it,” she exclaims, reaching out to hold my hands. “And how are you, sweetheart? Are you still seeing that guy Luanne told me about?”
The mention of Sam brings a strong and unwelcome image of the last time I saw him to my mind. In the days following our confrontation in front of Tim’s building, I’ve come to realize that the look on his face, the one which unsettled me so much at the time, was a look I should’ve spotted straight away. It was betrayal. I can’t stop my face from falling, can’t hide from my mother the emotions which are still so raw.
“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?” She embraces me again, holding me close to her as I do my best to control the sob that’s slowly overtaking me.
I shake my head back and forth and pull away from her, not allowing any more tears to fall. “It’s nothing.”
“It most certainly is not nothing. Look at you. You look as though you’ve come to attend a funeral rather than a wedding,” she says, moving her face down so she can try to look me in the eyes.
I take in a deep breath and raise my head, doing my best to slap a stoic, though fake, smile on my face. I’m not going to ruin my mother’s wedding. “Really, Mama, I’m fine. Anyway, this weekend is about you and Vernon, so let’s just focus on that. Where’s your dress? Why don’t you show it to me?”
My mother crosses her arms and adopts the stance of one preparing for battle. I’ve seen this look many times. It means, ‘I’m older, tougher, and smarter than you, so do as I say.’
“Eleanor Susan O’Keefe, you will tell your mother this instant what in the name of Hades is going on.”
I turn, defeated, and plop onto the mattress. I run a hand over the soft cotton of the faded bedspread, trying to figure out where to begin. “I fell in love, Mama.”
“Well, that sounds like a pretty good start,” she says, coming to sit on the bed next to me.
“No,” I shake my head, “it’s not good. In fact, it’s pretty much the most awful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Psh, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
I look up at her and wonder how she kept it together so well after my dad left us. “How’d you survive it?”
“Survive what?”
“When Dad left. How’d you get on with your life, knowing it wouldn’t ever be as good as it once was?”
My mother smiles sweetly at me, shaking her head and reaching for my hand. “Oh, baby, is that what you think? That I haven’t been happy all these years?”
I open my mouth to tell her yes, but she’s smiling so sincerely at me, it feels like a foolish answer. Any sadness in her countenance isn’t for her, it’s aimed at me. “You were alone for so long and—”
“And you thought I was just some sad old sack, pining after your father for the last couple of decades?” She looks on the verge of laughter and, quite frankly, I’m failing to find the humor in this conversation. “Ellie, your father and I loved each other once, there’s no denying it. But when he left, he left the only part of that relationship that was really worth hanging onto. He left me with you.”
“But you loved him. I remember the morning he left you were crying. You were on the floor and you were devastated, I know you were.”
“Well,” starts my mother, awkwardly, “I was sad, of course I was. The man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with up and left me for a twenty-three year old S-L-U-T.”
“Mama!” I’m shocked. My mother’s never spelled out anything so vulgar in her entire life.
“What? She was. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. She slept with half the teaching staff at your elementary school. We used to call her ‘Ms. Gets-Around’ instead of Ms. Getsarnd.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Oh yes,” she says, nodding her head and allowing a small smile to play on her lips at the memory. “She was quite popular, I assure you.”
“Yeah but, Mama, she still stole your husband.”
“Ellie, she didn’t steal anything that didn’t want to be taken. I should’ve been more honest with you when you were growing up. Your father and I, we loved each other, we did, but we weren’t meant for one another. I knew it, he knew it, and we were able to fake it