6
Emma
“Oh my God!” I jump.
She laughs and places her shopping bags on the counter. She's dressed in black slacks and a big puffy sweater, wearing four-inch stilettos.
“How are you doing?” she asks, throwing away her Starbucks cup.
“Where is everyone?” I ask. “I haven't seen anyone the whole time I’ve been here.”
“Well, as I said, your father will be here later. He had to go to the office.”
“Yes, I know. I meant the housekeepers and the other staff.”
“We're taking a break from them,” Mom says with a shrug.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, your father first wanted to let go of the staff because he has decided that he wants to cook all the meals himself. I don't see that, but surprisingly it has been working out pretty well. He is taking a few classes and is now making Thai and Indian food a few times a week.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
“Me either.” Mom laughs, tossing her hair back. “You’d think that he wouldn’t have time for anything given his schedule in the case, but between you and me, I think he's looking for a way to relax.”
“What about the housekeepers? They were here twice a week.”
“They were. We've cut back a little bit to twice a month.”
“Why?”
“Listen, it was just getting tiresome having all these people in and out of the house. Your father and I wanted to have some time alone.”
I nod, not exactly believing her, but I decide not to press it.
She walks over to the refrigerator and asks me what I want to have for dinner. It's packed with leftovers. There's Thai and Indian food as well as poached salmon and a whole container of kale salad with cranberries and pine nuts.
“These are all your father's creations,” Mom says with a whimsical smile at the corner of her lips.
Just as we decide that we should just have a snack and have dinner with Dad when he comes home, Mom gets a text.
“He's going to work late tonight, honey. So, it's just going to be the two of us.”
It's not that unusual for my father to work on weekends, but my mom seems disappointed. It has been a long time since the three of us have had a private meal together and, as soon as he cancels, I sort of feel sorry about it, but we try to make it work.
After a few deliberations, we eventually settle on Mom having Indian food and me having the walnut salad with a cup of my dad's own miso soup. I'm not too hungry and I'm still trying to be conscious of what I eat, but it's particularly hard when I have so much on my mind.
As we eat dinner and fill the air with general chitchat, I debate with myself as to whether or not I should tell her about the article and Liam.
On one hand, it has already been published and she's bound to find out about it one way or another.
On the other hand… Frankly, I'm not sure what's holding me back. I can always tell her a portion of it, holding back most of the details, like someone might be out to get back at me, but I don't tell her anything.
“You know, today's kind of a special day,” Mom says, pouring us a second glass of wine.
“What do you mean?”
“It's my mom's birthday.”
“Oh, wow, that's right.”
I had completely forgotten about that. I never met my grandmother because she died when my mom was ten years old.
Her death has had a big impact on her life and whenever my sisters and I have tried to talk to her about her, she rarely tells us much.
“Should we have a drink in her honor?” Mom asks. “She would've been ninety-five today.”
“Big number.”
“Well, you know she wasn't particularly young when she had me. She wasn't sure if she could have kids and she never really wanted them. I think she was a lot like you in that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, from what I remember my father telling me, she was very much in her own head. She never really liked to go out much and she never really needed to interact with people. In fact, I think she got exhausted by it, but what she did like to do was read. So, when I came in today and I saw you on the couch curled up with your book, it just made me really happy because I thought that my mom would like to see that.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. I can’t believe it. I have never heard her talk much about her mom, never heard her say much at all.
“What else did she like to do?” I ask.
“She liked to swim,” Mom says. “She loved it. There was a community pool and she just loved going there. She told me once that she never felt so clean as she did in the pool. That's probably why I was so set on getting that pool out there. I wanted it to be perfect. I know that she's not with us and it's not like she even knows that I have it, but when I swim in it and look out onto the ocean, past the hills, it makes me think of her.”
Mom takes another sip of the wine and a tear runs down her cheek, but she catches it midstream.
“Agh! Look at me. I'm being so silly.”
“No, not at all. I wish you would tell me more about her. I don't know anything.”
“I know, but it's hard for me to talk about her,” Mom says. “I lost her when I was very young and she was this towering force. I wanted to be just like her and then she was gone. Losing your parent when you're a kid is a terrible burden. I was right on the cusp of becoming a woman and I didn't really know how to be one without her.”
I sit back in my chair and suddenly realize my mouth is wide open. I close it shut and lick my lips, trying to act like what I'm hearing is not astounding in the least.
The thing is that my mom doesn't talk like that. Not now, not ever. She's polished and well-put together and she acts like she never has a problem, at least not ones that you ever see.
When I was young, I thought she was superwoman. I saw other mothers cry and yell, and I admired my mom for not being weak like that.
Then I realized that her being this way made her almost not really here. It's not that I wanted her to be emotional, it’s that I wanted her to tell me something true. I wanted her to show me the vulnerability and then suddenly, one day, she did.
“Okay, don’t get all weepy and make me regret telling you any of this,” Mom says after a moment.
“I promise I won’t,” I say, fighting back tears. “Tell me something else.”
“She talked to me about having children. She said that there has to be something more to a woman’s life besides her children, but once you have children you can sometimes forget what that is.”
I nod, thinking of my mom’s own life.
She has devoted herself to us, stayed home, attended all games and recitals, and presided over the Parent Teacher Association.
“I should have listened to her advice. She knew what she was talking about.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, sometimes I think about my life and wonder what else it could be.”
“You have a beautiful family, Mom. We all love you very much.”
“I know that,” she interjects.