Free Southern Charm by Tinsley Mortimer

with an inordinate amount of whipped cream. I was trying to be good (I’d tried on one of Emily’s size 00 samples a few days before, and let’s just say it didn’texactly fit) but as we walked in and were shown to our table, I told myself, maybe just this once. After all, I’d earned it patiently listening to my mother explain the merits of wool over sisal and gold hardware over stainless steel for the last six hours.
    â€œWell, that’s a start at least,” she said as we sat down. “I’m going to have to clear the next couple of weekends of course to install everything, but as long as the larger pieces arrive on schedule I should have everything set by Christmas.”
    â€œChristmas!”
    Christmas was more than a “couple of weekends” away. I had not planned on a houseguest, let alone my mother orchestrating an interior-decorating job worthy of a four-page spread in Architectural Digest .
    â€œMinty, calm yourself, I’ll stay at the Plaza,” she said, holding up a menu. She perused it briefly, lips pursed and eyebrows raised, and then placed it down next to her plate. “Shall we share the Caesar salad?”
    This was her way of saying, “Shall we not order the Frrrozen Hot Chocolate?”
    â€œBut, Mother,” I said. “We always get—”
    â€œFocus, Minty,” she interrupted. “You’re a New Yorker now. I won’t have those girls in size double zero dresses outshining you at one of those charity events.”
    God, I thought. She picks up on everything.
    â€œFine,” I said. “Boring Caesar salad.”
    Mother flagged down the waitress. “We’ll share the boring Caesar salad, sugar,” she said to the waitress, shooting me a glance. “Dressing on the side, please.”
    Over dry lettuce and unsweetened iced teas, I filled her in on my new life. I admitted that New York was not the easiest place for a girl like me to adjust to. Everything was dirty, for one. I was going through shoes like they were disposable pedicure flip-flops and just the day before I’d almost been run over by a bike messenger. And then there was Tripp. Since the night he dropped me off in the towncar, he’d been calling me nonstop and was practically begging me to have dinner with him. But I was still feeling slightly hesitant.
    Tripp was technically my first love, the first boy I ever kissed. He was sophisticated, confident, charming, and smart. He made me laugh. But he had hurt me, however long ago. If we had any chance of rekindling any kind of romance, we had a lot to talk about. And the Tabitha situation was still so unclear.
    I asked Scarlett her opinion on the matter.
    â€œI wouldn’t even give this Tabitha business a second thought.” Mother paused, taking a sip of her tea and swallowing dramatically, like a motivational speaker taking a break in the middle of a speech. “God gave you a lot to work with, Minty Davenport. So start working with it!”
    I couldn’t help but smile.
    â€œThank you, Mommy.”
    She flicked her wrist at me. “Enough of this ‘thank you, Mommy’ and ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I guess.’ Where has the Minty I raised run off to? The one who took the stage at the annual St. Gertrude’s School recital when she was just eight years old and wowed the crowd by lip-syncing to ‘Material Girl’ in a custom-made Madonna outfit? The Minty who led her debutante ball? The Minty who took the St. Gertrude’s tennis team to three national championships and went on to captain the tennis team at one of the top Division One universities in the country?”
    â€œI see what you’re saying,” I began. “It’s just—New York is a lot tougher than I think I was prepared for. It’s a lot different. I’m a lot different. I’m used to fitting in somewhat easily. I’ve never had to think twice about what