“Hi.” I looked over and saw a pair of feet standing in first position, then up to see my mother, biting her lip. She sat down on the small table that stood between the two porch chairs and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I just,” I started, having to take a breath before I could continue, feeling like I was on the verge of starting to cry again. I gave the husk a hard yank and dropped it into the bag at my feet. “I’m sorry for inviting people. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I can call them and tell them not to come.”
My mom shook her head. “It’s fine. I promise. The thing is…” She sighed and looked out to the road for a moment. Two people walking a golden retriever passed by, waving to us. My mother waved back, then looked back at me. “I just kept thinking, all day, about how this is your father’s last Fourth,” she said quietly. This didn’t do much to keep my tears at bay and I pressed my lips together hard. “I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she said. I looked over at her, and saw to my alarm that there were tears in her eyes, threatening to fall.
This, frankly, was a lot more frightening than the yelling. Seeing my mother sad, vulnerable, scared—it was too much for me, and I grabbed another ear, careful not to look at her again.
“There’s just nothing worse than a ruined holiday,” she continued, but she sounded less like she was about to cry, and I could feel myself relax just a tiny bit.
“I know,” I said, without even thinking about it. When my mother didn’t say anything, I looked up at her. “My birthday?” I prompted, then immediately wished I hadn’t said anything, as her face crumpled a little bit and she looked like she was about to cry again. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean that, Mom. Don’t…”
My mother shook her head and looked away from me. Murphy padded tentatively out to the porch, maybe figuring that as long as we were no longer yelling, it was safe to emerge. To my surprise, my mother scooped the dog up, resting her cheek against his wiry fur for just a moment. “I thought you didn’t like him,” I said.
My mom smiled, and settled the dog on her lap. “I guess he’s growing on me,” she said, running her hand over the top of his head. We sat in silence, and as I dropped one ear of corn in the bag and extracted a new one, my mom shook her head. “Leave the rest,” she said. “Warren and Gelsey can do them when they get home.” I dropped the ear back, surprised, and my mom leaned forward. “And I am sorry about your birthday, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. I meant it too. I’d been upset about the birthday thing, at first, but so many other things had happened since that it had lost a lot of its importance. “And I promise it’ll be fine tonight. We’ll make it a good night for Dad.” She looked at me, and I gave her a slightly trembly smile, realizing how strange it was to be the one consoling her, trying to cheer her up, when I’d known a lifetime of it being the other way around.
“I hope so,” she said quietly. And then, she leaned a little closer to me and smoothed my hair down, then rubbed my back in small circles the way she’d done when I was young. The things we’d been fighting about no longer seemed to matter. After a moment, I surprised myself by leaning into her and resting my head on her shoulder, in a way I hadn’t done since I’d been very little, and her shoulder had seemed a lot bigger, big enough to hold up not only me, but the whole world. And for just a second, as I closed my eyes and she ran her hand over my hair, it felt like it might still be true.
Despite all the stress, the barbecue turned out fine. Gelsey and I had set up citronella candles all around the backyard (she insisted on doing grands jetés to go between them) and my father had taken over grill duties, piling the platter high with cheeseburgers and hot dogs, wearing pressed khakis and a polo shirt that now looked much too big on him.