Elise raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “These days? Not so much. You know what it’s like? Remember when I was little I used to love Rice Krispie treats? Remember I used to beg you to make them? And then one day Veronica was sick and you went upstairs to lie down with her, and I stayed down in the kitchen and made a huge batch of Rice Krispie goo and then ate right out of the bowl before you came back downstairs. You remember that?”
“I remember,” I said, still holding the parmesan. Elise had thrown up the rest of the day, stealing my sickness thunder.
“Well it cured me. I haven’t wanted a Rice Krispie treat since. It’s been almost twenty years, and I can barely look at one at a bake sale. That’s kind of how I feel about work right now. I’ve had a little too much of it lately, and to tell the truth, it’ll be nice to have a little break.”
“Five years isn’t a little break.” My mother spoke through a frozen smile. “You could go back a little sooner? Part-time?”
I chewed more slowly, the pizza heavy and dry in my mouth. I was unnerved by the way our mother’s worried eyes moved back and forth between me and Elise. I didn’t think it was a fair comparison. I was only changing majors. What Elise was doing was more extreme.
Elise shook her head. “You know what part-time is at a law firm, Mom? About fifty hours a week. I’d like to actually know my child. And we can afford it. The cost of living is so much lower here.” She cocked her head, her face impassive. “Is there a reason you need me to work? Is there something going on with you?”
My mother lowered her gaze. “I’m just surprised,” she said.
“I don’t know why.” Elise took another bite of pizza. She used her napkin to daintily wipe her mouth. “I’ve always given a hundred percent to everything I’ve done. I don’t see why this should be any different.” She gazed out the window, out at big snowflakes, falling slowly, meandering to the ground. It was clear, from her placid expression, that she considered the matter closed.
My mother leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because of money,” she said.
“Jingle Bell Rock” started up on the jukebox.
“Money isn’t a problem,” Elise said. “I just told you that.”
“Your money. You need your own money.”
Elise straightened her posture. “Our marriage is fine. I’m not you. Charlie isn’t Dad.” She took another bite of pizza. My mother still wasn’t eating. But Elise, like my father, had no problem eating and arguing at the same time. It was like breathing to them.
“You don’t know the future.” My mother’s voice wasn’t loud, but her tone was so firm, so certain, that someone at another table turned around. She fixed her gaze on Elise. “You should keep working. At least part-time.”
Elise waved the words away. “You haven’t practiced law. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you haven’t been divorced. You don’t know how that works, Elise.”
Elise stopped chewing. She put her pizza down. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked away.
“Honey, I’m just trying to—”
“You’re confusing me with you,” she said. She looked back at my mother. “I’m the one who invests our money. My name is on every document. I balance our checkbook. It’s a partnership. It’s equal. And it will still be equal when I stay home.”
My mother covered her eyes with her hands. After a while, Elise glanced at me, worried. I looked away. A lot had happened since she’d last called me from California. There was much she did not yet know. I did not think our mother was crazy. I was not certain she was even wrong.
Elise reached across the table and squeezed her arm, her expression softer now. “You big hypocrite,” she said, smiling a little. I just want to be as good of a mother as you were. And you were so good, Mom. You’re telling me you regret it?”
I leaned forward, shaking my head, trying to make eye contact with Elise. She thought her questions were nice. She didn’t know just how bad things had gotten. She hadn’t seen all our mother’s things in the back of the van.
My mother looked up and shook her head. She did not appear especially pained. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t. I don’t regret what I did. But I don’t want you to do it.”