White Carpet - Maya

The view was spectacular, just like she'd said.  Windows ran floor to ceiling, and the view ran from the Bay Bridge to the Golden Gate.  It didn't hurt that the apartment was on the 7th floor. Nob Hill was high enough to see the Bay as it was, but this place was pretty much above everything.  Alcatraz was right there, and even the weather was perfect - no fog to interfere with the panoramic vista.  Really, spectacular.

What I hadn't expected (and amazed me as much) was how she'd decorated it.  Everything was sleek and modern, white and stainless steel or glass.  White couch, white chairs, glass bowls on glass tables, crystal decanters on glass shelves and white carpet.

"Well?  What do you think?" she asked.

"It's spectacular, honey," I replied.  "Absolutely spectacular."

She clapped her hands together and grinned the broadest grin her thin face allowed.  "I know. Come, sit on the couch and catch the view.  Want some tea?"

"Sure,"  I replied, plopping down on the plush white cushions.  What I was really thinking was, "How can this be my child?  Could we possibly be more different?"

Here I was in a peasant skirt and sandals (which I now checked to be sure I hadn't tracked in any dirt onto this pristine white carpet).  I mean, my house was all wood, old carpets, funky ethnic folk art and color, color, color.  I realized that kids sometimes separate from their parents by choosing radically different lifestyles, but this was astounding.  My daughter, my little girl, had opted for pretty much everything I had rejected - money, prestige, upward mobility.  It's not that I had anything against money - it sure made life easier.  But this!

"Come on," I told myself.  "You knew where she was headed."  The writing had been on the wall since junior high school.  And look who she'd married ...  The world of high finance made no sense to me, but it brought her this apartment, this view, this life in San Francisco in which money helped a great deal.  Was, in fact, necessary.

Her daughter came back carrying a tray with teapot and cups.  Italian.  Williams-Sonoma.  Now, those she liked.  They didn't exactly match the decor.  In fact, they reminded her of that trip to Tuscany and Umbria.  Lovely.

"It's Earl Grey.  You like that, right?" her daughter asked.

"Sure.  You know I like most teas."

"So, what do you think?"

"I could look out this window forever."

"I know.  It's amazing at night, too.  You and Dad have to come for 4th of July.  They have fireworks right off the pier down there.  The neighbors tell me these are the best seats in town."

"Nothing but the best!"  I said.

"Mother, don't start," she retorted.  "I know you think this is all shallow materialism, but it's my life and I happen to like it."

"What?  What did I say?"

"Nothing," she grumped.  "But I can tell."

"Honey, I'm not sitting in judgment."

"Aren't you?" she asked.

She was right, but I wasn't going to admit it.  "I think it's gorgeous.  I'd just be scared to death mess it up, but I don't have to live with it.  If it doesn't bother you, it's great."

"See?  There you go!" she said, jumping up.  Her elbow connected with her teacup and Earl Grey spilled all over the carpet.  The white carpet.  Dark tea.  She looked at me, eyes frozen wide like deer in the headlights.  I said nothing.  Finally, she ran into the kitchen to get something to clean it up.  

I wondered if the stain would ever come out.

Prompt:  White Carpet, 7/5/08