The way he fusses over her—like she is a delicate creature instead of a healthy, if prone to hypochondria, horribly spoiled thirty-three-year-old woman—is just gross. At least it keeps him occupied.

Catherine said, “I would not permit it. You allow Georgiana too much freedom, Anne. I’ve always said it.”

“Yes, Catherine; you do always say it,” George said with a loud, very pointed, sigh.

Will had to cover his mouth to hide a laugh. As it was, he knew his mother would defend Catherine, and sure enough she did. Or tried to. Catherine over-spoke her.

“You cannot leave it to him, Anne. He can never understand, and without appreciating the feelings a mother has for her daughter, he will never take your side in this.”

George demanded, “What on Earth are you talking about, Catherine?”

“You cannot miss Georgiana the way Anne does. You are not a mother.”

Anne-the-mother glared at George and then, for some inexplicable reason, Will.

“What did I do?” Will ask. “I’m here. I’m always here.”

At the same time, George said, “No, I’m not a mother; I’m a father. A father who misses his daughter but isn’t selfish enough to demand she come home when she has just started an amazing job. I’m damn proud of her.”

Looking between George and Will, Anne-the-mother said, “You two always exclude me. It’s natural, I suppose. That’s why I feel Georgie’s absence and you don’t.”

“Daughters are never particularly important to a father. It was the same with Lewis; that’s why he left,” Catherine said.

Will almost laughed out loud, which would have created no end of problems. Catherine’s husband had left her years ago, and Will had never believed it was because Catherine had not given him a son, which was what Catherine claimed. He’d left in a bid to escape his shrew of a wife.

“You have your son; Georgie is Anne’s,” Catherine concluded.

George shook his head in disgust.

“Is my presence not required? What with having that unfortunate Y chromosome,” Will said and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“William Frederick Darcy, how can you talk that way to me?” Anne-the-mother exclaimed. “And on Mother’s Day!”

“Really, William! George—” Catherine said.

“Don’t!” George interjected. “Do not say anything more to me about either of my children. Anne, be happy Will is here. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s always getting job offers. He could be working halfway around the world. Would you prefer that?”

“My mother-in-law is right,” Richard said.

George and Will simultaneously groaned.

“When Annie and I have children, which will be very soon, I need a son. You are being disingenuous and or unintelligent if you don’t admit that having a son to follow in your footsteps and carry on the family name matters. It’s no better than those people, all rainbows and kittens, who claim that adopted kids are just as good as real ones.”

“Shut up,” Will said between gritted teeth. “Just shut up.”

“Genetics matter,” Richard insisted.*

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Will said, immediately pushing back from the table.

He needed to get away from his family for a minute. Richard had an insulting, absolutely ridiculous ‘theory’ about a ‘genetic imperative’ and how that made you attracted to certain people in order to breed. Listening to him go on about it would ruin Will’s chances of being able to eat brunch. Granted, it was marginally better than listening to Richard’s uninformed views on politics, both at home and across the globe. A difference of opinion was one thing; insisting you were right and other people were not entitled to their own viewpoints was an altogether different matter.

Besides, Will had spotted the gorgeous, nice looking woman headed to the back hall where the loos were. A simple hello couldn’t hurt, could it? The day was crappy already; if she were unfriendly or unavailable, it’s not like it would ruin a good day.

Elizabeth and Will

“Oh, hi,” Will said, pretending he hadn’t sort of stalked her to the bathrooms.

“Hi.” She smiled. “Mother’s Day, huh?”

Will rolled his eyes. “No kidding. My little sister couldn’t be here, and let’s just say—”

“Your mother really, really misses her? It’s my older sister who’s missing. She’s definitely the favourite.”

“As my ten-year-old cousin would say: same.”

They shared a laugh.

“So, uh, I’m Will.”

“Elizabeth.”

They shook hands and stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“I suppose I should head back,” Elizabeth said.

She sounded reluctant, which gave Will hope. She looked around his shoulder to where their tables were.

“Looks like there’s a debate of some sort going on at your table. Your dad—I’m guessing he’s your dad, given the resemblance—and the other guy.”

“Rancid Richard,” Will said. “My cousin’s spouse. If you hear him start to speak, save yourself and cover your ears.”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry. It sounds like you are having a harder time of it than me. After all, for me, it’s just my mom.”

Will shrugged. She looked so sympathetic that he dared to say, “Any chance you’d like to get together some time and share family-war stories?”

She considered for a few seconds then said, “How do you feel about bike rides?”

“Love them. We’ve got some great ravine trails, easy to get to. Gotta love a Saturday ride in the Don, stopping by the market at the Brickworks.” He loved riding his bike. That and hiking, sailing, canoeing. If it got him outside, somewhere natural, he was all for it.

“Period dramas?” she asked, a little warily if he was reading her right.

“Gaskell, Dickens, Austen—you name it, I’ve probably got it. Someone really needs to remake The Pallisers, don’t you think? The 1970s one is great, but it’s looking a little dated.”

She looked at him archly, tilting her head slightly, and it almost looked like she was teasing him.

“Pasta?” she asked.

“If it’s food and vegan, I’m good. I’m vegan, have been for a long time, it’s no big deal.”

Elizabeth smiled and it lit up her face. “So am I.”

Will grinned and whipped out his phone so that they could exchange contact information. Somehow, he suspected he’d just gotten the best Mother’s Day gift of all.

 

Notes:

*The Greater Toronto Area.

**I know someone who believes this and just had to include it. I absolutely do not agree.

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That’s it! I hope you found some humour in this little story. Needless to say, Elizabeth and Will go on to live a very happy life together and never give their children cause to dread Mother’s (or Father’s) Day.

 

©Lucy Marin