twenty-five
In the end, who among us does
not choose to be a little less
right to be a little less lonely.
—Robert Brault
Thanks to it being a rainy day, my weekly run with Mom is a no goe>
Mom says, “Bummed about the run?”
“I was looking forward to getting out.” I was looking forward to time with her, to hanging out without getting into a catfight.
She pads across the floor and stands by me, watching the rain drill everything in its path. “Well, just because we can’t run doesn’t mean we can’t get out for an hour. We’ve got options.”
“What?”
She puts her arm around my waist in a hug. “Did you ever stop to think your dear old mom has a pretty nice ve-hicle, that works? Let’s go to the Chocolat Café. We can splurge on French pastries.”
Whoa. Splurge on extra calories? Empty ones? Wow. Mom must have had a super shitty week. Although the Chocolat Café isn’t what I had in mind, it’s a fun back-up plan. Maybe we can talk … about whatever happened a couple of nights ago.
“Okay then.” Mom pats my knee. “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes. I’ll touch up my makeup and change tops.”
“All righty.”
“Grace?”
“Hmm.”
“You’re gonna do a few touch-ups too, right? Just a little lip gloss and maybe change into a nicer shirt?”
Never good enough.
“Sure, Mom. I’ll change.”
Mom is totally anti-chain stores. She’s all about helping Mom and Pop shops—until it comes to groceries or gas stations. I guess everyone draws a line somewhere.
She sips her café au lait, fingers laced around it. Then she takes a dainty bite of a chocolate croissant.
I slurp some whipped cream melting into my white chocolate mocha and accidentally suck up more mocha than cream. The roof of my mouth is officially burned. A little flap of skin hangs down, a reminder of my stupidity. Yay.
“So, what’s going on with you and Ford lately?”
I wipe at the cream on my upper lip, a tactical maneuver to hide my surprise.
Mom adds, “Didn’t you go over to his house for dinner the other night?” We haven’t really spoken since the night she was a wreck.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say. “And the girl he’s dating isn’t named Brittany. It’s Brianna.” Saying her name is like biting into a lemon. “I don’t have time to mess with a relationship. Besides, Ford’s been a real tool lately.”
She nods her head, with a kind of knowing look like she knew he would disappoint me all along, which totally burns me. He’s not that kind of guy. Usually. “You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. Ford seemed like a nice guy. They all do at first, though…” Her voice trails off and she stares at a 1950s beach advertisement. There’s a young couple in swimsuits looking like they’ve found nirvana. She looks wistful; I feel sad for her. “Your father was quite the surfer when we first met.”
“Mom … if you want to talk about things … ” My voice trails off and I realize how lame I must sound.
She snaps to and paints a smile on her face. Her bright chipper reaction amazes me. It’s like she doesn’t recognize the fact we live in the same house. “Things? There’s nothing to discuss.”
She stands up, café au lait in hand, and motions me to follow her to the car. Great. After a nice afternoon, I screw things up.
Once inside the car, Mom doesn’t start the engine. She sighs and tears well up at the corner of her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Mom pauses.
“Is it Dad?”
Mom says, “You know I love your father. I really do, but sometimes it’s … well, it’s just hard.”
My mouth opens a little bit. I burst out, “What happened the other night? Why were you so upset?”
Her fingers grip the steering wheel. “Nothing happened. Your father and I got into an argument.”
“About what?” I kick off my flip-flops, pull my knees to my chest, and turn toward her. This is not an everyday conversation.
“About money, about relationships, about his temper.”
“Way to go, Mom!”
Apparently my encouragement isn’t welcome. She takes the one wild, lone strand of hair and tucks it carefully back into place. “Do you think I haven’t had these conversations before? Do you think we haven’t argued about these topics? We do all the time, and it always ends the same—with me hurt and nothing gained.”
Everything has been piling up like dirty laundry I can’t ignore. It’s driving me crazy. If she doesn’t leave, then I’m stuck here too. I push. “Then why stay?”
She throws back her head and laughs a dry, eerie laugh. “Get real. Like I’ve told you before, at my age I’m not looking for change or planning on announcing my failures to the world. I said my vows and I meant them—for better or worse.” She white-knuckles the steering wheel, puts on her fake happy, and pulls out of the parking space with perfect control.
Are you kidding me? “What about his vows? ‘To love and to cherish?’”
“Don’larAt start.”
“Don’t start? What? Were his vows different than yours?”
“Grace—”
“Or maybe his didn’t count?”
She slams on the brake. The seat belt locks me in and jolts me back.
“Don’t talk to me like that, young lady. You have no idea what I put up with so you can have a father.”
I adjust the seat belt. “Hello? I live with him too.”
“Do you know how many girls I’ve seen in court that were selling themselves on the street or doing drugs? Do you know what their defense was? No father figure. The way I see it, you’re pretty damn lucky. And you’re sure as hell doing well in school and life … someday you’ll thank me. Someday, you’ll see.”